Through the Looking Glass and To Your Left

To Another Abyss

2012-01-25T14:12:00.000-08:00

The state of the Union . . . The state of our Union . . . What exactly is the state of our Union?

I will say right off the bat that there were some points I actually agreed with in the President's speech. I agree that the government should make it easier, in all ways, for business to function successfully in the United States. Obama's statement about lowering taxes for stateside corporations is something I agree with. But make no mistake, that is a fiscally conservative perspective. Since I know that Obama is not a fiscal conservative I have to wonder what sort of strings would be attached to this plan. In other words, what would corporations have to give up in order to receive a lower tax rate? I suppose I should amend my statement from above. This is probably the only part of Obama's speech that I agreed with. OH! My apologies. I also agree that the government should not subsidize the wealthiest people in our country. They should not receive farm subsidies for growing organic vegetables. They should not receive favorable tax breaks that average-income Americans are not entitled to.

I was alarmed at how many task forces the President intends on forming. My first question was, "Where is the money going to come from to fund these task forces?" And then at some point I heard the President tell Congress to spend the money they would have spent on the war in Iraq on some other program the President was selling. It was then that I understood that Obama is one of the many in government who sees tax revenue as "their money". Had he chosen to be more accurate he would have said, spend the American people's money on this new program I'm selling.

If I'm not mistaken, one of these task forces had something to do with illegal immigrants going to college, and granting them citizenship because they were educated in our country. Obama said something to the effect of it's a shame that foreign nationals are being educated in our country and then going back to their own country to make it better; and why aren't we trying to keep these people in our country? So his solution is to form a task force to deal with this issue. With all due respect Mr. President, there are many reasons why we don't need to recruit foreign nationals to live in our country. We have yet to deal with the problem of illegal immigration in and of itself. There are still not enough jobs in our country to support our own American born citizens. (As I understand it, that's one of the issues of the Occupy protesters. They have a college education and student loan debt but no job.) I think I may have a much simpler and cost-effective solution to this issue. How about we decide not to educate illegal immigrants/foreign nationals? How about that? What if the public university system in our country decided that they would no longer grant admission to illegals? What if they also put a moratorium on educating foreign nationals who have every intention of returning to their country upon graduation? And I'm talking about public universities that receive funding from the government. Private universities can do whatever they want. They don't get government money. Wouldn't that solve the problem that the President is concerned about? If you are an illegal immigrant living in the United States, and you have legal status somewhere else, go back there to get your education. I don't care what the reason is for your illegal status. I'm sorry that you weren't born here. But in any other country on this Earth, correct me if I'm wrong, if I live there as an illegal immigrant, I won't be able to attend their universities. In many cases I wouldn't be able to obtain legal employment. We are the only country that I know of that has an open door policy to the rest of the world. Come on in! We'll take care of you! We'll give you a place to live, we'll pay for it for you, we'll give you food to eat, we'll give you spending money, health care, a job, an education . . . anything else you want? We are here to meet your needs! Meanwhile there are citizens of this nation losing their homes, unable to find work, on welfare and food stamps for the first time in their lives. They can't just go to another country to make a better life for themselves. The government in our nation in general has just decided that the problem of illegal immigration either isn't really a problem, or it really isn't having a negative impact on our country. Either way, they're wrong.

The President presented a rather rosy outlook on the jobs situation. He made a strong claim that the economy was bouncing back and things were looking up. According to his own numbers 8 million jobs have been lost since 2008. He boasted that there had been 3 million jobs added since he took office. Mr. President, that is hardly bouncing back. That means we have 5 million jobs to add until we reach 2008 levels. In December of 2008 our national unemployment rate was 7.8%. So in actuality we want to add probably 6 to 7 million jobs to get unemployment back to around 6%. We have a long way to go yet. We are not bouncing back. If anything, it's getting worse. The jobless numbers look better because so many people have run out of benefits. They no longer have unemployment benefits, but they haven't worked so they can't file a new claim. So basically they are just without an income - permanently unemployed. So while it's true that the number of new jobless claims has declined, the reason is not because more people are back to work. What does that mean for our economy? While the number of people who have been surviving on unemployment benefits declines, these same people will probably lose their homes. Foreclosures will go up. With no new jobs being added, we are potentially facing something similar to the Great Depression. What are all of these homeless, jobless families going to do? Where are they going to go? We will see soup lines, homeless camps, etc., and it will not be pretty.

What is the state of our Nation? Land of the free, home of the brave . . . is it? Are we free? Do you honestly feel free? The state of our Nation is bleak. The once brightly shining beacon of inspiration and resourcefulness and individuality and strength and freedom, has become a tarnished, flat, dull and forgotten trinket in the drawer of humanity and government.

Toxicity

2012-01-03T12:09:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend I watched a program on Current TV called "The 99 Percent". Christof Putzel, a correspondent for Vanguard, went to live with the Occupy protesters who were living in Zuccotti Park and documented his experience. You may or may not know that Current TV is a network founded by Al Gore, so obviously it expresses extremely leftist points of view. Although I don't share a leftist mentality, I am fascinated by human beings, the way their brains function, and why they do the things they do. It is for this reason that occasionally I will watch programs on Current. I tuned in to this particular show in an effort to gain some perspective on what the Occupy protesters are trying to accomplish.

For the most part I didn't gain any new insights into the root issue of their protest. What I did see was thousands of people participating in GroupThink and GroupSpeak with no clear demands, ideas, desired changes; nothing tangible I could point to and say, "Ah! That's what you're protesting." I was most horrified at the way they made their messages known to the rest of the encampment. Every night at 7:00 pm they would have "Assembly" wherein anyone was allowed to say anything at all. Because they were not allowed to have amplified noise, they came up with "The People's Mic". One person talked and everyone else was supposed to repeat what was said. Additionally they had a series of arm gestures that indicated whether or not they agreed with what was said. It truly reminded me of something out of Soviet Russia or North Korea. Many of these people were clearly just talking for the ego satisfaction of hearing a large group of people repeat what they said. I wondered, as I was watching, what if someone were to disseminate an opposing opinion? Worse yet, what if someone were to tell these people they were wrong? Would there have been an uprising? This was clearly not a group of people who invited free thinking and free discussion. It was very obvious that you are either with them or against them.

Two other topics stood out very clearly in this show. Coincidentally, both had to do with unions. The first, briefly, was that various local unions joined the Occupy protesters. I thought that strange considering that the unions are a huge part of the problem of the ever widening gap between the poor and the un-poor. Not to mention that many union employees receive enormous benefits and pensions, in addition to a good salary, so they're clearly not part of the 1% as I understand it.

In one part of "The 99 Percent" Christof accompanied a gentleman to his hometown, somewhere in the south. Many of the business had shut their doors, including several large factory/corporate industries. The man stated that "the corporations are moving their jobs out of the country because they don't want to pay Americans a decent wage." What??

First let me say that I think it's awful when businesses have to close. It's bad for the local economy and it's bad for the business owners who have lost their livelihood. I am concerned about the fact that we are losing a middle class in America. I am concerned that people who, five years ago, were a part of the middle class are now living at or below the poverty line. I'm VERY concerned about what this means for our nation. But I DON'T think it's the government's responsibility or its' job to take care of me. Husband has not had a permanent job in going on four years. He's a skilled carpenter living in California. California hasn't had a construction industry in about four years. (As a side note or rant if you wish, the construction industry started having problems almost 10 years ago in California. Why? Because employers began laying off their skilled employees. One reason was that Worker Compensation Insurance was very expensive, and its' expense was crippling small construction companies. Another reason, the primary reason, was because employers realized they could save money by hiring illegal Mexican workers. So companies that used to employ citizens of the United States now had crews of almost entirely Mexican illegals. Good for the employer's pocket, not good for hard, American born workers like Husband. And it's not the illegals who should be blamed or punished. It's the companies that provide them with jobs who should suffer the consequences.) Once his meager unemployment ran out, that was it. There was no more free money for us. But we've been surviving without the help of the government since then. Husband has literally been doing anything and everything to keep money flowing. It's been difficult, but we've been making it work. And we are living below the poverty line, and it sucks. But I'd rather scrape by than be dependent on the government.

This leads me to the idea that ". . .corporations don't want to pay Americans a decent wage." Is it true that there are some corporations that are greedy and care more about profit than where they do business? Probably. But by and large this is not the reason that corporations are taking their business out of America. Even if they still had to deal with the ever-increasing regulations to do business here; even if they still had to pay for very expensive environmental impact studies; even if they still had to pay the outrageous taxes and fees for employing people, there would still not be the mass exodus to other countries. The reason corporations are moving is because they cannot afford the demands of the unions. Unions are one of the primary reasons our country is crumbling. I will note, however, that easing government restrictions, regulations and taxes would help woo businesses back home.

I don't want to go into the history of unions. Suffice it to say I do believe they once had a place in America. I believe their time and place is long gone. Unions no longer assist employees in working out safe working conditions and fair pay. It's not about being paid a decent salary. It's all of the other demands that unions have on employers. They feel that they deserve not only a "decent" salary, but a damn good one for even unskilled work. Not only that, they want benefits paid for themselves and their families. They want a pension that will last the rest of their lives. They want paid vacation that keeps accruing year after year. While I think it's a nice thing to do, to provide some health benefit options, retirement options, and some paid vacation for your employees, it is by no means a right of anyone. Just because you have a job does not entitle you to "extras". At some point people need to be responsible for some things on their own. If more employees had to pay for their own health care, for instance, they would probably make different decisions on their plan and how often they use it. They would take more care in their decisions. Unions are putting a stranglehold on our country. In the San Juan School District in Sacramento, the entire budget of all of the schools is gone every year before the new school year starts. Where is it going? It's going to pay for the retirement and health benefits of retired teachers. As a teacher I think this is so wrong! Why do you get health benefits for the rest of your life simply because you chose to teach?

It's all so backwards, and it's easy to feel hopeless and rather depressed about the state of our nation. But until there is a significant change in the attitude of our society, it will only continue to get worse. We must get over this idea that somebody else, the government, the union, our employer, is responsible for our lives. This has become, seemingly, the battle cry of the 99%. "Someone else take care of me! Give me a life free from financial hardship! Give me, give me, give me!" The only person who has the knowledge, the ability and the desire to take care of you in the best possible way, is YOU. Love YOURSELF enough to do that.

Lost in the Crowd

2011-12-27T12:14:00.000-08:00

"I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose.

Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish. I am not a tool for their use. I am not a servant of their needs. I am not a bandage for their wounds. I am not a sacrifice on their altars."

"The word "We" is a lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might from the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages."
From Anthem, by Ayn Rand, pgs. 95 & 97

We are living in a divided nation. Its' division stems from so many different places that it's difficult to know where to find the taproot. At present, the division is manifesting itself in what is essentially class warfare; the 99% versus the 1%. There is much talk of creating a more "fair" society where our needs are met primarily by government programs (free health care, free public university, etc.). The people at the core of this movement desire a country where everyone is "equal", where no one person is better, in any way, than any other person. (I believe that many of these people would go further to say that no one person is better than any animal as well.)

Let us consider the implications of the above philosophy, a world where everyone is "equal". First of all, what does that even mean? Does it mean that we are all equally as gifted at playing a musical instrument? Clearly we are not. Does it mean that we are all equally as intelligent? Not so. Does it mean that our professions should all pay the same amount of money regardless of the level of expertise required? What does it mean then? To our forefathers it meant that we are all created equally in the eyes of our Creator, and that we are endowed with certain God-given rights: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It meant that God does not look at any one person as "better" than any other. He loves all of humanity with the same unconditional love, because that is God's nature. I don't believe our forefathers intended this to mean that everybody should be treated equally. In fact, it's an impossibility to treat everyone equally. As a human being, gifted with the power of rational thought and intense emotion, we are incapable of treating every person we come in contact with in the same way. It's impossible, unless you live in a totalitarian, socialist or communist society, where you are required to treat everyone in the same manner or suffer the consequences. As a human being living in a civilized society, we should, for our own sakes, treat everyone with respect and with kindness. This is the polite and civilized way to live. Apart from that, people have different relationships, connections, conflicts, resentments, admiration, and love in varying degrees for different people.

We are living in a country where we're hearing almost daily that humans are the source of evil and destruction in the world. Humans are responsible for the destruction of the planet, for man-made climate change, for the extinction of animals, for everything that is wrong with the country and the world. It is true that human beings are capable of enormous destruction and unimaginable evil. But it is also true that we are capable of incredible greatness and inspired creation. As a nation, we have lost the belief that we have the ability to positively effect the world.

Let's talk about the so-called 1%. Who are these people, really? I believe there is a difference between who the 1% have come to be, and who they used to be. At present the 1%, if I'm understanding the Occupy Protesters correctly, are all of the rich, greedy corporate monsters who run Wall Street. I think this is rather short-sighted of them. If the 1% are the rich, you'd have to include many more people than just the "corporate monsters". You would have to include actors, athletes, politicians, lobbyists, trust fund kids and "musicians". (I'm using quotes here to distinguish between the true artists who make amazing music and the factory-made pop stars who make garbage.) Out of that list, including the corporate 1%, who has created, invented, contributed anything of value, to the world? I would say, with perhaps a few exceptions, that only the corporate "monsters" are the people who contribute tangible value to our nation and the world.

As we look back in history, the 1% were the philosophers, mathematicians, astronomers, inventors, painters, sculptors, physicists, chemists and others in their respective fields, who pushed the limits of their own minds to produce greatness. They gave us new ideas and technologies, and made it possible for us to believe that such greatness even exists. Some of these people became wealthy, others did not. Their contributions were not often based on the idea that they would become millionaires. They simply knew that theirs was a superior idea or product and desired to share it with the nation or with the world. The market (here we go with Capitalism) decided if it was indeed a superior idea and either embraced it or did not. We used to encourage and inspire these minds to achieve even a higher level of greatness and to contribute a more superior idea to our country. We used to take pride in the ideas and products coming from our United States. What happened? When did things change and for what reason? The greatest minds in our country seem to be lost in a sea of reality television, dirty politics and ever increasing government.

It's time that we embrace our place as human beings on this earth. We have a place above all other creatures. I realize you may need to take a minute to digest that. Yes, humans are greater than animals. I believe that all of nature is special and amazing and that we need to be good stewards of this earth. But humans are more important than polar bears, more important than whales. Humans have the gift of rational thought and emotion. Our brains give us the power to create, to imagine, to reach beyond what we think is possible. Our eyes give what we call beauty to the world. If not for our eyes, our brains, our language, what would beauty be? What would happiness be? It is our individual capacity for interpreting what we see and aspiring to greatness that has created the world we live in. We must embrace it! We must stop believing that we are the source of misery. We are the source of beauty and invention and resourcefulness. We must stop believing that it is wrong to be more intelligent, more talented, more imaginative than other people. We must embrace our individual talents and nurture them. We must stop striving for "equality". We must treat one another with kindness, but we must love our uniqueness. It is time to reclaim our position of greatness in the world, and to begin again to contribute greatness to the world.

Who Is John Galt?

2011-12-11T14:29:00.000-08:00

You thought I was gone for good I imagine. Truthfully, Husband and I have been struggling financially for some time now, like so many of you. When you're in the midst of struggle, it's difficult to think of anything else but just getting by. I found I simply had nothing to say. However, in light of the ever-worsening political and economic crisis, I am compelled to resurrect this blog. We are truly "through the looking glass" as a nation.
When I started this blog it was primarily for me. I enjoy writing, though I have no fantasies about being a published author. This blog was a way for me to pursue something I enjoy, and to perhaps entertain the few people who read it. I really didn't care if I had a strong following.
The tone of my blog will change significantly. I intend to write about the economic and political climate of the US. I am hopeful that there are still people left in our great nation, and in the world, who possess common sense; those who realize that our current economical and political system cannot be maintained. Now, I do care if people read this blog.
Let my first post address the "Occupy" protesters. What is your beef exactly? It would be entirely helpful to those of us watching in confusion to understand what you are protesting exactly. Are you unhappy that you have student loan debt up to your eyeballs? Welcome to life. There are hundreds of thousands of us who have student loan debt. It's a part of what comes with higher education. Are you upset because you don't have a job upon college or graduate school? You were never promised one. No one just "gets" a job because they've got a degree. There are no guarantees or promises in life. Sorry to disappoint you. You're no doubt part of the "entitlement" generation. I bet you got trophies for every sport you played, even though you were the most uncoordinated, worst player on the team. Are you pissed because the government bailed out the airlines, automotive industry, banks, mortgage companies and insurance companies using American tax dollars? So am I! Where were you with your torches and pitchforks five years ago? Why so late on the uptake? Are you protesting the fact that you want everyone to make the same amount of money? You want a Socialist form of government because it's more "fair"? WAKE UP! Of course what you call the 1% would gladly embrace socialism. As would anyone with something to gain by it. Don't you understand that even in a Socialist society, there are still a very few people who control everything, including wealth? There are still a very few wealthy people and the rest of us are then slaves to the wealthy and the government. Read! Research! Learn history! Are you actually protesting Capitalism? Do you understand what Capitalism is? It's an economic system based on the principle of a Free Market. In a Free Market businesses both succeed and fail on their own accord (meaning with no influence from the government). We no longer have a Free Market in the US because EVERYTHING somehow is controlled or influenced by government/large corporations affiliated with the government. So in effect, our economic system is not even based in Capitalism anymore. How can you defend our current president, Mr. Obama, hand-picking solar panel production plants to receive billions in tax dollars that are now bankrupt? Bankrupt. These companies, like the others to receive "bailouts" STOLE our money. Not the government's money, OUR money. Do you understand where the government gets money to function? From tax revenue. Do you know where tax revenue comes from? That's right kids, the American people.
I say to you again, WAKE UP! The ONLY function of government is to uphold and follow the Constitution of the United States of America. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. It's fascinating how far the government has overstepped its' original function. Isn't it time for us, those of us with common sense, to take a stand? Isn't it time for us to make better decisions about who we send to represent us in our government? Can't we agree that perhaps electing people, with ties and financial stakes in large corporations is, at best, a conflict of interest? Can we entertain the idea of perhaps electing "normal" people? Not people groomed to be politicians, but just normal Americans? Oh, you say, but they wouldn't have the slightest idea about how to run the government. They wouldn't make good decisions, they wouldn't know what to do. Really? So you think that the government can only be run by an elitist group of people? Hmmmmm, wouldn't that make them a part of the 1% you so despise? The very first presidents of our United States probably didn't "know" what they were doing. It was a lot of on the job experience. Yet, we grew as a nation and prospered and survived. Is it not time for a re-birth of that philosophy: That the government is a function of the people, by the people, and for the people? I believe that it is. But, as the saying goes, who is John Galt?

Learning to Fly

2008-04-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

What follows is, for me, a story of hope, of perseverance and of waiting on God's timing, which is always perfect. As you know life for Husband and I has been less than easy. We have been going through easily the most difficult time in our lives. Much of the difficulty we brought on ourselves through the choices that we made. However, much of it has been due to circumstances beyond our control. I lost my job over a year ago and haven't worked since. Husband lost his job last August and has been struggling to find permanent work. Bills are late, rent is late, my parent's are buying groceries for us. It is humbling.
KB is still living with us, and that has helped. Last July he cut his leg with a chain saw. It was as bad as it sounds. He cut some tendon in his knee, but thankfully not all the way through. Because of the accident he could not work for a while either.
At long last there is light through the darkness. KB is working again.
And for me there is not only light, there is a miracle. My long unemployment forced me to deal with my life. I considered many decisions I had made, I should make and what I am passionate about. I refused to take a job again that was just going to be a job. I wanted to love what I do, to effect people in a positive way. I decided I wanted to teach.
I took the CBEST and passed the first time. I arranged a visit with the principal of an outdoor school within walking distance from my house. This outdoor school is one of only three in California that uses credentialed teachers. I have secured a position as a substitute teacher at this school and began training two weeks ago. I also started school again. I will obtain my full teaching credential in February and I will have my Master's by June. This all happened in a span of two months, if you can believe it. I hardly can. I'm proud of myself for working hard and doing my part, but mostly I'm thankful to God for opening doors that I didn't even know existed.
Husband and I have been living here for almost three years. We were aware of the school, but I didn't really know anything about it. A family friend, who I have known since I was a very young child, told me that I should talk to the principal of the school because it would be perfect for me. She was right. Every week a new group of about 200 kids come to the school on buses. The group consists of mostly sixth graders from several different schools, although sometimes there are fifth and seventh graders. They come from the valley, sometime two hours away, to the mountains. They are taught sixth grade science concepts, but not in the classroom. They are taught in a hands-on approach. The school has a planetarium, an animal room with animals the children can hold, they hike every day. They are taught how to build shelters in the forest, about reptiles and amphibians, about Native American history, they pan for gold at the creek, it's nothing short of amazing. The kids stay all week, in cabins/dorms, away from their parents with kids they don't know. So they learn about socializing, making friends, being respectful. They all have to help in the kitchen at some point. I am beyond thrilled. I hike about a mile and a half through the forest to get to school. And it is perfect for me. I can't believe that not only do I get the opportunity to work at this school, but it's also my first teaching position. I am also humbled by this experience.
So things are looking up. Husband is still out of work. That's not really surprising though. He's a carpenter. The economy sucks. The housing market sucks. But, don't worry about a recession kids. Everything's under control, situation normal. So prayers are appreciated for him. He hates being out of work, most guys do. He feels useless and he's depressed.
I can't wait to begin writing about my school and life experiences. I can't wait to have things to write about again. As much as I love writing, I couldn't torture all of you with my depression, writing about what I watched on tv or how long it took to do laundry. That's just not fun to read.
For all of you who are experiencing difficulties, HANG IN THERE! Don't succumb to the darkness. Maintain some hope, no matter how small.

Raining and pouring

2007-06-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

Well, the good news is that our internet is turned back on. At least there's that.
The bad news is everything else going on in our lives. There's a light through the darkness though, and Husband and I are getting through the hard times.
Since I lost my job money has been very tight. We had our cable shut off for a while (our internet provider too), which thankfully is now back on. I'm sure many of you know how hard it is to get out of a financial hole. It sucks! It feels hopeless and defeating and embarrassing. But we're taking things a day at a time and we're becoming very resourceful at finding alternative methods for making money.
Husband, KB and I recently started cutting firewood to sell, and that is really starting to take off. Our only problem is getting enough wood. It's very hard work, but well worth it.
Husband's grandpa died two weeks ago. This was very hard for him as he was extremely close and fond of his grandpa. Roy was a cowboy, an actual cowboy. Up until two years ago (He died at 84), he still rode his horse regularly and tracked wild horses in the Ochocos mountains in Oregon. He was an amazing man who left an incredible legacy and led a full life. He will be missed terribly, and we are very thankful for the time we were given with him.
But, the death of someone and the money they leave behind tend to bring out the worst in people. Husband's dad is no exception. Unfortuately he has decided to dismiss the wishes of Roy and steal money from his own son. Husband's dad told him that he won't be dispursing the funds left to Husband in order to clear the "debt" that Husband owes him. The only debt I know of is that of Husband being raised by his parents. Husband had no debt to clear. So it's obvious that his dad is just being a prick and trying to punish him for not having the life that his dad wanted him to have. It's very sad because it's driving a huge wedge between them, and consequently me and Husband's parents. It's unthinkable to me that a parent would steal money from their own children. Especially considering the financial situation we're currently in.
However, Husband did inherit a truck and camper from his grandpa, which we are selling. So hopefully that will help some.
As for me, I have been exploring options for a new career. I am strongly considering becoming a teacher. The more I look into it, the more it excites me. So I'll keep you posted on that.
Our little puppy is now as big as our almost two year old dog, Ben. Samson is six months old now and so much fun. He's enormous though. He's going to be a giant dog. I love it!
I can't believe that it's been two months since I posted here last. Dealing with all the shit that's been going on has taken much of my time and energy. When you're struggling to keep the power and water on the last thing on your mind is writing. But things are getting better and hopefully now I'll have more time and energy to write more.
I hope things are better with all of you. I miss you guys!
The picture, if you can make it out, is my most recent injury. I burned my hand very badly while making dinner last week by spilling boiling hot gravy on my hand. Can you say accident prone? My middle finger got the worst of it. It's healing, slowly, with only mild infection. Should be a great scar for my collection!

Changes

2007-04-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

First let me say that I had no intention of taking so much time between my posts. I really appreciate those of you who are interested in what I write, and I'm sorry that I haven't posted in so long. I am actually just starting to wade through my emails and comments. I haven't even checked them in about a month.

This is the primary reason for my absence of late. This is our new puppy Samson. He is 10 weeks old and already a big toughy. His mom is a German Shepherd/Husky mix and his dad is a Rottweiler. We love him tremendously, and even Ben is starting to accept him into the family. As you know, puppies are a shit ton of work. Fortunately I have had the time to be with him because I don't have a job anymore.

I'm over it, the job thing. I really hated it and wanted to leave and appartently my boss decided to downsize. Whatever. It's very strange being out of a job for the first time in, gosh, at least 10 years. I'm not sure what I want to do, and it's kind of scary to be honest. That is another reason why I've been MIA. I decided to just take some time to consider my life, my career, my decisions, all of that heavy stuff. I have not been in the frame of mind to write like I usually do, or draw. Perhaps a bit of depression sunk in while I wasn't looking.

Anyway, I'm back. I feel good about myself, my life and I'm looking forward to the next chapter. I've got more of a housewife routine now, which makes it nice for Husband. He gets to come home to a clean house everyday, I make him lunch now, his clothes are always clean, it's nice. And there's the puppy training. Between the housework, walking the dogs, training Samson, cleaning up his shit and piss when he goes in the house, I remain pretty busy. Probably more busy than when I was at work. Just a different kind of busy.

I was working on a post that I intend to put up tomorrow, more back to normal. I really enjoy writing and my time with all of you, so I look forward to getting back into it.

In the meantime, I need to catch up on all of your lives, which I can't wait to do!

Us and Them

2007-03-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

There are few things in this world that make me as upset as the government overstepping it's boundaries. For the record, I am a registered Independent, but I also embrace many of the Libertarian philosophies.

In 1996 the people of California voted to legalize marijuana for medical purposes. Now, I'm not going to address the ridiculousness of marijuana being illegal in the first place. The history of marijuana prohibition is an unfortunate blemish in the annals of America. You can go here to read about how the United States government came to despise the evil weed. I also won't discuss the facts regarding marijuana's status as one of, if not the, largest cash crop in the US, supporting many families who would live in abject poverty otherwise. I obviously support the legalization, or in the very least decriminalization, of marijuana. But what I also support is a state's ability to govern itself, and that's really what this argument is about.

In 1999 Husband and I attended the Million Marijuana March in San Francisco. In addition to smoking bowls on the steps of the federal building, we saw Angel Raich speak. It was extremely moving. Yesterday the Supreme Court decided that Angel Raich would still be subject to criminal prosecution for using marijuana, at the advice of her doctor, to keep her alive. She suffers from many chronic problems, not the least of which is a brain tumor. Because she has no appetite and suffers from chronic nausea, the doctor suggested that she use marijuana to combat these symptoms. Other prescription drugs she tried hadn't worked. This case has been in the nation's highest courts for several years. The decision that terminally and chronically ill people can't use a drug that eases their suffering because the federal government arbitrarily decides it's bad is just wrong. WRONG!

What is equally as wrong is that the federal government has ultimate control over individual states. It makes no sense whatsoever that states can pass laws, by an overwhelming majority, and the federal government can override the decision of that state. It's not only presumptuous on the part of the feds, it is a gigantic waste of time and money.

It is wrong for the feds to presume that they know what's best for a state just because they're the federal government. The people who live in the the great states of our nation have a greater sense, hopefully, of what they want done in their state. Since the people are the ones who live and work and pay taxes and contribute to the economies of their state, they should have a good idea of the types of policies and legislation they want. How does the federal government, thousands of miles away with it's own more pressing world issues to deal with, going to extend its' oppressive thumb to squash the will of the people of California?

And if the case is that states can't pass laws without the approval of the feds, then the whole system needs to change. Why should states waste valuable resources on bills, and voting, and legislator's salaries, and the subsequent litigation that occurs when the feds challenge a law? If states need approval from the feds, shouldn't that be the first step in passing a law? Shouldn't there be some system where all potential laws from all states receive approval from the federal government before the people can vote on them?

Well no, I don't think it should work that way. I think in reality it does work that way and the federal government does it's damnedest to hide that fact. The federal government has grown to a point that it can no longer be controlled. It's unfortunate that there are people who wish the feds would do more and be more involved in our lives. I feel very confident that I can make reasonably good decisions for myself. And when I fuck up I don't want the federal government involved. That's the last thing I'd want. I think there are services that the feds provide that are good and necessary. But that begs the question, could those services be even better if they were run by private organizations?

I'm not offering solutions because I frankly don't have any. My ideal life involves about 20 acres deep into the mountains, being almost totally self-sufficient and living off the grid. This isn't the life for everyone. My point is that I desire to live far out of reach from the feds. I just know that our current system of government is not working. Period. And it's getting worse. I have ideas about how it could work better, namely leave state decision making to the states. Fuck federal funding! But, I'm not a politician or a lobbyist or an attorney, the three most evil careers one could have. I've said more than once that if we got rid of all the politicians, lobbyists, attorneys and tele-evangelists the world would be a much different, and better, place.

Back to pot. I'm not a pusher and I appreciate people who don't want to smoke weed. I will never try to convince anyone that they should or should not smoke. But marijuana is like alcohol in that, it can become a problem for some people. People can form a type of addiction to it, though there is still no definitive proof that marijuana is actually addictive. But it can suck people in to the point where they become useless stoners, just like they can become useless alcoholics. I'm both a stoner and alcoholic, but I'm certainly not useless. Uselessness is not a good quality.

Here ends my diatribe.

The Alaska Story - Part 7

2007-03-14T08:52:00.000-07:00

Alright friends, this story is almost over. Thanks to several Greyhounds last night I am suffering, again, from hangoverus majoris. When will I learn? Probably never. When also will I learn that it's much too easy to get into arguments with loved ones when you are slightly, or significantly, intoxicated? Hopefully soon. Anyway, here is your next installment.

The Last Leg

Usually calm and unruffled, Sue was clearly distraught about our circumstances. When we told her that Dusty, Annie and Nick had gone over Sugarloaf by themselves and quite unprepared she almost came unglued. While we were all worried about our friends, it hadn’t really occurred to us that their lives could actually be in danger. Nate, Husband and I became immediately sobered by the thought of our friends stuck on top of the mountain without so much as a stove to keep them warm.
We were headed towards the cars to leave a note for Dusty explaining that we were on our way to Chuck and Karen’s. Rather than picking us up, he should drive straight there and we’d give him the details later. As we drove down the highway we saw three sorry-looking backpackers walking along the road. We knew at once it was Dusty, Annie and Nick. We all yelled out-loud in excitement upon seeing them. Sue pulled into the parking lot of a nearby lodge and dropped Nate, Husband and I off before turning around to pick up Dusty, Annie and Nick.
Husband, Nate and I stood in the lobby of the grand lodge looking quite out of place and pitiful. I was soaked to the bone, my shoulder was now immobile, we’d just spent three days camping in the wilderness and looked every inch like that’s where we’d been. Husband walked around the lobby in search of a cigarette vendor. Nate and I examined the huge 3-D map of Alaska while I tried to control my shivering. A woman approached us and asked me if I was okay. I smiled and gave her my best “Yes, thank you”, not wanting to get into details with a complete stranger. Finally Husband came back, cigarettes in hand, and we adjourned outside to indulge. Nate even joined us.
We hadn’t even smoked half a cigarette when Dusty, Annie and Nick pulled into the parking lot with Sue following behind. When Dusty saw Nate with a cigarette in his hand he proclaimed, “It must be bad if Nate’s smoking.” We all laughed at that but decided to save the details for Chuck and Karen’s house. Once again we loaded ourselves into the vehicles and drove back to Waugaman Village to retrieve David and Mary. When we were all together again we headed to Chuck and Karen’s house. We were all exhausted and our minds were set on hot showers and cold beer so our conversation was relatively limited during the drive. Husband and I were riding with Sue and she continued to tell us of the dangers of Alaska. She said that probably the reason Dusty wanted to go over the mountain was to avoid another river crossing. Apparently that is one of the more dangerous things one can do in Alaska, and many backpackers don’t make it home after drowning in flooded rivers.
Chuck and Karen’s house is a secluded paradise. They built a log home on many acres outside of Cantwell from the ground up, mostly by themselves. They cut and stripped all of the logs they used to build it. While they were stripping the logs, Karen filleted her thigh with the stripping tool. It was very deep, requiring stitches. They live two hours from the nearest hospital though, and the situation was pretty dire. So Chuck got the gun they use to staple the dogs’ wounds closed and proceeded to staple Karen’s leg closed. When they did finally arrive at the hospital the doctor examined Karen’s leg and said the staples looked great and to come back when she needed them removed. That is a tough lady. Thankfully that setback didn’t keep them from finishing the house. They picked out special logs to serve as columns inside the living room and paid particular attention to details like that. The kitchen counters are made from formed and dyed concrete and are simply gorgeous.
As we pulled into the driveway we heard the sled dogs barking to greet us. At that time they had about 30 dogs that they actually used to pull sleds in the winter. Neither Chuck nor Karen was home from work yet, but we were instructed to make ourselves at home. Husband and I were getting out of the car as Annie and Nick pulled up behind us. It was the first time we’d talked to them since we separated. Husband asked Nick how their hike was. His answer was chillingly serious. “I seriously thought we were gonna die up there.” This was coming from a cop. We couldn’t wait to get inside and share our adventures.
We took several trips back and forth from the cars to the basement in order to unload everything. What food we had left in the bear canisters was now soaked and inedible. Practically everything we had was wet and dirty, so Sue started a load of laundry. Once everything was unpacked and in the basement we headed upstairs to collapse for a while. Nick and Husband volunteered to get beer while the rest of us rested or started helping Sue get dinner ready.
Chuck and Karen arrived home shortly after Husband and Nick got back with enough beer to ease our aching bodies for the night. They were eager to hear about our trip in full detail. While David and Mary showered the rest of us were happy to tell our tale of adventure. I was almost embarrassed, feeling like our experience was minor compared to what they deal with at the park. But as we talked about crossing the Healy Creek, Karen’s eyes widened in amazement. This was obviously something she didn’t hear about every day. One of the things I learned from Karen is that you should always unbuckle your pack before you cross a river. That way if you do need to get out of it you’ll actually be able to. She examined my shoulder to make sure it wasn’t dislocated and decided it was most likely a pulled muscle.
After a couple of beers, it was Husband's and my turn to shower. The bathroom in Chuck and Karen’s is something out of a spa. The bathroom itself is spacious and airy. There’s a huge window in the shower and double showerheads. Not just double, but the giant heads that feel like you’re in a rainstorm. Lucky for Husband and I, Chuck and Karen are tall and short respectively. Chuck is easily a foot taller than Karen, like Husband and I. They have the showerheads adjusted for their height, which suited us perfectly. As I undressed for the shower I noticed that I had a fairly serious injury on my lower leg. About six inches above my ankle, my shin was swollen to the size of a lemon. Right in the middle of the blue and purple swelling was a hole about the size of a ’22 bullet. It was black, as if it was trying to scab over. I hadn’t even noticed pain in my leg since my shoulder hurt so bad, but it looked disgusting. I have no idea to this day how it got there. I showered the best I could through excruciating pain and in the end I felt wonderful. It’s easy to appreciate a shower when you don’t get one for a few days.
By the time Husband and I were done dinner was ready. Sue brought all kinds of food with her: spaghetti, salad, bread, I think even brownies or cookies. She went all out to make us a great meal. And it was great! Husband was very interested in the house so he and Chuck talked a lot about that. The rest of the night was in that vein. Lots of talking, retelling our favorite parts of the story we just made, talking about the rest of the trip for Nate, Dusty, Annie, Nick, David and Mary. They’d be kayaking near glaciers the next day and were all excited for that. As the evening turned into night the party died out, people made their way to bed, and Sue eventually went home. Dusty, Nate, Husband and I stayed up late into the night talking about everything and nothing. Dusty was really concerned that we’d had a good time and didn’t think of him badly. He felt terribly responsible, for some reason, about what had happened. We assured him that we’d had a life-changing experience, an incredible one at that. We’d seen and done things we never dreamed we would. At some time late that night the four of us called it a night and retired to our respective beds. The others had an early day and a long drive to Fairbanks or wherever they were going. Husband and I would also have a long day, but we didn’t have to leave quite so early.
I slept a somewhat restless sleep with every move sending shooting pains to my shoulder. Nevertheless, the bed was heavenly, much better than the ground. When we awoke Chuck and Karen had already left for work. Dusty and the gang were packing up their gear and having a light breakfast. Chuck told Husband that we could hang out as long as we wanted as long as we put the dog in before we left. We helped the gang pack up and soon said goodbye. Husband and I watched them roll down the driveway and down the road until they disappeared. We went back inside and cleaned up what we could before taking some time to enjoy the house a bit. We lingered on the deck and looked out over the mountains in the distance. The birds sang to us and the trees whispered their goodbyes in the gentle breeze. We were sorry to leave and wanted to soak in the last bits of beauty that we could. Soon we would be back to the reality of California.
Annie and Nick rented a car to get to Dusty’s house, and now Husband and I were returning it in Anchorage. We packed up the mid-sized sedan after making sure Chuck and Karen’s house was in order and started the two and a half hour drive to Anchorage. Our flight wasn’t until midnight so we decided to walk around the city and have dinner until we had to leave for the airport. The only remarkable things about the drive were all of the fireworks stands along the highway. By stands I don’t mean your typical “Red Devil” stand that you see every Fourth of July. These are STANDS, easily as big as a small convenience store with every type of firework imaginable. One of my favorites had two giant blow-up gorillas on the roof, of which one was wearing a pink and yellow polka dot bikini. Classic.
Anchorage sits on a large bay with various shipping liners dotting the water. Husband and I found a place to park that was in close proximity to downtown and the beach. We walked towards the large wooded staircase that led down to the sand. In the middle of the wooden platform stood a statue of Capt. Cook and a plaque commemorating his discovery of Alaska.
After walking along the ocean we made our way towards the tourist zone of downtown Anchorage. We meandered through the stores, browsing the 1000’s of moose and grizzly bear related items. After picking up a couple of gifts for friends and the hand-drawn map of the Nenana River Gorge we were ready to eat. After passing up a couple of very crowded restaurants we found a brewpub, I think called the Blue Heron. We were seated at a window booth that looked out over the expansive bay. The food was great; likewise the beer, and we relaxed and enjoyed our last few hours in Alaska.
When time beckoned to us that it was time to drop off the car, Husband and I walked slowly back to our parking spot and headed to the rental car office. After an uneventful car return we waited in the parking lot for the shuttle to take us to the airport. What can I say about the airport? Flying at this point in time is at best marginally annoying and at worst, the biggest pain in your ass ever. Our check in was somewhere in between. We had the advantage of carrying only our backpacks, which we had to check and we were checked in, boarding passes in hand, in relatively good time. When we got up to the terminal we spotted a Cheers, yes in Alaska. Husband and I figured the best way to kill time before our flight would be to drink, so we did. We sat in the Cheers, watching fellow travelers and reveling in our memories of the last few days. Eventually we made our way to our gate and prepared to board the plane.
The red-eye flight back to Oakland made me never want to fly again. My favorite part about it was the screaming child who screamed at the top of its lungs throughout the entire flight. It was almost humorous that the cabin lights were off encouraging people to sleep, but no one would attempt to silence the screaming child. At long last we made our decent into Oakland where my parents would be waiting for us. We were exhausted from the flight and from the trip, and happy to be back home. Although Alaska had been one of the best experiences in either of our lives, there was something very comforting about being home.
We told my parents about our trip as they drove us back to Sacramento. They were both in disbelief upon hearing about the Healy Creek crossing, but thankful that we were home safely. It still amazes me when I think back on our trip. An unbreakable bond was formed between the eight of us. We experienced something that will unite us forever, if only in our memories. I will never forget our adventure in Alaska, and look forward to passing this story on to my own children someday. This was one of the best experiences of my life and it taught me more about myself than I expected it to. I learned that I possess a strength I didn't realize I had, and that I am capable of maintaining a rational mind through the most challenging circumstances. Among the lessons I learned there, these are probably the most important to me. Above everything, however, the relationship and the memories I share with my traveling companions are the most important.

An Anniversary, Of Sorts

2007-03-13T07:19:00.000-07:00

My grandma was born in Modesto, California in 1917. She was born on July 4. The last child born to a woman in her fifties, her mother hadn't even picked out names for the baby in her belly. The doctor named her Grace Liberty.

By the time my grandma came into the world her father had managed to gamble away most of the family's money. There were five children to support and the Depression was effecting folks on the west coast in the same way as the rest of the country. The house my grandma grew up in was a house in name only. It was actually a cook house. It was a one room shack with no sink, no bathroom, no running water. There was a bed and a stove. My grandma was wrapped in blankets and placed in the stove during the winter so she would stay warm. Rather than a bathroom, my grandma used an outhouse. During high school the bus drove right by the house to pick up my grandma for school. She would try to time her visits to the outhouse so that she wouldn't be coming out of it as the bus drove by.

My grandma had two dresses growing up. Her family was poor, that's how it was. She had two older sisters, so she was supplied with hand-me-downs throughout her life. But probably because she wanted her own clothes, she learned how to sew. Her first job was as a seamstress where she earned 33 1/3 cents an hour. She used the money to buy fabric to make clothes.

My grandma grew into an exquisitely beautiful woman. She was teased horribly when she was a child. There were people in her neighborhood who wouldn't allow their kids to play with her because she appeared to be "ethnic". Born with black hair, brown eyes and olive skin that would tan to a deep brown in the summer, she was often mistaken as Mexican. While we have no proof that anything untoward happened between my great-grandmother and someone other than her husband, there have always been rumors that my grandma was illegitimate. She never learned to see her beauty. Her strong, high cheekbones, her long slender fingers, soft, glowing skin, and a smile that would knock you over were all embarrassments to her. In her entire life I don't know that she ever had a positive thought about herself.

She was married at some point to my real grandfather, Morgan. (I say real because he died when my mom was 10, and my grandma remarried to the only grandpa I knew, Rocky.) They were not married in a church, there was no elaborate ceremony. They were married by a judge in the courthouse, she in a smart blue suit, he in his Air Force uniform. Morgan was a flight instructor in World War II, teaching young pilots to fly Mustang bombers. Because he was in the Air Force they moved around a lot, but always stayed in California. After the war was over, my grandma had her two children, my aunt then my mom. (If you're interested, here's the story of why my aunt doesn't talk to us anymore.) She had one miscarriage, a boy, between the two girls.

My grandma and I had a very special relationship. She would never say it aloud, but she favored me over her three other grandchildren. She loved us all equally and treated us all equally, this was very important to her. But we had a special connection, a bond that none of the other grand kids had with her. In my eyes she saw what she wanted to be. She saw nothing but love and awe and wonder and a woman who was perfect and could do no wrong. I loved my grandma more than any person on this earth.

As she got older I began to do things for her, just as a favor, not because she wasn't capable. I cleaned her house, ran errands for her, that sort of thing. I saw her every week, at least once sometimes more often. She came to almost every one of my soccer games for the nine years I played. And even after I went away to college we remained very close. We talked every Wednesday night.

A Wednesday night came when things went horribly wrong. I made my usual call to my grandma. See, how it worked was I would call her and then she would call me right back so I wouldn't have long distance charges. I had just moved into a new house with a new roommate after getting out of the miserable situation with The Bitches.

When my grandma picked up the phone she sounded distant, sick even. It took her an especially long time to call me back. When she finally did, her voice was frail and weak sounding. I asked her what was wrong and she said she was tired.

"So how is the new house?"

"It's good grandma. I like it. It's close to campus so I can walk to school."

"That's good sweetie. So you're happy. "

"Yeah grandma, I'm happy."

"Good sweetie. I love you very much."

"I love you too Grandma."

When we hung up the phone I called my mom. I told her that she needed to check on Grandma because she didn't sound right.

The next morning I was awakened by a too-early phone call from my dad. I could tell; I knew the second I heard his voice that my grandma was gone. She had died the night before.

I already had tickets to go home because Spring Break was starting in a couple of days. I packed my bag, called a taxi and prayed that people would leave me alone as I boarded the plane to fly home. I cried silently during the flight as I tried to emblazon every memory of my grandma in my brain.

That was the worst day of my life.

Some Drawings

2007-03-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

I started drawing seriously about a month ago. Something just clicked inside my brain and I was able to really see something in my head and put it on paper. These are just some drawings I've done in the past month. The tree is a tattoo I drew for Husband. The koi fish is the tattoo I'm going to get on my other hip. The chrysanthemum is the tattoo I'm going to get on my back. The dinosaurs are a drawing for KB's son. I'm very excited because I just realized I can use my web cam for a camera. So I'm going a bit picture crazy right now.

Saucerful of Secrets

2007-03-07T07:26:00.000-08:00

My first real, full-time job was at Starbucks. In fact, our crew opened the first Starbucks in Sacramento, California. I was a senior in high school, which would put the year at '93 and '94. I went to the open interview a day after I had my wisdom teeth removed, and my cheeks were very swollen. Despite my appearance I was hired on the spot by the district manager, Milissa. I drove a tan Jetta, which I loved, though that has nothing to do with anything. I ended up working at Starbucks through the summer until I went to college, and then worked at another store in Portland for a couple of years, and then transferred to another store back in Sacramento after I graduated from college.

Through my experiences at Starbucks I developed a theory that I believe is even more relevant in the year 2007. I believe that Starbucks is a microcosm of everything that is wrong with our society today. Of course, this assumes that I'm right about what's wrong with society, and I am.

I will spare you the details of how this java giant started and how it morphed into the corporate caffeine pusher it is today. If you're interested in that, just follow the link above. What I will point out is that when I quit in 1998 Starbucks was a completely different entity than when I was hired. When I was trained in '93 we were required to pay attention to every detail of the coffee making process. We had to time our shots so that they poured between 18 and 23 seconds. Any shorter or longer and they were thrown out. Coffee was measured precisely so that every pot was consistently delicious. We had only three sizes, three syrups, and only a handful of drinks. This made it possible to take the time necessary to provide patrons with an excellent cup of whatever they were drinking.

Fast forward to 1996 or 1997. New syrups are added. New drinks are created. Venti size is now offered. Eggnog is being used to make lattes for the love of God. It's no longer so important to pour perfect shots or keep the steaming wand clean or brew a new pot of coffee every hour. Now the only goal, our only focus was to keep the drinks coming out fast and keep the customers relatively satisfied in the process, all the while maintaining a "warm and comfortable atmosphere" where our customers will feel like they're in their living rooms and will want to linger and sip coffee all morning.

And this is when my theory began to piece itself together. Society in general has become increasingly disconnected with itself. People no longer greet each other with pleasantries when they pass each other on the street. We prefer to speak into tiny electronic boxes rather than strike up a conversation with a stranger, or talk with the person who's sitting at the same table. We are obsessed with information and we want it immediately. We require an infinite number of options for any given thing, whether it's upgrades for our vehicles or ringtones for our phones. And often we are unsatisfied with the available options and invent new ones so we can get exactly what we want. Because it's unacceptable that we should compromise even a little bit. We deserve exactly what we want, we're entitled to it. And our children are even more entitled to get exactly what they want because it's unacceptable that a child should experience one iota of disappointment. Our children are our future, after all. Do it for the children.

As I continued to make and serve increasingly more complicated drinks, and observe the crazed outbursts of angry customers who had been eternally traumatised by taking a sip from a drink that was somehow not up to their standards, I noticed distinct similarities between the life inside a Starbucks and the real world outside. And I realized that rather than stick with their guns, to not compromise what had skyrocketed Starbucks to the top of the coffee food chain, the corporate monkeys had decided they needed to provide the public with everything they demanded. They decided that in order to stay competitive and viable, they would let the public tell them how to run the show.

People want eggnog? Give it to them! People want blended drinks? Give it to them! People want a thousand syrups to choose from? Give it to them! People want faster service? Give it to them! People want things toasted? Give it to them! People want eggnog before Thanksgiving? Give it to them! People want stores to open earlier? Give it to them! Give the people what they want! By all means necessary!

And this is exactly what's wrong with society. People feel entitled to everything, all the time, exactly the way they want it, and the answer "no" is unacceptable. And corporations have decided that the people are right. Our government, in large part, has decided that the people are right. The same people who are eating themselves to death, allowing their children to turn into pasty, video game addicted lard asses, providing their children with growth hormones, feeding them on crap every day, going to the same job that they hate in a car they can't afford, coming home to the house they can barely pay the mortgage on, using the maxed out credit card to buy KFC for dinner, these same people are the driving force behind corporate decision making and advertising. And these people have decided that speed and choice are more important than quality and relationships.

Gone are the days when you can stand next to the bar and shoot the shit with your barista. Even if you go to the same 'Bux every day, you probably don't know the names of the people who serve you every day. Why would you? You're busy on that important call even while you're ordering your drink. When I first worked at Starbucks we were encouraged to make small talk with the patrons of our store. We were encouraged to tell them our names, to make french presses and pass around coffee samples to people standing in line, or sitting in the store. We were encouraged to mark out pastries as samples throughout the day, as a treat for people. Now, I'm betting, it's all about the bottom line. Things like wasting coffee and pastries is probably frowned upon these days.

So when you look around and wonder why your small, local coffee shop or deli is shutting down, remember the masses, the sheepish masses. Their lust for a Starbucks on every corner is largely to blame. (Hey, supply and demand. Starbucks wouldn't open a store on every corner unless they were making money. If 'Bux builds it, they will come.) Personally I haven't been back to a Starbucks since I quit. I make an effort to patronize my local, non-corporate stores whenever I can.

This has been made much easier by moving up to the mountains. Our town has one fast-food place, Taco Bell. I do not eat Taco Bell. So that's that. We have to go grocery shopping and I cook dinner and make lunches and make breakfast every day. Every store in our town, besides Safeway, is owned by someone we know, or who lives in our town. It's a different life than living in the city.

However, it is impossible to escape the sheep. They're here too. So far as yet though, no Starbucks.

The Alaska Story - Part 6

2007-03-06T07:09:00.000-08:00

Waugaman Village Part 2

Although I’d been in the water only a few minutes I’d floated at least 200 yards, probably further. As I sat on the bank I was aware of things going on around me. People were talking, the river was still thundering in my ears, drowning out sounds. I was very cold, as cold as I’ve ever been. For several minutes I just sat there and stared into space.
Husband stretched the elastic cuffs on my snowboarding shell. Water poured out from inside my sleeves. My backpack had somehow been removed from my back. I heard my brother tell me to get up and walk around. He was very concerned about hypothermia. I hadn’t given it a thought, but judging by my complexion it was apparently a legitimate concern. The color had washed out of my face and supposedly my lips had a purplish hue. There was an abandoned trailer near us and Husband ran inside to find anything that would help. He found nothing. David explained that although he and Mary had also fallen in, they were able to get out of the water quickly and without getting soaked. Miraculously this meant that Mary still had dry clothes in her pack, which she was bringing to me. As difficult as it was to walk, I did. My body revolted in every way imaginable. All of the muscles in my body were involuntarily twitching in a desperate attempt to warm me up. The human body is amazing that way. It will do almost anything to keep itself alive. I was so cold it was painful. I can’t describe how awful I felt at that moment. I was terribly embarrassed that this had happened and felt a deep responsibility, as if there were something I could have done to prevent it.
Everyone’s focus had quickly shifted to finding shelter and warmth. While Mary dressed me in warm clothes Husband, Nate and David walked back to the backpacks they’d dropped talked about what we should do. They decided that we should keep walking and find the closest phone to call Sue. She was planning on driving to Chuck and Karen’s in a few hours to make dinner for all of us, and we thought that given our present state she wouldn’t mind coming a couple of hours early. After getting the dry clothes on, Mary and I made our way to Husband, Nate and David. My usual chatty demeanor had changed significantly. I could hardly squeak out a word. I felt very detached from my body, as if I were watching events unfold without actually being part of them. As we neared the men I overheard them discussing how they would carry my pack. I immediately put that idea to rest. I refused to allow them to carry my pack, I wasn’t injured. Sure my shoulder was killing me, and I’d just floated down a creek/river, but other than that I wasn’t hurt. I still had the strength to carry my own pack and I didn’t want to further burden my companions. When I’d convinced everyone that I was still capable and able to hike we started out to find civilization.
We managed to find the road we’d driven on when we started the trip. There was an eerie silence hanging around us. Nobody knew what to say. We just walked through the rain and I think we were all trying to collect our thoughts and ourselves; trying to process what had just happened. Walking down the gravel road I watched the four people in front of me. I had no words to thank David for saving my life, which is what he did. I did say “Thank you, David. You just saved my life, I think,” just after he pulled me out of the water, but that didn’t seem adequate. I imagined what it must have been like for my husband and my brother to watch the scene unfold. As my brother later described, it was like watching something out of a horror movie. My feeling of detachment was still present. In fact I remember walking down the road, but I was watching myself. It was as if I was behind my own body watching things happen.
After a half hour, maybe 45 minutes, we arrived in at least a form of civilization. We were very close to a coal-powered electricity plant and an RV/motel campground. All of us remembered what Dusty said about people from Healy so we were very nervous about talking to anyone. Apparently Healy was not an especially friendly place, so we cautiously examined our options. In the end we decided to see if anyone was home at Waugaman Village, the RV/motel campground.
Nate and either Husband or David walked timidly to the front door and knocked. A man with dark hair, a mustache, blue shirt and trucker hat answered and immediately his eyes widened. Nate gave him the Reader’s Digest version of what we’d been through and asked to use the phone. The man, who’s name we never learned but we nicknamed him “Deer-in-the-headlights Man”, stepped back inside and closed the door without a word. Our hearts sank somewhat and we turned toward the power plant thinking that would be our next stop. As we started preparing ourselves to continue our journey the door opened and Deer-in-the-headlights Man told us to come inside.
We were led into the front room of what seemed to be a house. The front room clearly served as someone’s office, and there was a kitchen just off the front room. Deer-in-the-headlights Man occasionally walked up and down some stairs in the back, although that section of the house remained hidden from us. A large desk, scattered with papers of varying size, was centered in front of the front room window. At the desk sat Eds Waugaman, owner of Waugaman Village. Eds’s face beamed with a friendly smile as he inquired about our predicament. As we told him our story he chuckled often and the smile never left his face. As I studied our host I realized that he bore a striking resemblance to John Denver. So much so that I began to wonder if John Denver was actually dead. Perhaps he just needed to get away and flew all the way to Alaska. Whoever he was, Eds was quick to offer me a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, to warm up. He also made a pot of coffee and brought out some cookies. People in Healy aren’t so bad! Hanging on the walls throughout the office were hunting pictures in which Eds was ever-present. One depicted a dead grizzly with paws at least as big as my head. The pictures were fascinating to see. This was a true wilderness man, like Grizzly Adams, minus the bear.
As we were warming ourselves and I was finally beginning to feel normal, Eds regaled us with stories of his own. Apparently the surprise storm had stranded several dozen climbers on Denali and they had to be rescued by helicopter. And earlier, just that day, Eds had rescued his friend from the river rising to rapidly around the friend’s truck. What started as a hunting trip ended in a flooded truck and a grateful friend. Nate took this opportunity to get on the two-way radio and attempt to reach Dusty, Annie and Nick. After several attempts it was clear they were still out of range. Calling Sue was truly a last resort. We were sensitive to the fact that calling Sue would compromise Dusty’s ego, but we weren’t sure how long it would take them to pick us up. We couldn’t very well wait with Eds all afternoon, and no one wanted to keep hiking in the rain, so Nate called Sue. After explaining what happened and where we were, Sue said she was on her way.
We cleaned up our dirty cups and I folded my borrowed blanket. David and Mary were going to wait at Eds while Sue dropped Nate, Husband and I off at Chuck and Karen’s. We expressed our deepest thanks to Eds for taking in five soaking, tired travelers and waited for Sue outside. While I know I’ll probably never return to Waugaman Village I also know that I’ll never forget the kindness and the smile of Eds Waugaman. As Husband, Nate and I piled into Sue’s car I took one last look into the wilderness we’d endured and thanked God for my life.

Communication Breakdown

2007-03-05T07:15:00.000-08:00

Boy oh boy, where do I start? I've got so much to talk about I'm really struggling to organize my thoughts.

First, our power is back on after a couple of days without it. That's one of the fun things about living in the mountains. When it snows, you're pretty much guaranteed to be without power for a time. But, that's what God made generators and wood stoves for. And we're eternally thankful that he did. But, that's why the lack of posts the last few days. The generator is only big enough to run a few things, and the computer isn't one of them.

Before I get to pure, unadulterated shit-talking, I know you want to hear about all the snow we got, right? Thanks to the sun we've had for the last couple of days, a lot of the snow has already melted. But we got dumped on. It looked like someone was standing on the roof dumping buckets of snow on us, like in the movies. It was awesome. We probably got three or four feet basically overnight.

So yesterday we played outside all day. We built a jump and snowboarded a little bit. Our neighbor, the cutest little kid named Brandon, okay he's like 14, not so much a kid but adorable nevertheless, brought over his skate. I've never ridden one before and it's kind of hard to get used to because your feet come right out. But it's really fun once you get the hang of it. Husband and I were launching off of the jump, trying to do tricks and stuff. It was a bunch of fun. The only lame thing was that I took a major digger on Saturday night, like an idiot. We went to our neighbor's houses that night and while I was walking from one house to the other I tripped over my bootlaces and fell hard. And yes, I managed to cut my hand, knee and elbow all at one time. Genius! Like a little kid I trip over my shoelaces. So on one of my jumps I landed hard and opened up my hand wound. OUCH!

Okay, ready for the shit-talking to commence? Now, you're familiar with the ex-Roommate. Well, just 'cause I want to, I'm going to share some interesting information that I learned over the weekend. Just 'cause it's juicy, catty gossip. I just want to be up-front about what it is. Anyway, ex-Roommate's name is Jason. I really don't give a shit about his anonymity anymore and it's easier for me to type. After he moved out and recovered from his broken neck, apparently he met a girl online. The girl is a friend of Mama and lives, or lived until this weekend, in Oregon. Jason is moving this girl into his house, from Oregon, and apparently thinks she's "The One".

Well, this girl is a recovering crack (I think that's right, crack) addict, who gave birth to an actual crack baby. The baby is now three years old.

First, a tangent. And I realize that this may not be sensitive or politically correct or whatever. But what the fuck? Why is it that seemingly all women who are alcoholics, in bad relationships, drug addicts, on welfare, living in their cars the most fertile women on earth? These women have no problems at all getting pregnant and birthing an alarming number of children given their life circumstances. But people who would actually provide a stable and loving environment for children can't get pregnant. I just find so much wrong with this. Bitter? Perhaps. Perhaps I might be a little bitter.

From what we hear from Mama, these two lovebirds have spent the last week or so in an Oxycontin induced stupor. (Who's taking care of the child? Who knows.) They are snorting it, so that's good. They recently went to a show, Michael Franti & Spearhead, and took the child with them. Because they were all fucked up on Oxycontin and drinking also, this ex-crack addict girl fell, FELL, on her child and was escorted out of the venue.

I don't think I ever mentioned that Jason has a record. He was arrested for domestic violence a couple of years ago and is required to attend anger management classes. Now this always bothered me, especially when he lived with us. He never discussed the details of the incident, but I was always a bit worried to be alone with him towards the end. So much so that someone was always with me if I had to be in the house with Jason. Jason has already thrown a knife at this girl and almost hit her with it. He has shaken the child to the point of the girl calling the cops. But, I'm sure they're destined to have a healthy and strong and loving relationship. I'm sure everything is going to work out swimmingly.

I really don't care about Jason's life. But I do care about having stories to share. Reality is too good sometimes, you can't make this stuff up. And I feel it's my duty, nay obligation, to exploit the shortcomings and personal problems of others for the sake of entertainment. No, I don't feel bad about it.

I'm sure I left some things out that are no doubt of the highest importance. However, that' all my Monday brain can manage right now.

The Alaska Story - Part 5

2007-02-26T08:47:00.000-08:00

Okay, the flu has kicked my ass. It kicked my ass all weekend. It was a good weekend to be sick though, we got over a foot of snow. Good shit. Anyway, because my head hurts and I'm still fighting this stupid virus, I offer you two chapters of the story. For those of you who care, a brief summary. At this point, our group of eight has split up, three going one way, five going another. There is a very bad summer storm happening, and we're just trying to get home. This part of the story does include me almost dying. Very exciting stuff. As soon as my brain gets better I will have new things to discuss.

A Separate Journey

Nearly three hours had passed since Dusty, Annie and Nick started out over the mountain. Dense, low clouds wrapped around the mountaintops and ridgelines as if some great giant was exhaling the smoke from his pipe. Although we didn’t speak of it, we were all wondering how our companions were faring.

All of the relaxation I’d enjoyed the day before was paying off. I finally felt well rested, and even though it was still raining quite heavily, my spirits were high. Seemingly, we were all feeling rested and ready for the grueling hike out. Since we were all very wet at this point, we walked through the creek thinking we would make better time. We thought nothing of our saturated shoes, packs and clothes. We knew we had warm showers, warm beds and dry clothes waiting for us at Chuck and Karen’s, so we weren’t very concerned about our present condition. Moody creek had risen surprisingly fast since we’d hiked in. What had been several inches deep, maybe six, was now easily 12, and in fact, several feet in spots. The speed with which the water had risen was astounding. Overnight the terrain around us changed completely.
Bears were still a concern, of course, so we once again made excess noise to alert all the animals of our presence. We even had a sing-a-long, of sorts, humming through parts when we couldn’t remember the words. We were enjoying ourselves, actually having a good time in spite of the horrible, cold weather and the fact that we were soaking wet. For some reason, I had playing in my head the entire Disturbed album “Believe”. I wasn’t aware until that point that I knew the whole album, but I was grateful for the distraction. I’m sure I would have been happy with “Dancing Queen” at that point, anything to keep my mind off the cold, the weight of my pack or the long hike.

We passed the drainage we’d used to get to the creek bed and, from that point on, hadn’t a clue what was ahead of us. We kept following the creek thinking it was the easiest and straightest route to our final destination. At one point I looked down and noticed something that appeared to be leather. It was halfway in the water and I examined it further. To my dismay I was poking (with a stick) at a piece of skin from some poor animal. I called to my companions to look at my discovery. At that point I looked to my left. Lying on the rocky shore was the intact skeleton of what appeared to be a moose. It may have been a caribou, but I wasn’t about to figure it out. The guys did take a closer look, however. They found relatively fresh bear tracks in the sand near the skeleton. That startled me to the core. I suddenly realized how exposed we were, and I didn’t want to end up like the moose. Although there was probably little danger, the bones were picked clean, my instincts told me we shouldn’t linger too long.

We approached a bend in the creek that turned sharply to the left. (I don’t know what direction, east maybe?? I promise it won’t affect the outcome.) We could hear water rushing and pounding over rocks. It sounded very much like a small waterfall. We couldn’t see what lay around the bend, and we were all hopeful that we would be able to stay on our present course without having to backtrack and find another route.

Upon rounding the bend in the creek we were met by high, sheer rock walls, which were brilliantly layered with multi-colored bands. There was a series of small waterfalls we’d have to negotiate our way through, but at that moment we were all struck breathless by the incredible beauty of the box canyon. We stood for a few moments taking in our surroundings and planning our next move. The next bend in the canyon revealed a seemingly endless corridor of cliffs towering above us. We realized that, at some point, we would probably have to climb back up in order to arrive at our desired location. Getting past our current location was our first challenge, however. The canyon walls protruded sharply from the ground, giving us very little shore to walk along. Because the water was very deep in places we had to climb over boulders to move ahead. We were forced to remove our packs as we balanced precariously on a rocky ledge to avoid falling in the water below. We crossed to the other side of the creek, as it’s banks had widened offering more space to walk along the shore. We were working as a team, and that was very gratifying. We helped each other over boulders and through deep spots in the creek. For what seemed like the first time, the five of us had bonded. What could have been the worst situation imaginable was turning out to be the best day of the trip for Husband and I. We had no schedule, we could take as many breaks as needed or none at all, and we were genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

I looked up to see a slide of rocks on the hillside above me. Something on the ground below it caught my eye and I paused briefly for a closer look. It was one of the most beautiful and unique rocks I’d ever seen. It looked as if someone had broken it and then glued it back together. It was almost pure white and about the size of my hand. It had an almost translucent quality, as if you could almost see through it. I decided to carry a bit more weight and take it with me. I have a small rock collection and I couldn’t part with my new treasure, it would be the perfect addition. I removed my pack once again and secreted my rock in one of its’ many pockets.

* * *

Many miles upstream and over the mountains, our three comrades were struggling to find their way through the low clouds and light snowfall. Somewhere along the way, probably while fighting through willow stands, Dusty’s compass had fallen off. Now they had no way of knowing what direction to go, aside from their instincts. The clouds obscured the mountaintops rendering them useless for navigation. The topo map was all they had.

Their motivation was simple, to get down the mountain alive. What had started as a challenging test of strength and stamina had transformed into a very real life or death struggle. While they were all uninjured and relatively safe, one wrong step, a wrong turn, the simplest of errors could bring disaster. Disaster was not something they were prepared for. Nick pulled Dusty aside for a heart-to-heart. He was practically convinced that they were lost and wouldn't make it down alive. Between bear attacks, hypothermia concerns and finding a way down, Nick was fearful for everyone's life. He made Dusty promise him that he'd be able to find a way down. Dusty made this promise and was determined to fulfill it.

They moved forward, not stopping to consider the severity of their situation. Although they had traveled many miles, they had many more left to go. Annie had counted herself lucky that we’d seen no bears on our in-bound hike. She, more than anyone in the group, was terrified of bears. Shortly before finding the drainage they would use to drop down to the road, a lonely bear cub crossed their path. As cute as they are, cubs are very dangerous. Not the cub per say, but the presence of the mama bear that is surely close by. Carefully, quietly and quickly they moved as far away as possible from the little guy, hoping that mom would never notice them. Breathing much easier when they could no longer see the cub, they set out to find a way down.

* * *

As we walked along the rocky shore of the creek we came upon evidence of life. There on the rocks was a makeshift fire pit and the charcoal remains of a fire. It was almost startling to see that we weren’t alone. For three days we’d been completely isolated, seeing not even a plane or helicopter. I thought how nice a fire would have been at our camp. We hadn’t been allowed to start one for reasons I’m still not aware of. Seeing no signs of the makers of the fire, we continued on our journey.

We had periodically checked our topo map and it appeared that we were moving in the right direction. We could no longer walk through the creek. It had widened and deepened significantly and now there was a rocky shore to walk along comfortably. At the next bend, however, the shoreline ended and was replaced by cliffs. The creek was much too wide to cross, which meant our only option was to go up.

(An aside: What distinguishes a creek from a river? Because a body of water is called a creek on a map doesn’t necessarily make it a creek in reality. Prior to Alaska I’d always thought a creek was a small body of water, easily crossed and no more than maybe six to 12 inches deep. Sure, it might rise by a few feet during heavy rains, but it wouldn’t develop rapids or other attributes of a river. Alaska has the biggest creeks I’ve ever seen. So, sure, call it a creek, but to borrow a phrase from Willy S., a river by any other name . . . )

We scrambled up the side of the cliff mostly on all fours because of the incline. The hillside was rough, embedded with rocks and shale. It didn’t crumble away like the one Mary fell down, thankfully, so we were able to get up with only moderate effort. When we reached the top and checked the map, at first glace we thought we were lost. Nothing in our surroundings matched with the map. We studied the map and discussed for a few minutes what we should do. While we talked we nibbled on Cliff Bars to keep our energy up. After further study of the map, surprise and excitement washed over us. We were much closer than we thought! We just had a short hike through the forest and then down to Healy Creek, we’d have to cross the creek then we’d practically be to the road. I think we all felt a certain sense of pride knowing that we navigated ourselves through unfamiliar territory and made it out unscathed. What a sense of relief. In a few hours we’d be warming ourselves by a fire and relaxing with a cold beer. Of course, that assumed that our three mountaineering friends made it down safely.

A moose trail wound its’ way through the tall grass in the forest. Adopting this as our new hiking trail, we found ourselves back in dense woods. We could see the creek below us now, which we were using to navigate. If we could find our way around the big bend in the creek, we could start hiking down to our last crossing through Healy Creek.

I contemplated the forest around me. How many people had been here before us, I wondered. Although it was dense, this particular part of the woods wasn’t at all oppressive. Even in the rain-darkened sky, this part of the forest seemed lighter, almost magical. There were downed trees covered in thick green moss. In fact almost everything was covered in moss. The intensely green environment coupled with my exhaustion was causing me to have hallucinations of sorts. The old trees had eyes and faces, and they were following our every movement. It felt as though there was a very real possibility that the gnomes and elves were watching over us. The twisted and gnarled tree roots created the perfect homes for them, and I’m sure I heard them whispering amongst the flowers.

Finally we made it to the rocky creek bed of the Healy. We took our packs off to rest for a while. We’d made good time and were slightly ahead of schedule. We would have to wait for an unknown period of time for our other three party members to pick us up once we’d crossed the creek, so we weren’t exactly in a hurry. As we rubbed our aching shoulders and relaxed our legs, we began scouting for the best place to cross Healy Creek.

Waugaman Village – Part 1

We stood at the confluence of two creeks. The Moody, furious and stong, dumped gallon after gallon into the Healy. The water thundered and pounded in our ears as we surveyed our surroundings. It appeared that this creek crossing was going to be more difficult than it had been on the way in. The silty gray water had collected snow runoff as it descended from its’ source. Not only was the water now much colder than before, it was moving extremely fast.
Finding the best place to cross the Healy was proving to be much more difficult than we thought it would be. The worst-case scenario, someone falling in, was foremost in our minds as we discussed the pros and cons of different potential crossing areas. The creek we’d been able to cross so easily just days ago was now a fully developed river. It had risen many, many feet since we saw it last. It’s quite intimidating, looking down into a freezing cold, rapidly moving river and trying to figure out how to get across it. I don’t remember feeling scared at all, I’m not sure if anyone else did. I just remember wanting so badly to get across and find a place we could just sit and fire up our stove for warmth while we waited on Dusty, Annie and Nick.

* * *

While we struggled with the river crossing, Dusty, Annie and Nick were fighting their way through dense willow and trees. They’d found Dragonfly Drainage, which they were using to get to the main road, but it was close to impossible to hike through. For hours they climbed over, around and through a wall of vegetation all the while hiking down an incredibly steep incline. They had to grasp at branches just to keep themselves from sliding down the drainage or into trees. I’m sure that this was the worst part of the hike for them. Though they’d endured bear and snow and 12 hours of hiking, they were now at the final leg of the hike, and it was by far the most difficult. I imagine that some inner voice within them probably said, “Screw it. Let’s just bomb down and take our chances.” I know I’d be feeling that way. But they were careful and calculated. They had made it so far without injury or incident and they intended to keep it that way. So, step by step, with cautious feet, they inched their way down the drainage.

* * *

The five of us discussed, at length, where to cross the Healy. We were struggling with a couple of issues. There was a part of the creek that was moving more slowly than another. But that part was significantly wider than the very fast moving part. The place with the faster water was seemingly that way only because it was two creeks merging into one. There was plenty of shore on the other side all the way along the creek, so we that wasn’t an issue. Husband remembered Dusty’s advice to him hours before. We needed to find a place to cross with accessible shoreline so that if the worst did happen we’d have a good chance of escape. We tried to test the depth with a stick and it was about the same depth in all places we could reach. Ultimately we had to choose between the shorter distance with the faster water, and the longer distance with somewhat slower water. We decided on the shorter distance.

We strapped our packs back on and prepared for the last leg of our journey. Before stepping foot into the water, we formed a pack line. Husband went first, then me, then my brother Nate, then Mary and finally, David. Each person took a firm grasp of the pack in front of him or her. This helped us to remain steady, keep pace, and frankly, we were told to do it. Husband gave one of his trekking poles (actually his ski poles) to Mary and one to me. When everyone was ready, we began to cross Healy Creek.

It is almost impossible to describe what it felt like to cross the Healy. The water that had been up to my mid-calf was now almost to my waist. The force of the water tossed around the rocks under our feet like rubber balls. Finding and keeping a strong foothold was fruitless. With every other step I felt more rocks sliding from under my feet and I had the sensation of not even feeling my steps at all. We seemed to get a pattern going however and after much effort, Husband had almost reached the other side.

At that point I could almost hear, over the roar of the water, my brother yelling to us. I strained my head in his direction to hear what he was shouting. When I finally made out his words I was dumbstruck. He was telling us to stop. Apparently Mary needed to stop, in the middle of the river, when we were almost across. To this day I don’t know why it was imperative for her to stop at the moment. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I passed this information along to Husband, and with disgust and confusion, he stopped the pack line. We turned to see what Mary was doing and what she needed. At that moment Husband yelled out that he was losing his footing and was going to fall.

I watched my husband of only six months plummet into the icy water. Without thinking, instinctually, I grabbed the top bar of his pack. (Thank God for external frames.) I stood there, in the middle of the creek, the water pounding the backs of my thighs, praying that God would save my husband. I watched as his head bobbed up and down in the water and realized that I could kill him if I didn’t let go. I mustered all the strength I had and, apparently, threw him towards the shore. (I don’t remember the throwing, but my brother swears it’s true.) I didn’t even have time to see if he was safe because as soon as I let go of him, I lost my footing. I made a vain attempt to grab my brother’s hand before I was swept away by the rapidly rushing water.

The freezing cold water hit me like a block of ice. I was immediately chilled to the bone. As the creek carried me further downstream, I could see Husband getting out on the other side. He had made it! In silent horror I watched my husband and my brother, two of my favorite men on Earth get farther and farther away. Trying with every fiber of my being not to panic, I looked around me. On the opposite side of the creek there was a fallen tree halfway in the water. I was quickly coming to it and decided I should try to hold onto it to save myself. Just before the water could carry me past it, I reached out and grabbed the trunk. Rather than saving me, the force of the water pushed me underneath the surface and held me there. I knew I needed to let go or I would be suffocated. As I released my grip on the tree, the water began to spin me around. Husband was running down the shore as fast as his legs would allow. He was screaming to whoever would listen for help, at the same time yelling at me to get my pack off. I fumbled with the clasp on the front of my pack, my fingers now completely numb. They were so numb, in fact, that I couldn’t feel the clasp. I couldn’t figure out where to press to release it. Everything felt totally foreign with my frozen fingers. I yelled back to Husband that I couldn’t get it off. The river slowed down slightly, enough for Husband to catch up to me. I yelled to him again that I couldn’t get my pack off so he didn’t think I was just giving up. We made eye contact briefly and I just shook my head. I was absolutely helpless. I didn’t know what to do or how to remove myself from this situation. I wasn’t panicking yet, I wasn’t screaming or crying I was just helpless. Looking into Husband’s eyes, I tried to convey my unending love, my gratitude for him, my thanks for the few years we’d had together. I honestly didn’t know that I would make it out alive. The Healy Creek flows into the Nenana River, which was probably just a mile upstream. It would only take me a few minutes to reach it, provided I could survive that long.

The river kept swirling me around and I noticed in front of me water bottles floating on the surface. The force of the water had ripped from my pack everything that wasn’t strapped on. I had swallowed a fairly large amount of water, which caused me to begin burping. I found this very amusing and actually laughed aloud. Husband, although still running, had slowed down significantly. His legs just wouldn’t go any faster. To this day he can’t understand why his legs wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. Farther in the distance I saw David running toward me. As the river spun me around again, ahead of me I saw a set of very large rapids. They were the kind of rapids that looked as though large rocks were concealed below. But beyond that, I saw an eddy very close to shore. I knew that if I could get to the eddy, I would at least slow down significantly and perhaps be able to swim the rest of the way. However, if there were large rocks below the rapids, I would potentially be crushed before I could reach the eddy. I tensed my body and tucked it into a ball as well as I could, and prepared myself for sudden and horrible pain. The pain never came though. And sure enough, as I passed through the rapids I reached the eddy on the other side. The water slowed magnificently making it easier to control my movements. I heard Husband tell me again to take off my pack, but this request was quickly countered by David telling me to leave it on. I knew that David was making every effort to pull me out of the water. As I began to swim to shore I felt a sharp, ripping pain in my right shoulder. I couldn’t move my arm. The pain was excruciating. Thankfully I’d made it close enough to shore that I could finally touch the bottom. I used my feet to scoot myself as close to shore as possible and then felt David directly behind me. He grabbed once, then twice and made contact with the bar of my pack. He pulled me out of the water and onto the rocky shore. My body slumped as I realized that I was safe. Being in a certain amount of shock, I just sat there not knowing quite what to do. Husband ran to me and with tears in his eyes and fear in his voice asked if I was okay.

The Alaska Story - Part 4

2007-02-20T07:09:00.000-08:00

Winter in July

We awoke the next morning to find the rain still falling from the sky. To say the least, this was unexpected. Not only was it still raining, but the temperature had also dropped by about ten degrees. All of our equipment was soaking wet and we were fighting to keep ourselves dry. Annie and Nick were the only ones who were smart enough to pack rain gear, and they were now very thankful that they did.
As we gathered around our “kitchen” to make breakfast it was obvious that we had some decisions to make. The previous day’s hike had not gone as planned and we were now behind schedule. Dusty thought that we’d be much farther than we’d gotten and no one knew what lay ahead of us. At this point I was already thinking that we could just go back the way we came and follow the creek all the way out. Dusty was very determined to stick with the original plan of hiking over the ridgeline near Sugarloaf Mountain. I was concerned that if we stuck with the plan, we would find ourselves in another situation without water and many miles to hike still. I didn’t want to end up farther behind schedule than we already were, and frankly, I knew that hiking uphill through tundra again wouldn’t be any faster than it was before. I was very worried about slowing everyone down and essentially ruining the trip. We were in such a beautiful place and I found no shame in changing our route.
I should mention that Annie and Nick are super-athletes. They train for and run marathons for the pure enjoyment of it. Annie and her brother host a party in Washington State every year that involves Olympic-style competitions and relay races. True, it’s done while consuming large amounts of alcohol, but competition nevertheless. They enjoy a challenge and, in fact, almost welcome it.
In an effort to make a better decision about our next step Dusty, Annie and Nick volunteered to take a sort of scouting hike. They would hike along the route that Dusty had mapped and take inventory of what they found and whether it would be feasible for all eight of us to follow. The rest of us would stay behind and enjoy our surroundings.
The rain hadn’t let up by the time Dusty, Annie and Nick were preparing to leave. Carrying only what they needed for the day they started out from our tent area. We watched as they ascended the hillside, which was covered in willow and other dense vegetation. Our eyes tracked them as long as they could, and then, suddenly, they were swallowed by the emerald abyss.
While our comrades tried to find a way out, the rest of us tried to enjoy our time in the Alaskan wilderness. The rain was making our task very difficult however. Eventually we climbed into our respective tents and just tried to stay dry. One of the luxury items that Husband and I take backpacking with us is a Walkman with two small attachable speakers. We have a variety of cassette tapes that we also take, so we listened to Crosby, Stills and Nash and Grateful Dead while the rain pounded our tent. At some point we all fell asleep and took a much-needed rest.
When we woke up it was still raining. Our scouting group was not back yet even though it was nearing late afternoon. Husband and I climbed up to our eating area, had lunch and took pictures. We were ever vigilant for the rest of our group, scanning the ridgeline and hillsides for any sign of them. At last and around 4:00 pm Dusty, Annie and Nick emerged from the forest. They were tired and wet and didn’t seem particularly uplifted by what they’d seen.
As they told us about their journey I began to prepare dinner. I made some sort of pasta and Mary brought out her soggy vegetables, Swiss chard this time. The news was less than encouraging. There were no clear sources of water. They made pretty good time, but weren’t carrying their packs, which would be about ten pounds heavier after packing up wet gear. The hike out would be very long and we would be hiking most of the night and the next day. While I’m not afraid of challenging hikes, Husband and I were in Alaska on vacation and I wanted to enjoy myself as well. Packing up 70 pounds of wet gear and hiking for maybe 15 hours was not exactly my idea of a good time. During our discussion about what to do it became clear that I was not the only one with this opinion. When all was said and done Mary, David, Nate and I thought it would be best to go back the way we came. Dusty, Nick and Annie wanted to go over the ridge. The main concern for Dusty was that the cars were parked over the mountain and someone had to get them. Husband could’ve gone either way but decided it was best to stay with his wife. After all, we hadn’t even been married a year yet.
Reluctantly we decided to split up the group. Dusty was not at all thrilled with the idea, but that’s what we decided. Early in the morning at around 4:00 am Dusty, Annie and Nick would set out over the mountain. They would pack only what they needed, leaving many of their belongings for us to carry. Since they were going to have the longer hike, we offered to pack whatever they didn’t want to pack. A few hours later Mary, David, Nate, Husband and I would head out. We would hike to the spot we started from, or as close to it as possible, and wait for the other three, who would pick us up. We were carrying two-way radios so we would try to contact each other throughout the day.
Very soon after they ate, Dusty, Annie and Nick climbed into their tents for bed. They would have a long day and a very early morning. Although it was still early it was darker than it had been in several evenings thanks to the rain. The rest of us did what we could outside and tried to enjoy our remaining time. It’s pretty miserable to be wet, though, so we soon joined the super-hikers already in a deep slumber.
Husband heard Dusty, Annie and Nick getting ready to depart the next morning. He got up with them to help with whatever he could. Dusty had mentioned that the creeks and rivers would be higher due to the rain and snowmelt. He was especially concerned about us crossing Healy Creek, which was inevitable. As Husband helped Dusty filter the water they would need for the day’s hike, Dusty reviewed the river-crossing procedure with Husband once again. Find a good place to cross, with a strong, flat riverbank downstream. That way if someone should fall in they can easily get out on the other side. Form a pack line with each person holding onto the pack in front of them. Walk slowly but steadily through the water. Husband promised him we’d be careful and assured him that everything would be fine.
By the time they were packed up and ready to leave, I was awake also. Husband and I said goodbye to our trekkers, our stomachs tingling with concern and anticipation. They were packed very lightly, but were not taking even a tent or stove. The weather hadn’t changed, if anything the rain was stronger now. We watched them leave again, praying that they would be protected and safe until they reached the cars.
Husband and I began to pack up our things and take stock of the extra items we’d have to carry. We now had charge of the three BRC’s, Nick and Annie’s tent, Dusty’s tent, and various other items like their stoves. Soon everyone was awake so we took a breakfast break and discussed our strategy. We did have a map, which we were hopeful would help navigate us through areas we hadn’t hiked in before. Even though we were going back the way we came, we were not ascending the same drainage we came down so there would be many places we were unfamiliar with. Eventually we got everything packed up. Due to the rain and extra gear Husband and Nate were carrying packs that weighed close to 100 pounds. Mine was also heavier, though not by much. We took one last long look at what had been our home for three days and made our way down to the creek. After filling our water bottles we were on our way. I felt so strange, at once so excited, exploring a strange land with no guide, relying only on our experience and a map. On the other hand I felt scared a bit. We were in a strange place with dangerous animals and no guide with only our experience and a map. I did feel confident that whatever happened, we would make it out of the wilderness.

The Alaska Story - Part 3

2007-02-14T07:49:00.000-08:00

In Search of Sugarloaf - continued
From our vantage point high on the ridge, we could see for miles. Dusty pointed out Mt. Dora, which seemed quite distant still. Sugarloaf was practically parallel to Mt. Dora. We'd been hiking for several hours, and because the day was so warm we'd been drinking more water than anticipated.
Dusty began to survey the ridgeline beyond our rest area. The plan was to hike along it to, and then beyond, Sugarloaf Mountain. What the topo maps didn't show clearly was that the ridgeline was bisected by a drainage. Drainages are like streams that carry snow runoff from the mountains. They are very common in Alaska and are typically covered by dense vegetation. They carve deep clefts in the hillsides, which are very steep and difficult to negotiate.
Thus, we came to our first hurdle. Do we make our way down the drainage and try to find a way up the other side? But we're short on water and need to find a water source. The drainage would have water to filter, but would we be able to find a way back up the other side? If we could, how long would it take? We peered down the hillside to the approximate place the drainage emptied into the creek on the valley floor. There was plenty of water there, and we could follow the creek all the way to Sugarloaf. It was a straight shot on level ground, and we'd probably make better time. But hiking in a creek bed is probably the most dangerous place to hike due to the bears. After much discussion and consideration we decided to follow the drainage down to the creek bed and hike as far as we could.
We continued to follow the ridgeline until we were forced down towards the drainage. The hillside that led us down to the oasis-like drainage was covered in loose shale-type rocks. With each step rocks would slide down the hill below us making the hike much more precarious.
All at once we heard a yell and the sound of rocks falling down the hill. We turned to see Mary sliding on her backside all the way down the hill. David was following behind as close as he could without falling himself. When the rest of us finally reached Mary, David was carefully examining her elbow and knee, both bleeding. While she was, fortunately, not seriously injured she was shaken and bleeding. While David tended to Mary's wounds, the rest of us filled our water bottles, took pictures and rested briefly.
When Mary was ready we started our descent to the creek bed. The drainage was full of water and large rocks that were covered in moss. The trees grew so closely together that they created a corridor of lush emerald walls and a leafy canopy. Although we tried to walk along the sides of the drainage and on top of the rocks, this proved very difficult. Soon most of us were tromping through the water with reckless abandon, thinking nothing of wet socks and shoes.
After a steep and steady descent we finally reached the bottom and set foot on the creek bed of Moody Creek. From high above the creek had looked like nothing but a tiny trickle of water. It was not as small as it appeared, however. On either side of it were banks of river rocks or vegetation. The rocks were much easier to walk in than tundra. I felt a second wind, rejuvenation, and my legs began to carry me with a renewed vigor.
Of course we were all concerned about bears. Everyone was much more alert, and on the lookout for anything dangerous. After some time we had hiked as far up the creek as we could. Ahead of us, covering the creek was more dense vegetation that was impassable. Fortunately we had also reached the base, more or less, of Sugarloaf. That meant we could finally stop for the night. After more than eight hours of hiking we were all ready for that.
As I've said before, bear safety is priority one. This extends to the manner in which a camp is set up. Campers are required to use a triangular pattern where sleeping, cooking and food storage are all 100 feet from each other. (I think I remember that right, it couldn't be yards.) So before we set up camp we had to figure out where to sleep, eat and store our food. The spot we ended up in was not ideal. There was a large flat area covered in tundra where we decided to set our tents up. To one side of this area was a mountainside; to the other was the creek. We scouted a spot on the mountainside where we could cook. Because it was covered in round, volcanic rocks it was challenging to hike up and down, but it worked. The food was stored close to the creek.
After we set up camp everyone was ready for food. I had been elected camp chef, because I'm a good cook and I've had a lot of experience as a camp cook. If I remember right I made cheesy black beans and rice with tortillas (wrapped up burrito-style if you prefer). Food almost always tastes better when you're camping. I think Mary even broke out some of her vegetables, now crushed and soggy.
While we were preparing dinner, the first few drops of rain started to fall. None of us were that concerned as Dusty had told us about the occasional summer showers. Soon after we ate, our long day started to catch up with us. Our sleeping bags began calling to us even though it was still light outside. Of course it wouldn't get much darker so we called it a day and climbed into our tents. The rain, now heavier, sang us to sleep with a steady and wordless lullaby.

The Alaska Story - Part 2

2007-02-09T20:01:00.000-08:00

Denali
Alaska is a land of indescribable beauty. The mountains rip through the tundra in spectacular fashion climbing into the sky and standing as giant monoliths. During our drive to Cantwell we stopped at a viewing area already crowded with people. Because Denali, or Mt. McKinley if you prefer, creates its own weather it is often impossible to see the peak. If I remember correctly the peak is visible about 20f the time. We were blessed to arrive when the sky was clear and there were no clouds around the peak so we had a tremendous view of the entire mountain. It is a sight to behold.
Denali National Park encompasses over six million acres of wilderness. It is unlike any state or national park I've been to. The only permissible form of transportation is the bus system operated by the park. As with other forms of mass transit, you purchase a pass that allows you to hop on and off the buses wherever you choose. The purpose of the buses is not only for transportation, however. The drivers are ever vigilant, and encourage this from the passengers, looking for wildlife throughout the entire trip. When either the driver or a passenger spots wildlife, the bus stops for photo opportunities as well as some education.
Denali National Park also houses one of the oldest and still active search and rescue dog programs in the country. The park keeps about 30 sled dogs trained for wilderness search and rescue. Coincidentally Dusty is friends with one of the rangers who work with the dogs. Karen and her husband Chuck both work at Denali National Park and were kind enough to open their home for eight backpackers to sleep in after we completed our trek. Karen works with the sled dogs and, during the summer months, demonstrates the dogs' abilities with a modified sled on a dirt track.
We departed on an early bus, at this time only six of us. Nick and Annie were arriving later that day. Our tour of the park was going to be an all day affair and all of us were thrilled with the prospect of seeing grizzly bears. Sure enough, about 45 minutes into the trip the bus driver stopped suddenly and strongly suggested that everyone be very quiet. As the entire bus looked toward the left there was a collective "Oooo, ahhhh" as we saw the mother grizzly with her two cubs lumbering up the hillside. We were perhaps 40 yards away from these magnificent creatures, and the clicks from the cameras were seemingly never-ending. When our grizzly friends had traveled beyond our sight the bus once again rumbled down the dirt road. We would frequently stop and start to take advantage of another wildlife viewing or incredible vista.
The six of us took the bus to the last stop in the park. Here we walked for a short distance to a beautiful spot to eat lunch. After we finished eating we hiked for a while, climbing into the foothills that were bursting with small yellow wildflowers. At the top of a hill we sat on the spongy, soft tundra and watched the sky turn from a soft blue to steely gray. They say in Alaska, "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes." Though the day began with sun, the sky quickly filled with clouds obscuring the mighty Denali.
When we were adequately rested we hiked back to the bus stop to begin the trip back. I saw so many wonderful things; it's hard to pick favorites. Among the most incredible was the pack of wolves on the hillside. It appeared that they had just killed a caribou and one large, black wolf remained at the carcass, hungrily snapping up his prize. Wolves are fairly uncommon to see in the park so we felt extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity. We also saw the usual suspects, Dall sheep, caribou, various ground-dwelling creatures, but no moose. I was disappointed because those are supposed to be the easiest animals to see. Aside from that, however, the tour was amazing. What an introduction to the wilderness we would soon be hiking through!
We arrived back at Dusty's house in Cantwell in the late afternoon. Before dinner we went to the trailer park/campground to shower. This was apparently more practical than all six of us trying to take turns in the house shower. We all seemed to linger a bit, knowing that it would be our last shower for a few days. Nick and Annie were arriving shortly and the next morning we were departing for the trek to nowhere.

In Search of Sugarloaf
It was late afternoon by the time we got back to the house, and soon after, Nick and Annie arrived. After the three-hour drive from Anchorage, and after our all-day excursion, all of us were ready for food and adult beverages. The excitement and anticipation of our trek into the wilderness of Alaska had been building all day. Now that the entire party was assembled, everything somehow felt more real. We were really going to do this, huh? We were eight people packing into the middle of nowhere, with the threat of grizzly attacks, with only compasses and topo maps and no trails to follow, to have fun.
We asked Dusty about the route we'd be taking and where we would end up; you know, the logistics. Dusty had reviewed the maps and had more or less chosen a route, but there was clearly no set "plan". The plan was not to be killed by a bear. Apparently that is the biggest concern while hiking in Alaska. It is not something that Husband and I have ever worried about while backpacking. Our one and only encounter with dangerous wild animals was in the form of a hungry raccoon ripping through our tent to steal trail mix.
In time, we were briefed on all the safety concerns as well as the specifics of the hike. Dusty figured we'd be hiking eight miles per day from one point to another. We were going to take three cars total. One would be left in a parking lot near to the place we would eventually hike to. One would be left at the place we were dropped off for Chuck to pick up later. Sue would drive some of us to the drop off point in the third. The goal of our trek was to hike to a ridgeline and follow it until we were very close to Sugarloaf Mountain. Because Mt. Dora’s peak was more visible than Sugarloaf, we would use it to navigate. We would eventually cross over the ridge and follow a drainage down to the highway and to the parking lot where the cars (both of them, thanks to Chuck) would be parked.
Excited about our trip and confident that we had a great plan, we tried to get to sleep early. We'd have to be up early to pack up our gear and find a place to start hiking. When morning came we gathered our things and drove to the elementary school close to Dusty's house. Sue worked at the school, which gave us access to the gym where we'd have room to spread things out and pack them up. The most challenging aspect of packing was trying to fit all the food in the BRC's (or BPC if you prefer) and still leave room in them for anything with a smell. Those stupid vegetables weren't helping either. ("But won't it be great to have fresh veggies with dinner?" My answer, "NO! We're backpacking for the love of God!") Eventually and by some miracle we did get everything packed. As usual, for Husband and I anyway, our packs were nowhere near light. Husband was probably carrying 70 pounds; I was carrying maybe 55, not too bad. With that, we were on our way.
After dropping off one of the cars we drove through the town of Healy and pulled down a gravel road. Dusty was looking for a good place to begin our hike. After driving up, turning around and driving back, he finally found what he was looking for. It was an opening in the foliage with not too steep of a drop into the forest. We said our goodbyes to Sue and started on our way. The sun was out and it was a gorgeous day. It seemed as though it was going to be a great few days.
In Alaska there are very few hiking trails. Even in Denali National Park visitors are encouraged to just hike through the brush. Alaskans view trails as an unnecessary impact on the environment. You're encouraged to hike in a more spread-out fashion, definitely not walking in the typical pack line. After leaving the road and making our way through the small swath of forest we came to an open area covered in gravel. There was a river (or creek if you're from Alaska) called Healy Creek (I still say river) ahead of us and train tracks behind us. Our first challenge was to cross the river. It turned out to be just knee deep on me and I jokingly said "Too easy drill sergeant!" upon crossing it. Nick thought that was pretty funny, I think especially since he is a cop in Concord. We took the opportunity to filter water at Healy Creek since we didn't know when our next chance would be. Husband and I, and Dusty had water filters, but even with two good ones it takes a long time to filter water for eight.
I will say right up front that the hike was much more difficult than I anticipated. Although I hiked as fast as I could, I'm afraid there were times when I was the weakest link. After crossing the river we started our ascent up to the ridge.
Almost every time one of us looked down we saw the evidence of bears. Their paw prints were everywhere. This was both thrilling and terrifying. On the one hand we were in Alaska to see wildlife in a wilderness setting. On the other, we didn't want to die. Remembering the safety tips we'd learned, we made a lot of noise throughout our journey.
The hike up the hill, the very steep hill, was grueling. Keep in mind that you're not walking on dirt or gravel or anything that you're used to hiking on. Tundra was the bane of my existence on that hill. I kept half-hoping that it would swallow me up and deliver me from my misery. Walking through tundra is a lot like walking through snow. It is the texture and feel of moss, though much thicker. And below the tundra are holes that you just sink into. I stand four feet, eleven inches. While negotiating my way up the hill I was sinking up to my knees in some places, grabbing onto whatever branch or brush I could find to pull myself out and keep going. Being the shortest of our group I got the feeling that I was the only one struggling with this particular challenge.
Tundra eventually made way to more solid ground the higher we climbed. After a few hours we stood on top of the ridge, feeling the endorphins pumping through our bodies, and the emptiness in our stomachs. It was time for lunch. We sat on the hillside, the sun smiling upon us, and ate slowly. We were enjoying not only each other's company, but also the complete isolation we were in. There was nothing and no one around for miles. The electric lines we'd passed hours ago were barely visible from our perch on the mountainside. We heard no cars, no people, nothing but the wind rustling in the trees and the birds calling to the wilderness.

The Alaska Story - Part 1

2007-02-08T12:11:00.000-08:00

After much thought I have decided to post the Alaska story. It is long and so will be posted in parts. I don't think that I'll post all the parts right after another, but rather will spread it out over the next several weeks so I can still post other stuff. This version of the story has already gone through many revisions, and I may decide to make more as I post. But I hope you enjoy reading it. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Here goes!

The Beginning

My brother attended a university in the East Bay area of California. One of his roommates for practically the entire time he lived in the East Bay was Dusty. Dusty originally hails from Alaska. He is so proud of his state and jumps at the chance to talk about it or show pictures. He comes from the small town of Cantwell, very close to Denali National Park. Sometime in late 2002 he approached several of his friends about planning a backpacking and kayaking trip to his home state. My husband and I being outdoor enthusiasts needed no persuasion. We were in from the beginning. In addition to Husband and I there were my brother Nate, Nick and Annie, Mary and David and Dusty, of course. He would serve as our guide during the backpacking portion (the only part Husband and I could go for).
It was difficult for all eight of us to meet prior to our departure. A few of us were able to meet and strategize here and there, but it wouldn't be until we arrived in Anchorage that we met our traveling companions. Dusty had "hand-picked" a select group of people whom he thought would both enjoy the trip and possessed the physical and emotional strength necessary for strenuous hiking. The only thing we really knew was that we would be backpacking for three to four days somewhere in Alaska.

The Arrival

Husband and I arrived in Anchorage close to midnight in the beginning of July. The first obvious sign that we were in Alaska was that it was still light at midnight. Dusty, Nate, David and Mary were already settled in to the hotel room we were sharing. After a late meal at the all night diner we got a few hours of sleep before driving to Cantwell. Annie and Nick were meeting us two days later at Dusty's house.
About halfway through our drive we stopped at a "super store" to buy our food and additional supplies. We had already stopped at the REI in Anchorage, but it seems like there's always something you forgot. My first twinge of concern and uncertainty occurred in the super store.
Because Husband and I are avid backpackers, we've learned through lots of trial and error what works and what doesn't. We've also learned what our limits are in regard to the weight of our packs in relation to the difficulty and length of our hike. If we're only going a short distance to basically camp for the weekend, we've been known to pack in ridiculous amounts of liquid refreshment because we can.
In this situation we knew we had limited amounts of space for food because everything for all eight of us had to fit into three bear proof/resistant canisters. Let's just say that some of us knew what that meant and others didn't. The end result is that we walked out of the store with three days worth of vegetables, including Swiss Chard, which were intended to come with us into the wilderness. To say I was confused is an understatement.
At long last we arrived in Cantwell and pulled into the gravel driveway of Dusty's childhood home. His parents own a tourism business and run it out of the house. The sun was still lingering in the late afternoon sky, lighting up the cottonwood puffs dancing through the air. I remember feeling an intense peace and relaxation being so far away from the worries of my real life. We were welcomed into the adorable log home and each found our sleeping quarters. Before dinner we decided to take a stroll around the property.
* * *
Dusty's childhood home is situated very near a river. The gravel road that passes his house leads down to a walking trail along the river. In mid-July the air was heavy with the fragrance of Fireweed, a bright pink, sweet-smelling and beautiful flower. As I walked down the path I tried to take it all in; the smells, the sounds, the absolute serenity that I felt.
Dusty is a two-time Jr. Iditarod champion. He still has two of the dogs from his team, Jazzy and Irma. The dogs accompanied us on our walk, excited to see their long-lost master again. My internal bliss was suddenly interrupted when I heard Dusty yelling at the dogs.
"Dammit Jazzy!!" He then called out to the rest of us, "Porcupine! The dogs got into a porcupine. I've gotta go back."
Dusty started back toward the house and, of course, the rest of us followed. I'd never seen the result of a dog-porcupine encounter and I don't think I'd like to again. It was something out of a horror show. Jazzy's entire mouth and most of her face was unrecognizable. There were quills pointing out from seemingly every orifice including underneath her tongue. Husband and Nate helped Dusty and Sue (Dusty's mom) pull the quills from the dogs for over an hour. Although Jazzy got the worst of it, Irma suffered some minor damage as well. After carefully and thoroughly removing all the quills we resumed our walk to the river. This was our first clue that we should expect the unexpected.
Dusty's parents have lived in Alaska for many years. When Dusty was born, the log home he lived in didn't yet have electricity or indoor plumbing. Gary and Sue have since expanded on their one-room cabin and they added electricity when Dusty was eleven. They've had indoor plumbing for a long time now, but the outhouse is still used with some frequency. The composting toilet inside the house wouldn't handle the capacity of eight people so we all got to have the outhouse experience. Let me just say, if you ever have occasion to use an outhouse do not lock the door from the inside. Apparently you're meant to keep the door open so people know it's occupied. And almost locking yourself inside an outhouse is really no fun, trust me.We barbequed dinner that night and stayed outside talking and drinking until we had to force ourselves to bed. It's so easy to stay awake since it's light for so long. But we had to be up early the next day for our adventure in Denali National Park.

Something Funny

2007-02-08T07:51:00.000-08:00

Until my brain wakes up and I can think of something fascinating to share, here is a hillarious bit of something fun. I found it on eBaum's World (http://www.embaumsworld.com). Hope you laugh as hard as I did.

TO: All Employees
RE: Swearing at work

It has been brought to management's attention that some individualsthroughout the company have been using foul language during the courseof normal conversation with their co-workers.Due to complaints received from some employees who may be easilyoffended, this type of language will no longer be tolerated.We do, however, realize the critical importance of being able toaccurately express your feelings when communicating with co-workers.Therefore, a list of 18 New and Innovative "TRY SAYING" phrases havebeen provided so that proper exchange of ideas and information cancontinue in an effective manner.

1) TRY SAYING: I think you could use more training.
INSTEAD OF: You don't know what the f___ you're doing.

2) TRY SAYING: She's an aggressive go-getter.
INSTEAD OF: She's a f___ing bit__.

3) TRY SAYING: Perhaps I can work late.
INSTEAD OF: And when the f___ do you expect me to do this?

4) TRY SAYING: I'm certain that isn't feasible.
INSTEAD OF: No f___ing way.

5) TRY SAYING: Really?
INSTEAD OF: You've got to be sh___ing me!

6) TRY SAYING: Perhaps you should check with...
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a sh__.

7) TRY SAYING: I wasn't involved in the project.
INSTEAD OF: It's not my f___ing problem.

8) TRY SAYING: That's interesting.
INSTEAD OF: What the f___?

9) TRY SAYING: I'm not sure this can be implemented.
INSTEAD OF: This sh__ won't work.

10) TRY SAYING: I'll try to schedule that.
INSTEAD OF: Why the f___ didn't you tell me sooner?

11) TRY SAYING: He's not familiar with the issues.
INSTEAD OF: He's got his head up his a__.

12) TRY SAYING: Excuse me, sir?
INSTEAD OF: Eat sh__ and die.

13) TRY SAYING: So you weren't happy with it?
INSTEAD OF: Kiss my a__.

14) TRY SAYING: I'm a bit overloaded at the moment.
INSTEAD OF: F__ it, I'm on salary.

15) TRY SAYING: I don't think you understand.
INSTEAD OF: Shove it up your a__.

16) TRY SAYING: I love a challenge.
INSTEAD OF: This f___ing job sucks.

17) TRY SAYING: You want me to take care of that?
INSTEAD OF: Who the f___ died and made you boss?

18) TRY SAYING: He's somewhat insensitive.
INSTEAD OF: He's a pr_ck.

In It For The Money?

2007-02-07T06:54:00.000-08:00

I've been reading, as per usual, my daily gamut of blogs today. I was directed to an article via Opinionista's blog that discusses anonymity amongst bloggers. One of the quotes from the still anonymous Waiterrant.net was that every blogger is in it for the money, or at least the pursuit of it.

This puzzles me. While I've gathered that many bloggers are also aspiring writers, some in the midst of book deals and chapter completion, is this really true of all of them? This startling revelation has caused me to question why I post here, why I started writing this blog.

In truth I find writing to be very therapeutic. I have thoughts, ideas, rants, stories to get out of my head, and writing helps me to do that. My head will sometimes become very cluttered with both the mundane and serious crap of daily life. I need an outlet for all of that crap. I didn't start writing this because I thought anyone would actually read it. Much like my tattoos, it's a very personal expression.

So the fact that anyone at all reads this is fascinating to me. I'm certainly glad to entertain people with my stories and my life. I hope that you gain some sense of personal satisfaction that you aren't living it. Just kidding, it's not bad at all. Some of my posts I would consider to be boring and mediocre writing at best. Maybe I should begin to put more effort into my writing. Start drafts and have them proofread prior to publishing them. Maybe then I would earn the respect and admiration of the blogging community.

WTF?! I couldn't imagine doing this for someone other than myself. Much like singing, it's something I truly enjoy doing. To do it for the purposes of compensation would destroy my love of it. It warms my heart to think that someone enjoys reading what I post here. Just as it warms my heart that people enjoy hearing me sing. That is compensation enough for me. So please count me out of "every" blogger, I'm an entity unto myself and I don't do this for the money.

Drill Me

2007-02-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

I got my first tattoo when I turned 18. It was, and still is, one of the most exciting days of my life. Of course now my wedding is up there too, but there's something about getting your first that you never forget. I've since gotten two more and am working on my next one.

My first tattoo is small, about the size of a quarter, on my lower abdomen. It is a koi that I drew, the inspiration being the cover of my favorite book when I was a child.

Let me preface this post by saying that I believe tattoos to be extremely personal art pieces. And while I may someday get arm or leg tats, my tattoos are for me and no one else. If no one ever sees them, that's fine with me. I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone. And on the flip side, if I'm not "hard" enough because I don't have highly visible ink, that's fine too. I'm not trying to be hard either. So, because my tattoos are so personal, it takes me a long time between them to create my next one. Oftentimes it takes several years of thinking, researching, drawing, re-drawing until I finally have what I want.

In June of 1994 I was 18 years old and had just graduated high school. I had wanted a tattoo since I was 12 or 13, and had been planning and drawing it since then. My friend Darcy's sister Erin was a few years older than us and already had several tattoos. She took me to Midnight Tattoo, which was located behind The Regency Theater, a XXX movie house. (For the record, yes I've been there, that's another story.) Juan was her guy. He was a great artist, very talented tattooist. I showed him my drawing, he said he could do it, he checked my ID and had me go in the back to take off my shorts and wrap myself with a towel.

I came out to his table and laid down in front of him. He was a handsome guy, bald and heavily tattooed. His daughter's name was beautifully scribed across his neck. Juan asked me if I was ready and I nodded that I was. He turned on the radio and "Girls" by the Beastie Boys drowned out the buzzing of the tattoo gun. About half way through he asked me if I was okay because I hadn't moved or made a sound since he started. I was fine, I don't remember it hurting at all. About 30 minutes later I was walking back out into the hot California sun with my new tattoo covered with gauze and instructions on how to keep it clean. I was ecstatic.

Years went by, I moved out of state and went to school. During my time in school I began thinking about my next tattoo. I decided on dragons, Asian influenced dragons. At the time I didn't feel comfortable tackling the task of drawing them. I like to draw but I'm not wonderful at it. And especially something as seemingly complex as dragons I figured I would leave to the professionals. During this time, however, I designed the piece in my head, pretty much down to the last detail.

In 1998 I graduated from college and moved back to California. I ran into Husband but he wasn't my husband then, we knew each other in high school, and we started hanging out again. He played indoor soccer with some other people I knew from high school as well as some people I didn't know. One of these people, Scott, had a friend, Glen, who owned a tattoo shop up in Bellingham, Washington. Glen was going to be making a trip down to California and wanted to line up some work while he was down. This was my opportunity to have the dragons done.

When Glen arrived in town we went over to Scott's and I looked through Glen's book of art. I found dragons similar to the ones I had in my head. I explained what I wanted to Glen and he drew something up that night. The next day Husband, our friend Sean and I went rafting all day. We went straight back to Scott's when we were through. Glen showed my what he'd drawn and it was perfect! Originally I wanted the dragons to be holding Samurai swords but Glen explained that it really wasn't that feminine and he thought it would look better without them. I agreed and have not been sorry that I did.

Glen had a couple of tattoos to do before he got to mine. But when he did, wow, he did great work. His technique was gentle yet fast. Two hours later I had my newest piece on my lower back. Yes, a tramp stamp. Of course, it wasn't called that at the time, and I wouldn't have cared anyway. I have big plans for my back and this was just the beginning. Glen did an excellent job and I relished looking at my dragons in the mirror. Husband got his one and only tattoo to date, a frog sitting on top of the world, that night as well.

Almost immediately I started thinking about my next one. But it would be the scariest, most horrific experience of my life that would ultimately give me the inspiration.

In July of 2002, Husband and I had been married about six months. We took a backpacking trip with six other people to Alaska. We were caught in a freak snow storm and the creeks and rivers rose several feet overnight. I was swept away by the water while we were crossing a river and almost drowned. No exaggeration, no lie, scary, scary shit. When I'd had a chance to process everything the idea came to me in an instant, like a light bulb had turned on. I would get a phoenix, an Asian influenced phoenix.

I began researching and finding pictures I could use as ideas and guides to help me in drawing it. I found the perfect picture, what I had pictured in my head, on an ancient Chinese plate dating to 1500 b.c. I didn't have the plate, but a picture of the plate. I drew the phoenix over and over until I finally had something I liked. I held onto this picture for a few years until Husband and I moved into the house we remodeled.

We spent just over a year flipping a house in the valley. Nearby was a head shop/tattoo parlor. One summer night when we were basically done with all of the work, Husband suggested we take my drawing up to the shop and see what they could do. Crazy Joe was the artist at this particular shop, and he looked every inch his name. He had long gray hair with matching handlebar mustache. He had most likely done some time, probably for a drug related charge I'm guessing. Maybe petty theft. But, he did great work. His portfolio was amazing and he was ready to do the work that night.

The phoenix was to be placed directly above and in between the dragons. I showed him both my drawing and the picture of the plate. To my surprise he said he'd be able to take a copy and draw a stencil directly from the plate. I loved the idea since the picture on the plate was really exactly what I wanted. I sat down in his chair and he began to drill.

Now, I'll tell you the truth. This one was pretty painful. It's about the size of a small desert plate, maybe a saucer, and is in the middle of my back. That's what hurt the worst, when he went over my spine. There's not too much there in the way of padding, not like the lower back. And there were times I was biting on the chair from the pain. But not a peep did I make, I took it like a champ. Four hours later I was gazing upon the most beautiful phoenix. It goes perfectly with the dragons.

So now everything is coming together and it's becoming easier for me to visualize what I want my back to look like. My next piece will be a chrysanthemum with the outer petals turning into flames. It will go beneath my neck and in between my shoulders. My problem is that I don't draw flowers or flames. And because all of my pieces are Asian in nature, I want to keep that same theme. Eventually I would like smoke coming up from below the dragons, following up the curves of my waist and up to the flower. So, if anyone out there is so inclined you can feel free to send me flames, at least to study and attempt to draw. Just think, your art could go on my body. I promise I'll send pictures.

Motocross Madness

2007-02-05T07:57:00.000-08:00

One of the things that Husband likes to do is ride dirt bikes. Unfortunately he doesn't own one now, but we have friends who have spares so he can ride. I think it's great for him. It's good exercise, good therapy, good all the way around. Our friend KB is an amazing rider. He's one of those guys who looks like he was born on a bike. He makes it look easy.

I get the whole dirt bike thing. I ride, though not like the guys do. I'm not that good. But I completely understand the appeal of riding. What I don't get is the day long preparation that happened on Saturday.

One of our friends, Matt, lives with his dad a few miles away from us. (He used to live with us too, but that's another story. Fortunately it ended better than this last go round and we're still friends with him.) Matt's dad is a packrat of the highest order. His house and the property around it are littered with every manner of car, boat, dirt bike, motorcycle, tool, you name it and Tom probably has it. Whether he can find it is another story.

So Husband had to go over to Matt's to get the bike ready for the ride they were going to take on Sunday. Husband and I had a lovely lunch with my parents and brother in a pretty shi-shi restaurant on Saturday. We were both dressed in our "going out" clothes. I even wore a belt that matched my shoes, c'mon. After lunch we drove straight to Matt's house to work on the bikes. At this point it was like 2:00 pm. As soon as I tried to walk up the driveway I wished I'd gone home to change. I believe I've mentioned before that I'm 4'11". Because of my height deficiency I often wear what I call "tall shoes". Typically these consist of sandaly type shoes with like a 4" lift. Okay, maybe only 3". Regardless, they are not the shoes you want to be wearing when you're walking up a steep gravel driveway. Thankfully I managed not to fall at any point during the day. Considering I was drinking tequila all day I'd say that's pretty good.

So the guys got to work on the bikes. KB's bike needed a new shift lever and some other random shit. I don't know what was going on with the bike Husband was going to ride. They had the carburetor all torn apart, I don't think they really knew what was wrong with it either. I mean, you can imagine, right? Five guys working on bikes together, getting shit-faced at the same time. Testosterone being what it is, tempers are bound to flare. No one got into it, but people were starting to get a little cranky.

Guess who else was starting to get cranky when it's three hours later and the sun is going down and it's getting cold and I'm still in my tall shoes? Yeah, me. I was buzzed on tequila, freezing cold, tired of watching bike repair 101, and I wanted to go home. Frankie was kind enough to drive me there, so I took a shower and passed out next to the wood stove.

And I'm thinking to myself while I'm in the shower, is it me? Maybe I am the jerk for not wanting to stay at Matt's. Maybe a good wife would just sit there and wait until whenever. Okay, so I'm not a good wife. I'll take that. I happen to think the level of ridiculousness involved in a day-long dirt bike riding preparation is extremely high. It doesn't seem like it should be that complicated. When KB goes riding he loads up his bike, makes sure he has gas, and goes. There's no day before spent cleaning or fixing or whatever. Tom and Matt are neurotic, that's what's going on. They're both freaks about their shit and seemingly like the preparation and detailing of their toys better than actually using them. They're constantly working on the bikes or the boat or the waverunners, but they never use them! It's madness.

Sunday morning KB and Husband left at 8:45 am to go riding. I walked around the lake near our house, all 8 miles. Ben and I (Ben's our dog) left the house at 9:00 am and started hiking. It was great. I took a couple of beers and some water and took my time. I stopped a couple of times and had a beer and a smoke and enjoyed the wonderful sunshine. By the way, my dog is the best dog in the world. He's so bad ass. He walks without a leash and I never have to worry about him. He's on voice command, he doesn't bother people, just minds his business and keeps walking. But here's the best part. I stopped at the peninsula and laid down on top of a picnic table. Ben laid down next to me and I started to doze off. Ben started to bark because a guy on a bicycle was rolling up. He stopped barking when he saw that the guy wasn't going to bother me, but that's what I love. My doggie protects me and it makes me feel safe. Anyway, it was a great hike. I got back to the house around 2:30 pm and Husband had not called.

Now, I knew that I had a choice. I can be pissed off that he is choosing to be a horse's ass and not just giving me a head's up about what he's doing, or I can let it go. I chose something in the middle I think. While I was cleaning, again, I had angry music on (Lateralus, Aenima, And Justice for All, Believe) as loud as I could take it, which is loud. That helped some. At 4:30 when Husband finally called I could talk to him without being a bitch. At 6:00 when Husband and KB got home I was pretty much over being mad. I didn't want to start an argument. And while I still think it's very inconsiderate to just leave me wondering where he is for nine hours, I guess I just didn't have it in me to say anything.

The funny thing is that the guys got out to the place where they were riding and Tom and Matt spent all day working on the bike Husband was supposed to ride. Apparently it wasn't running right so they took it all apart again and Husband only got to ride for like an hour. I had trouble feeling too sorry for him, but I faked it pretty well.

KB says next time I'm going too. We'll see about that. I'm not sure I have the wherewithal to spend two days working on bikes.

Skunk Suicide

2007-02-01T08:36:00.000-08:00

I've noticed of late an alarming number of skunks laying on the roadside, guts strewn all over the street. I've begun counting the dead skunks on my way to work, and I believe I counted at least 12 this morning. This has lead me to wonder, are the skunks suffering from seasonal depression? Have they decided en mass that they can no longer live with their odor? Why do the skunks want to kill themselves?

It's fairly disturbing to see the sheer number of skunk carcasses in the road. What is more troubling is having to practically drive over a freshly killed skunk. The smell is overwhelming. It almost brings tears to my eyes and I have to stop breathing for a moment from the stench emanating from the dead rodents. It's horrid. Virtually every five miles, maybe less, there is another dead skunk, and that is in an almost 30 mile stretch. So during the entire drive to work there is a constant, lingering odor clouding the air. You can practically see the cloud of green stink mingling with the fog that hangs over the fields and farmlands.

Do the skunks know something we don't? Should I be interpreting this behavior as a sign of the end times? It's very disconcerting to witness such senseless carnage and not be able to prescribe a meaning to it. Clearly something is bothering the skunks to the point where they feel compelled to throw themselves in front of oncoming vehicles. I intend to get to the bottom of this mystery. It may take months, years even, but I am determined to uncover the source of the skunks' angst. And while I may not be able to cure it, I'm sure there are skunk researchers and scientists who will be anxious to remedy this tragic situation. Or perhaps the world will end and we'll know the skunks were trying to tell us something.

Dogs Can't Eat Tacos

2007-01-31T09:14:00.000-08:00

Man oh man, what a crazy past couple of days. Our dog Ben has been sick since Sunday night, but it looks as though he's going to make it through.

Apparently on Sunday afternoon Frankie fed his dog and our dog a taco from Taco Bell. Now, I have stuffed my face with Taco Bell tacos on occasion. Usually the circumstances prompting a visit to the Bell involve a good buzz and a very late night. Sometimes nothing quells the drunk munchies like crunchy tacos with that oh so greasy "meat". Typically however, I never eat at Taco Bell because it's disgusting. Every time I've eaten there I end up with a tummy ache I swear that this time will be the last. I do not want my dog eating Taco Bell, ever. And it's particularly disturbing that Frankie often feeds Ben people food without asking us if it's okay.

So you can imagine how unhappy I was when Ben spent the entire night on Sunday puking his poor little guts out and ending with a finale of bloody shit all over our bedroom carpet. It was impossible to be upset with Ben because he was a complete mess and it wasn't his fault to begin with.

He was drinking a lot of water, but was still vomiting and shitting blood on Monday. By Monday afternoon we feared that he had been poisoned rather than just the taco effecting him. I was seriously worried he was going to die. He wouldn't move, Husband had to carry him out to the truck to take him to the vet. The vet was quite certain that it was the taco that did it. Some dogs can handle food like that, especially if they've been given it their whole lives, i.e. Frankie's dog. Ben is barely a year old though and we have made a pretty strict rule about people food. He doesn't get to have it. I will occasionally give him meat juice on his dog food, perhaps some rice or chicken, but not junk. So Ben is not used to digesting the crap that Frankie gives his dog. In dogs like Ben, the pancreas will inflame and cause the vomiting and bloody shit. It can become a very serious problem, so we're lucky that we took him in right away.

The vet had to give Ben a liter ("Liter's French for gimme some fucking cola!") of fluids because he was severely dehydrated, poor guy. Anyway, he came home with us that night and finally stopped puking. His shitting problem had already stopped prior to the vet, and it didn't come back. I stayed home with him yesterday to make sure that he didn't get worse and to give him the proper food and medicine.

The funny thing is that when we brought him home from the vet, Frankie was flabbergasted that dogs can't eat tacos. No, they can't. They also shouldn't eat bacon or other pork products, jalepenos, really spicy or rich foods, in general people food. He was asking us what he could give Ben to eat after the poor dog just spent two days puking.

What's with people wanting to give dogs food? They'll be just fine living on dog food, I promise. Dogs are not people, they have different insides. Their tummies work differently than ours. That's why dogs get dog food. You're not abusing your dog by not giving him people food. You're prolonging it's life. You want to kill your dog? Fine by me. But leave my doggie alone.

Friends, How Many Of Us Have Them?

2007-01-26T13:36:00.000-08:00

I just got off of the phone with our friend KB. Our conversation prompted me to ponder the true nature of friendship and what it means to be a friend to someone. I started thinking about who among our "friends", aside from KB, hadn't taken advantage of us in the past few months.

Friendship is an interesting and delicate dicotomy. On the one hand, as a friend, I feel that it's important to do everything possible to help, support, care for, encourage and otherwise uplift my friends. The other side of that is it's very easy to be taken advantage of. I give of myself, Husband and I both give of ourselves freely and without any thought of a prid pro quo. We enjoy being able to play a positive role in people's lives. We feel like we have been blessed, although we have very little, and we feel compelled to share our blessings with those we care about.

However, there comes a point when you must look and evaluate a situation for what it is. When one is in the position of being taken advantage of, it is in one's best interest to put an end to the circumstances by which that is occurring. Case in point; we have had our "friend" Frankie living with us for the past two months. He lost his job and was kicked out of his place at virtually the same time, and we offered our home to him so that he would not be homeless. Now, he does have family nearby that he could stay with, and why Husband has not demanded that he do this is beyond me. Well, he's got a very kind and generous heart, that's mainly why. Frankie has not worked in the past two months. A job here and there, he's a plumber, but nothing steady. He does do quite a bit around the house, but not enough to justify sponging off of us for the past two months. I mean, I'm cleaning the house and doing all the laundry today for the love of God. So in addition to the whole ex-Roommate drama, we've been supporting Frankie as well. And for whatever reason Frankie is very comfortable with things the way they are. There is no urgency for him to find gainful employment and move out. And it's not just Husband and I who are supporting him. KB is the only other friend we have with an actual full-time job. We carpool to work often and he doesn't expect gas money from us. Why? Because I cook dinner for him most nights, for everyone who's over and we let him do laundry here, etc. But he brings beer over, buys groceries, does the dishes, so it works. But Frankie drinks the beer and eats the food, as does everyone else who's over here, and no one else feels at all compelled to assist in any manner. So I wonder to myself, what makes a friend.

Obviously Husband and I have put ourselves into these particular circumstances, and I'm not complaining in the least. Just pondering. I feel as though I should be processing and thinking deeply about what's going on because there is a lesson to be learned in it all.

It's quite depressing, though, to realize that the friendships you thought existed are mear illusions. The friends we care so much about care only about themselves. But what to do? Isolate ourselves from all those who would use us? I think perhaps the answer is to be more guarded and more careful and less giving. It goes against our natures to behave that way naturally, so we will have to make an effort to do so. How unfortunate that you can't just trust people to do the right thing and be responsible for themselves.

Well, happy Friday! I hear laundry calling my name and a dust rag begging to be used.

Lemon, Ramen Noodles?

2007-01-25T07:16:00.000-08:00

Before Husband and I started dating we hung out a lot. We did everything together. We were, and still are, best friends. Husband took me on my first backpacking trip. All it took was one time and I was hooked.

In high school Husband used to backpack with a group of friends to a place called Mumford Bar. Mumford has a long and sordid history. It is situated along the river and was once a mining claim. Now it serves various purposes though it's not frequently used. Legend has it that Old Man Beatie (not sure of the spelling) moved his family down there and his wife went somewhat mad from the isolation. So he started hiking them out but they were too slow. So he left them down there where they died. I believe it's haunted. I've seen way too much weird shit there. It's either haunted or there are hill people living in the woods.

The trail to Mumford Bar is three and a half miles long and descends over three thousand feet. For you math wizards that's about a thousand feet per mile. Steep. It's okay on the way down because, well, you're going down. (Something I'm particularly fond of, but that's for another time.) The hike out kills you though. Switchback after switchback, you reach a point where you think it's not going to end. Why you ask would I put myself through the torture? The reward, my friends, is isolation in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

When you reach the bottom it's like you walk into a circus tent of green. The forest canopy is so dense and moss covers everything around you, it almost hurts your eyes. The forest hasn't been logged or really touched since probably the late 1800's. I've never seen another person down there, no one I wasn't with anyway. The river changes with the seasons. Sometimes it's so loud you have to shout to have a conversation. Other times it meanders over the rocks, lazily flowing through the canyon. It's just an amazing place, indescribably beautiful. But it's a hell of a hike and just beats on your body.

Husband really wanted me to go with him to see Mumford Bar, so we planned a weekend trip. We had a friend who was selling his backpack so Husband bought it for me. This was in 1998 and I still use that pack to this day, it's a great pack. We packed up some food and what we needed for the weekend and headed out. Husband was certain he would catch fish, so we were counting on eating that one night. This was my first trip and I was not very sure of what to pack or how much, so feeling somewhat unprepared I began the grueling three hour hike.

When we got to the bottom we found a wonderful place to set up camp. It was right near the river and had a perfect place to cook and a flat spot for the tent. Perfect! We'd purchased some freeze-dried meals, which are yuck by the way, and I was all excited to cook and have the whole backpacking experience. At that time we didn't have a water filter so we relied on boiling the water to clean it. That works okay, but investing in a filter was the best thing we did.

Husband caught no fish. He was very disappointed because he felt such a strong need to provide for me and was really concerned that I was going hungry. It was very sweet. By the end of the weekend we had one package of ramen noodles, powdered eggs, and a lemon. I made the "eggs" for breakfast and found them to be inedible. So gross. Do yourself a favor and do not ever eat powdered eggs. Husband wasn't especially fond of them either, and was still starving after we ate. The problem was that we had a really long and difficult hike ahead of us. Climbing over three thousand feet in three miles takes a while, and we wanted to have more energy to do it. But alas, we had limited provisions and just had to suck it up.

Before we left our camp I watched in awe as Husband ate an entire lemon peel and all. He was so hungry he ate a lemon. I still laugh at that. We hiked and hiked for hours until the pains in my stomach were too much to take. We pulled the package of ramen out, split it in half and gobbled up the dry noodles in the middle of the trail. That was enough to give us the energy we needed to finish the hike. I won't lie, I was miserable. I was tired, my legs hurt, I was starving, felt like I was going to vomit, miserable. But I made it through and the trail did finally come to an end. My heart sprang up at the site of the truck waiting for us. Once I got my pack off and sat down for a second I did start puking. Nothing serious, just from hunger and over-exertion.

We stopped at the first gas station we came to and Husband got some beer. A tip to backpackers, always leave a couple of beers in the truck in an ice chest so you can drink them when you're done hiking. It makes life so much better. Our next mission was food. What do you suppose I was craving? Ah, sweet sweet Whopper with cheese. Fortunately when it comes to Whoppers Husband and I share a brain. We found the next Burger King and got our heart's desire. It was the best Whopper I'd ever eaten and I relished each bite, practically making love to it.

That first backpacking experience prompted me to pursue the art of gourmet trail cooking. Since then we've taken countless trips and I have mastered the cooking. I'm the designated camp cook, always. I love it too, it's great to figure out how to convert meals from home to trail. We have much better equipment now, which really helps. But from the first trip I couldn't get enough. To be able to pack into complete isolation with everything you need on your back is the best feeling of independence and freedom. It's also great exercise.

Blown to Bits

2007-01-24T08:31:00.000-08:00

Well, it's all over folks. While part of me is disappointed I won't be able to use my personal drama as writing inspiration, I'm very relieved that the end to it all is in sight.

I'll give you a brief rundown of the events over the weekend. A personal highlight for me was getting kicked out of the bowling alley, which has absolutely nothing to do with ex-Roommate. For me, getting actually kicked out of anywhere is ridiculous, but especially a bowling alley. How embarrassing. I lost my ID several weeks ago. I have not replaced it yet because that means I have to go to the DMV and deal with that nightmare. And yes, I'm a procrastinator of the highest degree so I'll be surprised if I have a new ID by summer. The problem is I'm 31 and could easily pass for 16. And where we live I don't really need an ID anymore. Everyone knows who I am and I'm on first-name basis with practically every bartender in our town. Except in the bowling alley.

So I go up to the bar with Husband and the bartender asks for our ID's. There is a sign posted over the bar that clearly states they won't serve anyone without a scannable ID. I told her my dilemma and she very rudely told me that she can't serve me. I responded, politely, that it was no big deal, I'd seen the sign and not to worry about it. We had a group of seven, all of whom were drinking beers. So while we were bowling, and without really thinking about it, I was drinking Husband's beer and probably other people's too. I think now is the time to mention that I'd had a couple of shots of tequila before we left. So we're into our second frame, had just started it actually, and the owner I guess he was came over to me and said, "You don't have ID to be drinking here." The way he said it was kind of framed like a question so I said, "I lost it. I told the bartender that." He said, "If you don't have ID you can't drink." Then our friend KB chimed in, "Dude, she's 31 years old, she's okay." And I said, "I'm not trying to screw you dude. I'm legal, I just lost my ID." And then the owner got kinda pissed and said something like I needed to stop drinking since I didn't have ID, maybe threatened to kick me out at that point. Well, Husband came over to find out what was going on and when he found out he said, "Forget it. We're done. We're leaving. We just spent a grip here and they're trying to give you shit now? Forget it." So we packed up our stuff, stopped our game and went to the counter to return our shoes. As we were standing there, KB was attempting, again, to politely explain to the owner that I was legal and they were really making a big deal over nothing. Our friend Kevin, visiting from out of town, another friend and I were talking about what happened and the bartender lady, who as it turns out is also an owner, came over to where we were standing. Apparently she didn't like what she was overhearing because she snapped, "Do you want me to call the cops right now?" I snapped right back, though not rudely, "Go ahead and call them. I'm not doing anything wrong. They can pull my license number and check my age." That's when the bartender lady actually came unglued and spewed, "I want you out now!" So I left.

I guess the moral of the story is don't argue with bowling alley owners, they'll kick you right out.

So ex-Roommate got released from the hospital and stopped by the house on Sunday to collect some of his things. Now, I've been under the impression the whole time that he understands that he's moving out. And I learned some things over the weekend that have transformed my anger into abject hate. The short version is that he's talking shit about me to Husband, actual shit. I mean, you can guess right? I'm an evil bitch, I overreact about everything, I'm disrupting the "vibe" of the house, etc. In addition he's stolen money from us that he's said we'll never get back. So fuck him.

Anyway, he got to the house on Sunday and informed us of the following, "Yeah, I'm probably going to move out. I don't feel comfortable here anymore."

I'm thinking to myself as he's saying it, yeah no shit. If I had talked as much shit about the people in this room and stolen from them, I probably wouldn't feel very comfortable either. But also I'm thinking, probably, what are you talking probably? You're GONE!

A few minutes later he informed us that he probably wouldn't have his stuff out by the first, hopefully by the fifth.

Wait just a second, I thought, you're going to tell us when you'll have your things out? Huh uh. How 'bout we'll give you a date and that's when you'll have it out or it's out on the street.

But did I say any of these things? No, my friends, I did not. I held my tongue so as not to make things worse and continued playing my game of Clue. I was playing with other people, not just by myself.

Well, Husband and Roommate have been exchanging messages and with each one Husband has gotten progressively more angry. Last night Husband called him because we found out that Frankie had let ex-Roommate inside while we weren't there to get some things. Not only did he get some things out of the bedroom, but he went downstairs and collected some plants, which he also took. Not cool. So he stole from us again, first money now plants. It's getting better all the time, no?

So Husband called him to basically ask him what the fuck. Well, as you can imagine, it escalated quickly to a shouting match, which escalated even further to ex-Roommate telling Husband these exact words, "Fuck you you piece of shit, I never want to see your face again." That just pissed Husband off even more. And in the midst of his rage I wondered aloud, then when will he be collecting the rest of his belongings? So Husband called back to ask him just that and ex-Roommate, all puffed up now, said he'd be bringing a gang of people over to get it. Now, if we though for a minute that ex-Roommate had a gang of people to bring over we might have been a bit worried. But we know he doesn't. We were his gang. But just that he said that was enough to get Husband in the bedroom packing everything up. Thankfully we had some friends over, per usual, and everyone helped us pack up his shit and put it outside.

And outside is where it remains this morning. Yes, Husband covered it all with a tarp when it was clear that ex-Roommate's posse either had previous engagements or were, in fact, non-existent.

There's still the matter of the money, but I have a feeling we'll be eating that. It's sucko, but I guess it could have been worse. I'm still trying to process it all and figure out what went wrong. Living with friends is difficult, though it can be done effectively. I wouldn't have pegged ex-Roommate for the kind of guy to steal from people though. I guess maybe I need to get a better character reader installed.

But that's it. That part of the drama is over, for now. Now we can move on to bigger and better things. You'll be able to read all about the chess games and Risk games. I'll give you the play-by-play action. Very exciting. Just kidding. Now that my head will be more clear I will entertain you with my travel stories perhaps.

Everyday is a new day, with new possibilities, new adventures and new stories.

All Too Much

2007-01-23T09:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel as though I'm going mad. It's as if the entire structure of life as I know it has collapsed around me and I'm the only one who's unaware. Yes, my friends, the Roommate drama continues. However, I've not the strength to discuss it presently. I would like to tell happier tales than those of the lying, shit-talking piece of human waste that was our Roommate. I will tell you right now that he has moved out, thank heaven. Well, kind of. His shit's still there but he is not.

So what shall we discuss today? The weather? Our snow is gone. It's unseasonably warm, although everyone keeps saying how cold it is. What are you gonna do? California weather is finicky.

Shall we discuss the changing face of modern religion and it's progressive movement away from the ancient religious structure? We could include in this discussion, of course, ancient religions and their impact on those of the modern day.

Perhaps alchemy, the Philosopher's Stone, angelic language?

Would you like to hear about how I almost drowned on a backpacking trip in Alaska? That's a long story, perhaps for another time.

I'm listening to my favorite morning talk radio program right now, and they are discussing the academy Awards. There's something I could not get less excited about. First of all, we don't go to movies. I won't. Ever again. Not until they allow me to take in some sort of either stun gun or taser or cattle prod, with which I can electrocute those total assholes who insist on talking, answering cell phones, taking fucking 10 minutes to open the damned plastic on your SnoCaps for the love of God! I can't take it. It's as if every noise is magnified in the theater and all the loudest people are sitting in the five seats directly around me. Second, I hate Hollywood. I hate actors, actresses, movie producers, what Hollywood stands for, all of it. It sickens me. I mean, sure, Husband and I watch movies at home. We sometimes rent them or purchase them on pay per view. But if it's got Tom Cruise in it, forget it. You can't pay me to watch it. Anyway, Oscars Schmoskers.

Brain Damage

2007-01-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

Ugg! On days like this I'm thankful that I don't work on Fridays. I am suffering from a slight hangover, though I didn't drink very much. Must be the not-eating thing, it gets me every time. Husband, KB, Frankie and I were invited to go bowling last night. I don't bowl. I've bowled maybe once in my life when I was a child. Husband on the other hand was in a bowling league for years, and is still really good.

I had the best time! Not only did I break 100, I bowled 4 or 5 strikes and I actually learned how to bowl correctly. I've got to work on my speed a little. I'm not very fast, but my approach is good. So we bowled and drank beer and had a great time. It was a nice change to be out of the house and with friends. No drama, no shit-talking, no problems.

I'm suffering the consequences of my decisions today though. I'm bleary-eyed, tired, and I have that fuzzy feeling in my head, like I'm not quite awake yet. So now I have to think about tonight. Since I don't work tomorrow today is technically my Friday. The question is do I muster the strength to start drinking again well into the night when I finally go to sleep at 3:00 am, or do I attempt some semblance of responsibility and go to bed early? I have a feeling it will be somewhere in between. KB has requested that Frankie and I practice tonight. Have I mentioned that I sing? I sing. Not professionally or anything, though people tell me I should. My response is that I love to sing. If I did it for a living I probably wouldn't love it anymore. Anyway, Frankie is an amazing guitar player and we are trying to learn some songs together. We just have fun mostly.

I have learned that Mama is creating a page on myspace where she will display the many pictures and videos documenting Roommates attempted suicide. As soon as I have details I will post a link here. Until then, patience!

Helmets for the Handicapped

2007-01-16T08:54:00.000-08:00

Alright, alright, alright. I've calmed down a bit, today is a new day and a new topic of discussion. An interesting thing happened on Sunday, and it continues perfectly our ongoing saga with Roommate. It is also a warning to those possessing Liquid Courage, and an example of what happens when your last words are "Look at me!"

Roommate, Mama, Papa and Husband went snowboarding on Sunday. I was supposed to go but due to circumstances beyond my control, I couldn't. It was Mama and Papa's one-year anniversary so they were going to celebrate that and party it up. When Husband called me at around 10:45 am they had only taken two runs and had been drinking vodka-RedBulls throughout the morning.

As it neared closing time they took their last run of the day. Because Roommate thinks he's a bad-ass, he's trying to impress Mama and he's drunk, he decided it was a good idea to launch off of a jump. Roommate has been snowboarding for about two years. Husband has been skiing and snowboarding for over 15 and he's worked at more than one resort. He's an excellent skier/boarder. He wouldn't even take that jump because of the icy conditions and because he knows his limitations. But, since Roommate is like a professional, basically, he can take jumps like that, easy peasy lemon squeezy. Well, he can take them all he wants but it doesn't mean he can land them. Roommate didn't so much launch off the jump as fall off of it. They got it all on video, so we were able to see it probably a dozen times when they got home. The lip on the top of the jump threw Roommate backwards (well that, and he didn't even hit it right, his stance was all wrong) and caused him to land upside down on his neck and shoulders. His nose and ears started to bleed and Husband radioed Ski Patrol.

I guess an hour later they finally had Roommate down the mountain and in the Ski Patrol office. The doctor checked him out and declared a broken sternum. From what I was told when they got home, Roommate was offered ambulance transport to the hospital but they decided to just go in the next day. So four Vicodins and a belly full of booze later, Roommate and the rest of the crew get to our house, completely interrupting my nice quiet evening, all of them drunk off their asses. Roommate would not lie down, he had to make sure everyone saw his unfortunate accident at least six times, and kept replaying it until someone had to tell him to stop. I'm suffering from terrible cramps, that's why I didn't go, and I now have like 10 people in my house (did I mention some other friends dropped by before the crew got home?) drunk and loud. After we'd seen the video, the shit-talking I discussed yesterday commenced, there was some drama, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the consumption of alcohol.

Yesterday Mama and Papa drove Roommate to the hospital where he learned that not only does he have a broken sternum, but also a vertebrae that's broken in three places. He's going in for surgery this morning. Details are sketchy, but it's obviously bad.

Now the more astute among you are no doubt asking yourselves, "Doesn't Roommate have big dog? Doesn't he move furniture for a living? With the surgery, he's certain to be out of work for a long while, how will he pay rent? What does he plan on doing when he's released from the hospital? Will he still move out?"

Allow me to ease your minds as I have already given much thought to these questions and I believe I have answers. Roommate will not be staying with us during his recovery. I don't know if he's even thought about the fact that he may never go back to his job moving furniture, but that's really no concern of mine. His mom lives like five minutes away from us and that's where he will return. We will probably need to move his bed and belongings out, which I am happy to do. But he needs to be cared for while he recovers, and as I am not his mommy, I think it's best for him to be with her and allow her to care for him. As for the rest of his life, what can I say? When you act like an asshole and try to do stupid shit, bad things happen. I wish him the best, but Husband and I can't be responsible for him, his dog, or his lack of income, which is imminent.

So please let this be a lesson to you. If drinking, semi-dangerous or somewhat risky activities, and jackasses are involved you should steer clear. Bad things are bound to happen, and you don't want to be around when a stupid drunk snowboarder falls from the sky and lands on top of you.

One of These Days I'm Going to Cut You Into Little Pieces

2007-01-15T07:43:00.000-08:00

What I'd like to do now is to have a discussion about why it's so incredibly difficult for people to mind their own business. I feel as though I was transported to a parallel universe last night, and I think I'm about to have some sort of mental or emotional breakdown.

Why would someone, anyone, a person, talk to the husband of someone about their concerns about the faithfulness of the husband's wife? Why would this happen? Why is it that people are so interested in other people's relationships, interested enough to forcibly insert themselves into it and spew forth their advice and opinions? Again with the unsolicited advice and opinions!

Let me ask you this, do Husband and I look or seem to be that incompetent? Do we really not seem capable of dealing with our lives and our relationship? Is it the nine years we've been together, the four years we've been married, the almost total lack of arguing, the constant support and encouragement, or the complete trust that we have in each other that gives you this impression?

Why, knowing that Husband is a sensitive if somewhat insecure man would someone purposefully plant ideas in his head about me being unfaithful to him? Why? Why does it seem like our "friends" desire to create drama in our lives? Why are our "friends" so concerned about our marriage? Is it because we never have problems and you think we need some? Are we being sabotaged, taken down from the inside? Are you people that petty and jealous that you can't believe Husband and I are the real deal? Don't you all have other things to worry about than us?

I'm so pissed, hurt, confused, sad I could seriously drive through a wall right now. I love it. We open our home to practically everyone on the planet. We cook for everyone, clean the house, make sure bills and rent are paid, buy beer, buy cigs, smoke everyone out, always have a bed to crash in or somewhere to sleep, let people stay with us for months without giving us money, in general give of ourselves completely, and you sorry bunch of fucks repay us by talking shit about me. And not just shit, you accuse me of cheating on Husband, with our friend. And you share this with the friend and Husband. Share, please. You gossip, you poison minds with this shit. And thanks, by the way, for the vote of confidence. It's so nice to feel like people think well of you, that you're a stand up person. Lord knows I'd never want people to think that, hmm, cheat on my husband for instance. Fuck You!!!!

I'm done. Done! I feel like digging a hole, crawling inside and never coming out. If I never see our "friends" again, I think right now I'll be okay with that. But how about this as a general rule of thumb, unless you are a person whom I am giving money to for the purpose of discussing the issues in my life, in which case I am paying you for the service of providing me with your advice and opinions, STAY THE FUCK OUT of my business. Keep your opinions and shit talking to yourself. Keep it in your fucked up brain where it belongs.

Stew

2007-01-12T14:15:00.000-08:00

Perhaps because it's Friday, perhaps because we're gearing up for a bitterly cold weekend, I thought I'd share my recipe for beef stew. It is the best beef stew ever, hands down. I love making it on cold days, it's such a great way to warm up. It makes a ton and freezes well and only gets better as the days go by. Obviously use your judgement and don't keep it for too long without freezing it. This recipe has been in my family for at least a few generations, with my changes being the only ones I know about. Although it's a simple recipe it is absolutely delicious. Hope you enjoy it!

Beef Stew

1 1/2 - 2 lbs. beef brisket, cut into large cubes

4-5 large carrots, cut into big pieces

8-10 medium to large potatoes, cut into big pieces (this is something you can totally adjust, along with the carrots. If you like lots of potatoes, or lots of carrots use more.)

1 bay leaf

1 large can or 2 smaller (15 oz.) cans beef broth/stock

about 1/2 - 1 C. red wine

salt & pepper to taste

Dust the beef with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper. Heat a large pot on medium-high and add just enough oil to lightly coat the bottom, about 1 tbsp. You will probably have to cook the meat in two batches, depending on your pot size. Brown the meat on all sides until it has a brown, cruchy exterior and the interior is still uncooked. Remove meat from pot. Pour wine into hot pot and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to remove any browned bits. Allow wine to reduce slightly and add meat back into pot. Pour in all the stock and supplement water if you need additional liquid. There should be enough liquid in the pot to cover the meat by several inches, plus enough to cover the vegetables when you add them. Add the bay leaf, turn down the heat to simmer and cover with a lid. Allow the meat to simmer for one hour, then add the vegetables.

The vegetables will take about an hour to cook. Again, depending on how you like them cooked this will determine when the stew is finished. But the most important thing is that the beef is very tender. There will be a period of time when the meat will become very tough and you will think something is wrong. Be patient. When the meat has cooked long enough it will fall apart easily with a fork and will be very tender to eat. I always let the stew sit for a couple of hours and then re-heat it before serving. For some reason it's just better that way. I serve it with a big piece of toasted bread, sometimes cornbread. For those of you who are curious, I added the beef stock and the red wine. My mom always made it with water only. I find the stock gives it a very nice flavor.

I'm thrilled it's Friday, even if it has been a somewhat sucky one. My weekend should prove interesting given the situation at home. Hopefully it will at least give me some good stories.

Oh, I'm the Jerk?!

2007-01-11T11:38:00.000-08:00

The drama continues my friends. As some of you are already aware, Husband and I have been dealing with Roommate issues. Behind The Camera already suggested that we kick him out, stat. Well, it's finally come to that. It's a fairly humorous story and just happened yesterday. However, I'm suffering from a terrible cold, and in my sickened, weakened state I hope I'll do it justice.

So for the sixth month in a row now we have had to ask our 35 year-old roommate for rent money. It's only $300, a third of our rent. He's got his own room, with cable (even Husband and I don't have cable in our room), he really doesn't have to clean, well he doesn't anyway, he's got a pretty descent situation. All Husband and I ask is that he pays his rent and bills on time. It is none of his business, nor does it effect when he needs to give us money, if we have made arrangements with our landlord as to when we're paying rent. Our arrangement with our landlord is our business, Roommate is not on the lease. Roommate's agreement with us is just that, it's between us and his obligations are to us.

So for the sixth month in a row now(I know, deja vu) Roommate doesn't have rent money when it's due. He swears up and down that he's some "playa", just rolling in bills. HA! You know the types, they like people to think they're big pimpin' but they're just liars. But when it comes to getting us the money he owes us, he never has it. It's like pulling teeth.

(An aside: Husband and I met some really cool people at our New Year's party. They live close to us, they're our age, we're really excited to get to know them and hang out. Well, Roommate has decided that he's into the wife, let's call her Mama, and that Mama's into him. Papa, that's the husband, told all of us just last weekend that meeting us was perfect timing for them because they hadn't been doing well, their marriage hadn't been doing well, Papa was depressed, etc., and it was great for them to meet us when they did. Okay, in my mind, when someone tells you their marriage is having problems, if you're a friend you do everything you can to support it and encourage it's success. Roommate has a different strategy. Marriage troubles to him mean hone in on the wife and try to break the marriage up. So he's been relentless in his pursuit of Mama and I'm terribly concerned that it will hurt our brand new friendship. At this point I'd deny knowing the guy.)

Roommate got home the other night and Husband again asked him for the rent money. He still didn't have it. Husband got pissed, told Roommate so, and pretty much laid into him about screwing us on rent. Roommate promised to have the money to us the next day. I was in bed, having found the solace of my poofy comforter by 7:30 that evening due to my cold. At about 11:45 pm I woke up and subsequently woke Husband up. I asked him if Roommate had given us rent, to which he responded no. Well that just set me right off and I proclaimed, "That's it! I want him out!" And Husband and I decided at that point we would be telling him to find other accommodations. I told Husband and our friend KB that before I start to hate him, he needs to leave. I still wanted to be his friend, but I wouldn't be if he kept living with us.

Yesterday afternoon KB was over as well as our friend (who is also staying with us for a bit, no I swear we don't run a youth hostel) Frankie, when Roommate got home. Husband gave him a minute to get settled and they made small talk. Now, I'm already upset about the money thing, and I'm unhappy about what his intentions are with Mama. Not to mention my weakened and sickly condition. So when Husband finally asked Roommate for rent, which he had promised us by yesterday, and Roommate says, "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem." I was ready to throw down, and here's how it went:

R: "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem."
H: "Well we're fucked dude. Our check's gonna bounce."
R: "No, listen, it's only a slight problem. The check that I got today isn't going to be good until tomorrow at 9:30. So I'll be able to get you the money tomorrow."
H: "That's not gonna work man, I mean, you're really fucking us here."
R: "Well if someone had told me that they were gonna pay it I could've maybe gotten the money sooner."
Me: "Roommate, rent is due on the fifth, it's always due on the fifth. I'm sick of having to ask you for money every month!"
R: "You don't have to ask me for money every month! You guys keep changing your mind about when you want the money. I was told I had until Friday."
Me: "I know I didn't tell you that. And I know that Husband didn't tell you that. In fact, he told you something quite different than that, so don't start making shit up."
R: "I'm not making shit up!" Storms off to his room and slams the door. A few minutes later he comes out with his checkbook and begins to write a check while also beginning to talk shit.
R: "You all need to get your shit together 'cause you're telling me to pay rent by the fifth, and what, you motha - when did you pay rent, today?" Please note that yes, he was about to call us motherfuckers, motherfuckers, after everything we've done, our kindness - bah!
Me: "Roommate!! That's none of your fucking business. Your obligation is to us, this is our house, you're not on the fucking lease!! We have an agreement and rent is due by the fifth! Whether you like it or not, your agreement is with us and every month now we're begging you for money."

(Another aside, Roommate, Husband and I also went in on kind of a business deal, we propagated some plants, which we were going to harvest and sell to supplement our incomes. It didn't go exactly as planned, and I was worried from the beginning that Husband and I were going to get screwed. Well, like January 2 Roommate gave some of the harvested plants to a "buddy" to sell. He told us that we'd have rent money from the sale of the plants. We still have not seen any money out of it.)

R: "You don't have to beg me for money! I have money for you every month, you just keep changing your minds about when you want it."
Me: "Roommate, you're an adult. We shouldn't have to ask you for money at all! You should have it in your hand ready to give to us when it's due!"
R: "Well, it's not my fault that my boss is in the hospital and her husband is dying and she can't pay me."
Me and H: "It's not our problem either! Now it's our problem because you've made it our problem." Me: "None of your personal bullshit is our problem Roommate. Whether it's the shots for the dog or your boss, it's not our problem!!"
Roommate tries to start yelling things at me at which point I said: "Oh, what Roommate, you wanna go? You really wanna start that shit? 'Cause I'm ready to go!"
R: "Well this check will be good by 9:30 tomorrow morning . . ."
Me: "Yeah, just like the money from the plants, that was supposed to cover rent and we haven't even seen any, and I'm not really expecting to!"
R: "Is that right?"
M: "Yeah Roommate, that's right."

It's important to note that I am yelling, no, screaming at this point and have been through most of the conversation. I know, it's not the most mature, or the best way to deal with things. What can I say, I lost it.

R: "Fine, if you're not expecting it then you won't see it. But don't try to accuse me of anything."
Me: "I'm not, all I want is rent and bills paid on time! You have a responsibility to us, like it or not. And guess what, if you don't like it, you know where you can go!"
R: "Yeah that's fine. I'm outta here. I'll start looking for a place and be out by the end of the month."
Me: "Probably a good idea."

Roommate storms back into his room again where he remained for the rest of the night, only coming out to use the bathroom and make it clear that he's the pissed off one, the jilted one, the hurt one, the victim.

Now clearly I could've dealt with that whole situation a lot better. The problem is people who refuse to take responsibility for themselves and insist on always blaming others for their fucked up lives just set me off. I've been dealing with Roommate's bullshit for over six months and I'm just done. So maybe part of me wanted it to go down like that, just to be rid of him. I really hate getting that out of control though. So consequently I spent the rest of the night apologizing to KB and Frankie for my horrible behavior, or at least for scaring them by yelling so loud.

To be continued . . .

Have You Seen The Baby?

2007-01-08T10:19:00.000-08:00

There is a mystical force effecting people, mostly women, who have children that compels them to wish children upon everyone else, particularly women. I don't think I will ever fully grasp this phenomenon, perhaps when I have children the mystical force will effect me too.

Husband and I have no kids. We would like to have them someday, Husband probably more so than I do. Don't get me wrong, I like kids. I think I'd be a pretty cool mom, and I know Husband would be a great dad. For one reason or another we just don't have any yet. It's interesting because we have friends with and without kids. Some of them have kids that live in another state, some are divorced with kids, some are married with kids and some have none. It's been my experience that there are several different attitudes people have about their own kids and then also about childless couples. First let me just say to all you people with children who have friends with none, please stop asking us when we're going to have them. Number one it's none of your business. Number two, you clearly have no idea how condescending and de-valuing it is; like we're somehow not really valid until we have kids. Number three, you also clearly have no idea that there could be serious problems or not so serious problems that prevent people from having children. This is not necessarily the case with Husband and I, but it's very insensitive to assume that we're just not trying hard enough or don't know what we're doing. Take into consideration that every time you ask that question, the couple you're asking may be dealing with a recent miscarriage or perhaps they just found out they're infertile. Just think before you speak.

It's amazing to me how often people take their own children for granted. I know that not every day with your children is puppy dogs and ice cream. But when I hear people talking about their kids with disdain or actually calling them "dummy" or "loser" or any number of other names, joking or not, it breaks my heart a little. Kids are going to get enough of that throughout their growing up. They should never hear that coming from the mouths of their parents. My other favorite thing is when people talk about their kids with the tone of someone who would rather have their fingernails pulled out with pliers. Like their kids are so much of a burden, and if only they'd done things differently they could be doing more, have a better job, have more money, whatever. Hey, guess what? You didn't do things differently. You made kids whether or not you meant to. Buck the fuck up and appreciate the fact that you've got a life to mold into something productive and we'll all be grateful when you raise a person who can contribute positively to society. Sorry you chose to burden yourself with the precious gift of life. How about you stop complaining about it? Now obviously the flip side of this attitude is one of gratitude and overwhelming joy at the ability to bring a child into the world. To those parents who are doing their best and loving their kids, thanks.

The hardest part about dealing with people who have kids is wading through the self-righteous bullshit that is their vast knowledge of child-rearing. I understand that I'm so far behind the curve when it comes to dealing with children, not having any of my own, and that I couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of raising kids. I get that. But when, and if, Husband and I do have kids, our experience will be totally different from anyone else's. Every time I hear, "Oh, when you guys have kids . . . " I just want to shove knitting needles in my ears. You don't know what it will be like when us guys have kids.

In general it seems that people with children view childless couples with a certain degree of suspicion, maybe even resentment. I think in that depths of their minds they wonder, do we not like children? Does that mean we don't like their kids? Are they communists? Satanists? Why would someone not have kids? I believe this is what prompts the unsolicited advice on how exactly to go about making babies. Please, spare me this advice. I've had lots of experience when it comes to the whole baby making process. I don't want to know about your turkey basters, standing on the head, putting your feet in the air theories. I'm pretty sure that when I'm meant to get pregnant, it will happen. I'm not trippin' so why are you? It's as if people have an active interest or investment in my pregnancy, much more than I do. I have expressed to exactly no one that I'm sad, concerned, disappointed or otherwise upset about not having a child yet. And that's what makes me think, perhaps they are resentful. Their lives were drastically changed, some of them without warning or desire, and they never got to have the life they truly wanted. They see Husband and I living basically how we want to, we don't have to worry about a sitter or taking baby stuff with us, or planning things to accommodate children. If we want to do something, we do it. And maybe this is slightly irritating to people with children. Maybe they miss that lifestyle and so they wish upon everyone else they kind of life that they have now.

Mostly though, I hate, hate, the feeling of being discounted because I don't have kids. Discounted as a woman, as a wife, as a person. During the last several days it seems like the kid thing has been hitting me in the face. One friend swears I'm pregnant because (hand to God, I'm not making this up) she just found out that two of her other friends are pregnant and pregnancies always come in three, and she's been having dreams that I'm pregnant so it must be true. She is the queen of making comments that on the surface seem like just innocent comments, but really are meant as an under-handed put down. These comments are typically directed at me and usually have something to do with why I'm not dealing with a particular body issue or other since I haven't had kids yet. She has to eat all the time or she gets cranky. I usually don't eat anything until 3:30 or 4:00 in the afternoon. Well, since I haven't had kids yet I can do that. I've been put on notice that this will change when I finally get pregnant.

Not having children does not make you weird. Having children does not make you better. I am not less of a woman without kids. And I know most of these comments are made out of concern, good intentions, and curiosity, and carry with them no ill will. I will continue to handle them like I always do, with grace and civility. But this, like so many social curiosities, has everything to do with people dealing with their own lives. Unless I ask for your opinion and advice, I don't want or need it. Please, handle your own business, deal with your own life and let me deal with mine.

The Butcher

2007-01-04T08:06:00.000-08:00

As you may have figured out, I have somewhat of an imagination, and I enjoy creating stories and telling them. So it should come as no surprise that I craft stories about people in my daily life with whom I have little to no interaction with. Take my neighbor for instance. Well, back up. Mountain communities are notoriously close-knit, and many of them don't adjust well to people moving there from the valley. When Husband and I moved into our neighborhood we weren't exactly welcome with open arms. We still aren't especially popular with our neighbors due in large part to the fact that we party it up on weekends and we're on the younger side and we don't have kids. We're always respectful of noise levels at night, but some of our neighbors think that since they live in the mountains it should be quiet all the time. Well, we live in a neighborhood just like in the suburbs. If there weren't huge trees everywhere and they sky weren't so blue you wouldn't even know you were in the mountains. If you want solitude you need to buy property to insure that you won't have neighbors close by. Okay, now you know about our neighborhood. It's our across the street neighbor who is the subject of this story.

Since we moved in the neighbor across the street has always struck me as odd. And I don't know that any of my suspicions are correct, but it's so fun to speculate! When you move into a new neighborhood you try to meet your neighbors, in the very least you wave to them and say hi. The neighbor across the street, hereby known as The Butcher, has never acknowledged my numerous attempts to say hi and wave to him. That's the first oddity. The Butcher drives a very small car, two wheel drive, with at least five antenna on top of it. The reason I bring this up is because it snows where we live, and having four wheel drive is practically a necessity. The Butcher has a huge truck. But rather than drive the truck he uses it to back up and down the driveway when it's snowing to plow a path for his Geo Metro. The Butcher will spend upwards of 45 minutes carving tracks into his driveway. And when he drives the Geo through the snow, forget about it. You better watch out 'cause he ain't. He drives like a madman! During the summer The Butcher will open his front door and turn his music up so loud that we can hear it clear as day inside our house. Sometimes it's good music so we don't mind. But regardless, it's just kind of odd behavior yet again.

So I had been observing the comings and goings of The Butcher for a couple of months upon moving in to the house. He kept strange hours, coming and going in the middle of the night, sometimes being gone for a couple of days. Then one sunny summer weekend I was gardening in the front yard. The Butcher had several long plastic tubes, like one would use for plumbing or maybe a swimming pool. These tubes were very long though, and The Butcher doesn't have a swimming pool. I continued to watch trying to figure out what he was doing. It appeared that he was cleaning the tubes out, and doing a thorough job at that. The wheels in my head began to spin and a story was weaved out of whole cloth. BUT . . . it's a story that makes more and more sense with each passing day and new discovery.

The Butcher keeps a dungeon under his house. The dungeon is full of young women, teens and early twenties. They are chained up and tortured until The Butcher is done with them, and then they are unceremoniously dismembered and either 1)kept in large fridges to be distributed as meat for human consumption 2)kept in the same fridges until The Butcher eats them or 3)somehow disposed of by means of a wood chipper or acid vats.

See, he turns up the music when he's torturing them so no one will hear the screams projecting from the basement. He may also use this technique when he is chopping them up. There is still some argument as to whether he uses a chainsaw or carving knife. Now he may use an electric knife, but that wouldn't require loud music to mask the sound. The tubes are used probably to drain the blood from the dungeon. There is some speculation that they may also be used as a conduit for poison, which is what actually kills the girls.

At this point you may be wondering, where and how does he get these girls without being seen? Ah, my friends, this is where it gets interesting. Also in our neighborhood there lives a man who purchased a stretched Hummer limo, which he chauffeurs to make money. I have seen this very limo, on many occasions, full of girls in their early twenties who are drunk off their asses. Limo man just happens to be friends with The Butcher and often drives the limo to The Butcher's house. Not to go for a drive, Limo Man just parks it there while, I don't know, they have tea and crumpets.

Last night our power went out for several hours. The entire street, the entire neighborhood was dark. Every house, that is, except The Butcher's. As soon as the power went out he had his whole-house generator running. Why? To keep the fridges cold of course! You can't go to all that trouble to cut up dead bodies and store them in cold storage just to have the power go out and ruin everything. He also may have some sort of forced-air system for the dungeon to keep the girls either too cold or too hot.

Of course I have no proof of these allegations. That's why I observe. I'll tell you what though, when they find the dead bodies buried in the back yard, or the vats of acid with pieces of bone floating in them, and the cops come to question us, I won't be that person who says, "He was such a quiet man who kept to himself. I just can't believe he would do this."
I'll be the one who says, "I knew it all along."

The Happiest New Year

2007-01-02T11:47:00.000-08:00

What an incredible weekend I had! I'm absolutely exhausted today, but it's well worth it. It started out on Friday when I dislocated my shoulder while going down a slide. I don't work on Fridays, which is great obviously. Last Friday though, shit hit the fan and I was required to work for a few hours. KB didn't have to work but he had to pick up his check. KB's work and my work are very close together so he gave me a ride down to the office on his way to get his check. After we were all done KB bought me lunch and we went to the park to eat. I wanted to play a little on the playground when we finished eating, and KB joined me. I went down the slides a couple of times and climbed around a bit. I went down the tunnel slide again, KB was standing on top of it, and something went terribly wrong. I suppose I was going too fast and I was slammed against the wall of the tunnel slide with incredible force. I ended up coming out of the slide head-first with a horrific pain in my right shoulder. The look on KB's face I will never forget. He was really worried, as was I, because I couldn't move my arm. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do if my shoulder was broken. KB asked if I wanted to sit down and I told him that I just needed to walk it off. Suddenly I felt the bones in my shoulder shift and everything just popped back into place. I've never dislocated anything before and it was the grossest thing I've felt when it popped back. Friday night we had an impromptu gathering with a few friends. Suffice it to say, tequila was consumed, fun was had by all, I passed out on the floor sitting up against our friend KB's legs. Husband eventually escorted me to bed without incident.

The next day Husband had to work. We've been putting off getting firewood for several weeks now so KB and I decided to go while Husband was gone. Several miles down an unpaved, muddy, bumpy road lives KB's friend Mountain Man. Mountain Man started building a house a few years ago and has not finished it yet. It is a very cool house. It's three stories and all of them have a deck the entire way around. MM lives on five acres and has a couple of horses and lots of dogs. One of the dogs, a hound, had puppies four months ago and they are the cutest pups I've seen. They're a mix of hound, lab and husky. KB and I took our dog and our friend's dog to MM's, so all told there were seven or eight dogs running around. It was great. They all got along really well. The pups loved playing with Ben, our dog. The mom seemed to be sizing Ben up, figuring out if he'd be a good dad to them. Unfortunately for her, Ben's chopped.

MM also has a huge tractor thing. I know it's not a tractor, it's a frontloader or something. That thing makes really quick work of getting wood. It pulls the trees out in seconds. The hardest part, really, is finding trees to cut up. There's all sorts of rules about what kind of wood you can take out of the forest, so you have to be mindful of them. KB took me to see an amazing view of the canyon and the mountains. The sky was just beginning to darken so it had an almost purple hue. The mountains, now snow covered, peeked over the top of the canyon ridge. They looked so close you could touch them. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze.

We ended up with both of the trucks full of wood and made our way back home in the dark. Husband was home with the rest of our crew. Most of the guys played a game of Risk and we just hung out for a while. We ended up playing music and drums and singing into the night and stayed up way too late. We had to get the house ready for the New Year's party the next day. So we had a slumber party in the front room, I think four of us ended up sleeping out there, and woke up blurry-headed and unmotivated to clean house.

The party was planned on very short notice. One of our friends from down in the valley called a couple of weeks ago to find out what we were doing for New Year's. Husband said, "I don't know, I guess partying with you guys." And then we were having a party. Roommate had a couple of friends come from out-of-town and we were expecting a bunch more from the valley.

Roomates friends, goodness, what can I say about them? Rough around the edges to say the least. We'll call them S&T. S is a study in human development. I'm sure that she could be studied for years and the researchers would still have unanswered questions. S is an extremely apologetic person. She says she's sorry for everything. I have trouble with this kind of person because at some point, they're not really sorry. You can't be sorry for everything, it's impossible. Being sorry indicates that you are at fault for something. I hate it when people use words to the point of rendering them useless. Anyway, she's sorry for everything and likes to tell extremely detailed stories. I like detail as much as the next person, and I obviously like to tell stories. The difference is, I'm writing something that people can choose to read or not. I don't corner people at a party and tell them, in excruciating detail, about the death of my parrot and how it related to my bad marriage, divorce and subsequent move. And I don't keep repeating myself while I'm telling the story. So we have one sorry repeater, if you're keeping track.

T and S are together but not married. T is a one-upper, class A one-upper. He's not only done what you've done, but he's done it better, faster, longer, more often, whatever. Not only is he a one-upper but he fancies himself to be quite the comedian. And here's another one of my peeves, people who make themselves laugh. Now, I'm known to be a laugher. I love laughing, love making people laugh, I love being funny. But if you're talking and you say something that only you are laughing at, it's probably not that funny. And when you do this like every two minutes and you also have this maniacal, high-pitched, insanely annoying laugh, I don't like you. Yes, just like that, right off the bat, you and I will never be friends. That's not to say I'm going to kick you out of the house, I'll be polite. But you are not my friend.

Eventually we rallied and started cleaning, which actually went fairly quickly. Husband and our friend Stretch went to the store to get supplies for the party. My request? Snacks to feed people since I wasn't making dinner or anything. While the rest of us were cleaning Husband and Stretch were really doing a great job on stocking up with necessary supplies. They did bring back beer, enough beer for a good party. Their snack of choice? The snacks they figured would feed at least 30 people who were driving for over an hour to get to our house? A single, small box of Chicken in a Biscuit. I'm sorry, come again? Yes, that's right. A small box of chicken flavored crackers. So I though of various serving ideas for the Chicken in a Biscuit, perhaps putting them individually on trays with a sprig of parsley and passing them, very classy. We managed without many snacks, thankfully. People brought stuff with them and there was enough for everyone to eat. I made two pans of "special" brownies so that helped.

The fun really began once people started showing up. There were many people from the valley we haven't seen in a long time. There were new people we'd just met that night. It was a great group of people though. Everyone got along and there was no drama. That's all I cared about. At some point during the night I was talking with an old friend from the valley when I thought I smelled poo. I looked at the carpet and saw what appeared to be poo. I asked the valley friend, "Cas, does that look like poo?" The lights were down and it was hard to tell what it actually was, but she thought it had the potential to be poo. So I grabbed my CSI flashlight and lit it up. Sure enough it was poo, not only in one spot, but tracked through the entire living room in a neat little line. Door to door poo line. Of course, it had to be cleaned up. After I picked up the big chunks, I got the cleaner and a towel and then S decided she wanted to clean it up for me. She made a big production about how she was cleaning it for me and pretty much stopped the party to clean up the poo. Me, I probably would have kept it more on the DL, but what do I know? After the poo was cleaned up I announced that we were having a poo crisis and could everyone please check their shoes so we could avoid another poo emergency.

Not ten minutes later I looked down and saw another suspicious brown spot on the carpet. Could it be? Yes it was, more poo! After cleaning it up I finally found the source of the poo. There was a big glob of it on the front porch. Why I was the only one to find this is beyond me. After removing the poo from the front porch I was confident that we'd have no more poo disasters. But no, my friends, there were four more poo incidents that night. Periodically I would scan the room with my CSI flashlight and on each occasion I was face-to-face with more poo on the carpet. Between the poo and all the people spilling beers I was cleaning most of the night. At one point late into the night, KB spoke up and announced, "Okay people! You all need to start checking your shoes and stop spilling your beers. This lady needs a rest!" Of course all of these incidents were highly amusing and I could hardly contain my laughter long enough to scrub poo out of the carpet. It was funny, or at least we made it funny.

The night climaxed with a lengthy drum circle session, it was awesome. I'm sure the neighbors weren't thrilled, but it was great. Husband was playing his harmonicas, there were like five or six drums being pounded on, the energy was amazing. Roommate was out of his head on miscellaneous drugs and alcohol and fell into the fire pit outside. Lucky for him there was a metal cover on it so he only got badly burned rather than char-broiled.

All-in-all the party went off without a hitch, well except for the poo, and everyone said it was the best one yet. Who knows, maybe we'll make it a tradition. I hope you all had a great New Year's and you're ready to take on this one. Cheers 'till next time!

It's Snowing!!!!!

2006-12-27T13:26:00.000-08:00

Yeah! Finally the snow is starting to fall. I personally love it, that's why Husband and I moved to the mountains. The air is cleaner, the sky is bluer, the trees are bigger, everything smells better, and it snows. For Husband and I this means backhilling (snowboarding the back country), snowshoeing, skiing for Husband, he's incredible, and various other snow activities. We live in the best possible area for everything outdoors. In the summer we're minutes away from the lake, hiking, mountain biking, whatever. And in the winter, same thing except for everything is covered in snow.

It was coming down pretty well on my way to work, and I hope it keeps up all day. I had a wonderful drive, listening to Dave Matthews, watching the snow fall, thanking God for being alive. Something about the snow, I don't know, it's so much different than rain. I lived in Portland, Oregon for four years and couldn't leave quick enough. I hate the rain. But the snow - it's so quiet and peaceful. I love the sound it makes, kind of a crunch crunch, when you walk on it. I love how it disguises everything and transports you instantly to a new world. What was once recognizable, covered in snow is not at all. You can get lost for hours in the woods, and sometimes I do on purpose. Ben, our dog, and I will go to the woods and he'll bury his face in the snow and slide all over and we'll just walk for hours. It's amazing to live where we do. I'm so thankful. Sure, it's farther to drive for some things. We're farther away from our parents. But we get to live in the mountains. It's way worth it.

The Let Down

2006-12-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

I always feel more tired after Christmas than I do in the days leading up to it. Somehow my adrenaline keeps me going until after the day is over and then I just crash and burn. And that's exactly what I'm doing today. Back to work, not feeling it, wanting to crawl under my desk and hide.

Christmas is becoming almost a chore and, frankly, I'm always glad when it's over. I feel the pressure of having to shop for all of our family and friends, the pressure to do all of my baking, decorate the house, having family over, going to family's houses, trying to make sure all my loose ends are tied up. And it's funny that it almost always lands on the wife/girlfriend. Not that I resent it, I don't at all. I'm happy that I can postpone all of my shopping until the last minute, and with lists in hand, complete all of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop in a matter of hours. To me, that's beating the system. Only a few hours that I have to deal with the horrific sounds that pass as Christmas music blasted over the store speakers. Only a few hours to deal with lines and traffic and rude people. Then it's done. Husband does and did do an excellent job of helping me wrap.

Then I have to make sure that I've got my potatoes to take to Husband's family at the buttcrack of dawn on Christmas Day. I have to get the pecan pie baked to take over to my family's after we see Husband's. This is always fun because Husband's mom is a freak. No exaggeration. She's got some serious problems. But she's always surprised that I have a family to go see and that we won't be staying for dinner at their house. Every year this surprises her. It doesn't matter how many times Husband tells her what our plans are. See, she's all into Christmas morning. Christmas is for the kids she says. Not for grown-ups. Well Husband's sister, the one sister who lives in town, is the only one with kids, who are now 6 and 8. His other sister lives in Florida with her two kids. Husband and I are the only losers without kids. But since Christmas morning is a big deal to his mom, we go over there to share in the "festivities". This is a joke because we eat, open gifts and then just sit around. The conversation is very limited and typically consists of Husband trying to explain, yet again, that my family lives 10 minutes away and that's where we'll be for dinner.

And that's where we end our long Christmas Day. At my parent's house. It's always pretty uneventful since my mom's family is dead. See the link for that story. http://natureswonderland.blogspot.com/2006/12/on-serious-note_12.html
Anyway, by the time we're done with dinner and gifts at my family's, I'm done. Done with the day, with driving (we have an hour drive each way), with the thinking about others, with all of it. I'm actually glad when the day is over and we can proceed with our normal lives. I'm sure this makes me a Scrooge, but I really don't care. Christmas has long since ceased being full of magic and mystery (keep in mind we never believed in Santa), ripe with possibility and hope, a season of caroling and baking and decorating. Where you can present your dad with the construction paper tie proudly, knowing it's the best gift ever. No, now it's a requirement, an obligation. And if our prayers are answered and it's an enjoyable day, that's just a bonus. We prepare and expect the worst and that way we're never disappointed.

Yes, I'm very glad that it's over. Now we can start planning our New Year's festivities, which will most certainly involve imbibing a ridiculous amount of alcohol and other illicit substances.

Repeaters

2006-12-20T10:26:00.000-08:00

What's with people who repeat themselves? It drives me right up a wall. It's one of those personality traits I've never been able to wrap my head around. Do they forget they just said the exact same thing? Do they think I didn't hear them? In the last few weeks I've encountered many Repeaters for some reason. I've discovered there are several types of Repeaters.

The Beating a Dead Horse Repeater

This sort of Repeater will tell you the same thing like five times in a row. But they will change slightly what they are saying. For example, I was on the phone trying to get some information for a client. The woman I was talking to was explaining why she couldn't talk to me about the specific information I needed. The coversation went like this:

"I'm sorry but I won't be able to talk to you about this member's coverage. It's protected information."

"Okay, " I said, "What should I have the client do?"

"Well, you see, it's protected information you're asking for and I can't really discuss it with you without you being the broker of record, you know because of HIPAA laws."

"Uh huh, I understand that. So should I have the client call, or . . . "

"Since this is protected information and I can't discuss the details with you, the client should call and we'll be able to help him. I can't talk to you about it because of HIPAA and this is considered protected information."

Unfortunately the coversation continued in the same vein for several minutes. Don't get me wrong, the lady on the phone was polite and well-meaning, but come on! You only need to give me this information once. I hear it, process it and remember it in a matter of seconds. That's what my brain is for, that's it's primary function in fact. Unless I specifically ask you for clarification or to repeat what you just said, you can pretty much guarantee that I got it the first time.

The Lack of Short Term Memory Repeater

This type of Repeater will tell you something and several minutes later they'll tell you again. Now, this is a touchy one especially when dealing with the elderly or someone who's experienced head trauma. Sometimes there are valid reasons why people forget what they said just minutes ago. But for the rest of you who do this for no good reason, start taking Ginko Biloba for the love of God. I can't take it! You JUST said that. Do you think that my short term memory is as bad as yours? You don't need to give me the exact same instructions you just gave me. I remember things, very well. My mind is like a steel trap. I'm sorry that you have trouble with your's, but why should I suffer? Your repeating this information to me is only wasting my time and severely annoying me. Do you think I'm stupid to the point of needing to hear what you said more than once to understand it? Did I miss something the first time? Did you want me to laugh and I didn't? Were you expecting a different reaction and you think that by repeating yourself you will get what you were expecting? Help me help you.

The Story Repeater

These people I cannot stand. This to me is the worst form of Repeater there is. Because, without question, they are also Repeaters who will not stop even though you've told them you've already heard this story. In fact, you can even help them finish it and they still won't stop. There are two people I know who are perhaps the worst offenders in this particular genre of Repeater. One is Roommate, the other is banned from our house.
Roommate likes to talk about himself. It's sad on the one hand because you know that something happened somewhere along the line that he needs constant validation. So he talks and talks about himself as a way to prove that he's worthy of love, respect, whatever. The problem is that he keeps telling the same stories. And he's kind of a combination Short Term Memory and Story Repeater, which is even worse. Just the other night he told us about how he had to sell some furniture from the warehouse to pay the employees because the owner hadn't dropped off payroll. It was longer than that when he told it. The next morning everyone was waking up and whatnot (we had a big slumber party). And I was sitting with KB when Rommate sits down with us. He starts telling us the exact same story as the night before. So KB starts finishing the story with him, putting in the details and stuff. Roommate still continues the story, KB's contributions going completely over his head.
The other offender is the worst Story Repeater I've ever encountered. He is banned from our house because I can't take him. I just can't. It's like every combination of annoying habits in one person and I actually experience unwanted physical reactions to his very presence. Husband used to work with this Hillbilly and we've heard every story he has to tell more than once. Of course they're all about what a badass he is and how he's done everything and anything better than you or anyone. Not only is he a Story Repeater, he's also a One-Upper - a deadly combo. This jackass will not be interupted either. Believe me, I've tried. He tells his moronic stories in such a manner that he monopolizes the entire converstation of everyone present. He speaks so loudly that you can't hear anything else above his voice. And then . . . during the story . . . he will pause . . . very dramatically . . .

And wait . . .

Leaving the listener to wonder, is this the blessed end of this moron's ridiculous story? Can I go back to my previous conversation? What can I do to end this misery? So the listener, praying it's the end, will begin to say something like, "Great story, " or "Yeah, that's pretty crazy, " and without missing a beat and as if he is watching for cues that the listener is about to speak, One-Upper will start talking again, completely cutting off any comments or questions and will keep talking until he decides to stop.
You can tell him you've already heard the story, he just keeps talking like he didn't hear you. You can help him tell the story, he'll just talk louder to drown you out. The only thing you can do to escape is exactly that, leave the room, patio, area, neighborhood. But, as I said, he has been banned from the house so I don't get the pleasure of his stories anymore.

I'm sure there are other types of Repeaters, but these are the kinds I've encountered recently. I know that dealing with these people is almost certainly a test of my patience. I don't know that I've passed with flying colors. But then again, it's a very self-indulgent thing, Repeating. It assumes that your life, your stories, your experiences are somehow the most important thing to everyone around you. So please, if you are a Repeater or care about someone who is, baby steps to change. That's all it takes, baby steps.

Inside My Head - a poem

2006-12-13T13:07:00.000-08:00

Exhale slowly
Get my head straight
These thoughts, these feelings
eventually will go away

They never last forever
though they do keep returning
tormenting me with the past
suddenly, without warning

Silly of me to think I could escape
Whispers, chuckles inside my head
it's all coming back to me now
resurrected from the dead

I was so miserable then
never feeling quite right
always the oddball, out-of-place
always ready for a fight

Years have elapsed
and though I'm much older
my strangeness prevails
and isolates me further

I've accepted reality
I'll never be her
I won't have the grace, the style
I won't have the same curves

And by the look in your eyes
I know your desire
what can I do? I turn a blind eye
I walk through the fire

The way it's always been
never the beauty, never first choice
never commanding attention
not like your new little toy

I breath in and breath out
got to get my head right
not think about the pain
feel the cold embrace of night

Not a tear will drop
while I lay in my bed
keeping at bay
the monsters in my head

I will slip into the background
blend in with the rest
laugh, drink and be merry
I can fake it with the best

Some sweet day
the aching will cease
and I'll be delivered
to eternal peace

On a Serious Note

2006-12-12T09:41:00.001-08:00

The end of the year, and especially the holidays surrounding it, are a constant reminder that I have no family. Or more accurately, I have a very small family. There are four of us. I'm talking about my immediate family, my brother, mom and dad. Husband has a rather large family but that's another story.
In my dreams I have an enormous family, a house full of people, a table a mile long full of food, everyone is laughing and enjoying themselves, everyone loves each other and puts aside their differences if only for one day for the greater purpose of celebrating Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's, whatever. In reality my dad's family lives out of state and are not, shall we say, emotionally stable. My mom's sister and her two children (both married now) stopped speaking to us years ago over some disagreement about, I swear, Dr. Laura. I was not present at said disagreement and so have only heard about it second-hand. And though I'm sure the argument and subsequent abandonment have more to do with other unresolved issues, it still amazes me that something so petty can get so out of hand.
I have two cousins and an aunt who live maybe an hour away from me (much closer to my parents) who I've not seen or talked to in easily eight years. Not by my choice or my poor mom's. I can't imagine the pain of having your sister cut you out of her life. My mom has written countless letters in a vain attempt to reconcile their relationship. The aunt won't budge though. She's never written back and it's my belief that she never will. Perhaps when she's on her death bed, rethinking her pathetic life, maybe then she'll realize the error of her ways. But people like that rarely admit their mistakes. My mom still leaves the door open for reconciliation. She prays about it, I'm sure daily. Not me so much.
I should mention that this was the second abandonment that my mom's sister's family has put us through. Many years ago my mom and the aunt had a horrible argument over my grandma who is now dead. The aunt wanted to put her in a home, my mom wouldn't hear of it. (No, she didn't belong in a home, the aunt just wanted access to her money.) So the aunt and her family stopped talking to my mom and all of us. Well several years later the aunt's marriage of 25+ years is falling apart, she's getting divorced and has decided that she needs to reconcile with my mom. So they did and then we were all talking again.
But then about eight years ago the Dr. Laura incident happened and we haven't talked to them since.
I can't really wrap my head around family just cutting other family out of their lives. I suppose I could understand if there were addiction issues or one of us was a kiddie porn enthusiast or made snuff films or something. That you disagree about the merits or lack thereof of Dr. Laura is not a reason I'd typically choose to end a relationship over; with anyone let alone family.
So after the second time the aunt ended things, that was it for me. I don't mention their names, ever, and on the occasion that it does slip out, I do spit on the ground immediately after the name leaves my lips. I have no interest in reconciliation, a pleasant conversation, a cup of coffee, a brief glance, nothing. They are all dead. It's sad because I didn't attend a funeral for them and the cause of death is still unknown, but they're all dead.
I have not found a better solution yet. In my heart and my soul it hurts too bad to anguish over why they did this. I've had to watch my mom deal with it this way and it's heartwrenching. She agonizes over what she could have done differently, why she's not good enough, what's wrong with her, etc. I can't do that. What happened is my mom's sister is a bitch, a ruthless, heartless, evil bitch. You think the way she treated my mom's family is bad? You should have heard the way she talked to her own mother. And rude, evil, heartless bitches tend to raise self-absorbed, selfish, spoiled, evil children. And that's exactly what happened. And now they're dead. End of story. What, they're going to do me a favor someday by deciding they want to talk to us again? Fuck that!
This time of year though, can really bring all of those memories and the hurt right back. That's why I'm so thankful for the friends that Husband and I have been blessed with. It's like, I didn't get the big family, but my family continues to build through the years with the friends we make. That is my family.
So I'll be thankful for all of those blessings and I'll enjoy my celebrations with my small immediate family and I'll not think about the hurt. And someday when I find out where they're all buried, maybe I'll go visit their graves.

'Tis the Season - Ugh!

2006-12-07T14:34:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas time. I love that Husband and I live where it snows and we're expecting some this weekend. I love the lights, I love decorating my house, I love baking cookies.

I HATE Christmas music. I hate that the day after Thanksgiving it's impossible to go ANYWHERE without hearing it. It's like noise pollution to me. I'm hearing it without my permission - an assalt to my ears!

Don't get me wrong, there are some Christmas albums I enjoy listening to. But I typically listen to them like the week before Christmas if at all. Odetta, Emmylou Harris, The Chieftans, I enjoy these. But the sacchrine, pop, bubblegum crap they play on the radio and in the grocery store makes me want to shove knitting needles through my ears.

Here I sit at work, the radio is on in the office. The station that it never changes from plays adult contemporary (my favorite!), you know these types of stations. During the holiday season, in addition to the joy of hearing my favorite Rod Stewart and Phil Collins classics, I get the special pleasure of hearing Madonna sing Santa Baby. This wonderful station came up with the brilliant plan of rotating in Christmas songs with their regular playlist. EVERY OTHER SONG. This is why I look forward to January.

Of Dunebuggies and Rattlesnakes

2006-12-06T11:18:00.000-08:00

This is a little gem from several years ago.

Our story begins as three friends, me, Mr. D, and Husband before we were married, embark on a weekend camping trip. Mr. D had friends camping at nearby a lake for 4th of July and we were invited to join the party.

Now camping anywhere on the 4th of July is at best a crowded madhouse. At worst you end up at the very back cove of the lake, squished in like sardines, tents almost on top of each other, which was our situation. This particular lake is also very popular with jet boat owners, and each morning we awoke to obscene thundering of jet boat motors.

My companions and I had arranged to indulge in some extra-curricular activities, namely LSD. For those of you who have never taken this drug, the experience can be both incredibly fun and sometimes terrifying. Your perception of reality changes completely. Any concept of time is gone. While I have never lost control of my functions, I guess this happens from time to time. I also have never had a "bad trip" and have always had a great time on acid.

We arrived at the site Mr. D's friends had chosen and unpacked. We set up the tent, met Mr. D's friends, opened some beers, you know the routine.

Mr. D's friends proved to be the only entertainment we needed that weekend. At the time Mr. D worked in a gas station and the friends we were camping with were friends from work. The group was a mish-mash of missing teeth, hillbilly charm, Keystone drunks and the like. It was truly like camping with the Clampetts. I kept expecting to see the pickup roll up with all the furniture and grandma in a rocking chair. One particular man was the token drunk guy. When we were introduced he was already lit and a few hours later could not stand up without stumbling. He proceeded to dive into the most shallow part of the lake and busted his head open on a rock. Of course, because he was so intoxicated he didn't notice the blood pouring from his head until we pointed it out. Token Drunk Guy then decided to have another one of the group pull him behind a wave runner on an innertube. This was particularly hilarious because he still had a beer in his hand and the driver of the wave runner was doing everything in his power to flip TDG over. Eventually he succeeded and our entertainment ended for a while.

After we'd eaten and the afternoon was turning into evening, we decided to take our treats. Rather than blotters we had sugar cubes. I remember five. We each took one and saved the rest for later. The opposite side of the lake from where we were camping was empty. It was not part of the campground, but was accessible by way of crawling through a dilapidated barbed wire fence. Before the acid started to kick in we walked around to the fence, crawled through and made our way to the far side of the lake.

As our trip began we immersed ourselves into the lake. The water felt like silk and was warm as bath water. Our clothes came off and we swam around naked for quite a long time. What's funny now is that we were just on the other side of the lake, completely visible to everyone camping and it was still light out. Of course, we didn't care at that point. We were absolutely content to lay on our backs in the water as the sky grew darker and the stars began to shine. As the drugs pulsed through our bloodstream and the trip became more intense, the stars looked as if they were shooting across the sky. I couldn't figure out if I was actually seeing the movement of the earth or if I was just trippin'.

We did get out of the water before it got dark and walked back to our camp through the same void in the barbed wire fence. We changed into some warm clothes and attempted conversation with everyone at camp. In our condition this proved very difficult. After ingesting another half a sugarcube each, we decided we liked it better on the other side of the lake and so, once again, set out to cross the barbed wire borderline.

Once safely on the other side we attempted to get into the water again, but found it much too cold now that night had fallen. So there we were, acid coursing through our bodies, pupils as big as plates, staring at the lake and just trippin' and having a good time. All of a sudden we hear a noise in the distance. At first it sounded like a chainsaw, maybe a dirt bike. As the noise grew closer we saw the accompanying lights of a small dune buggy. With a cloud of dust in it's wake the dune buggy kept coming towards us and stopped suddenly a few feet from us. There before our eyes were two men. One, the driver, was a heavy set gent with a long grey beard the likes of which would put ZZ Top to shame. The passenger was a funny looking guy, very thin with a rat-like face. He was wearing rainbow suspenders.

At this point we all looked at each other to figure out of this was really happening or if we were all experiencing the exact same hallucination. We stood there in utter disbelief and then the driver spoke.

"Y'all live around here?"

We thought, where, where would we possibly live around here? Who, if anyone, lives around here?

Husband answered him, "Does anyone?"

What the driver said next would prove most disheartening.

"Y'all better be careful out here. There's rattlesnakes everywhere."

And with that, the dune buggy started up again and drove away into the hills, its' wake of dust still following behind.

At this point we were all freaked out. We were freaked out that we may be standing in a field full of rattlesnakes, freaked out that we may all have just hallucinated some hillbilly telling us about the rattlesnakes, and mostly freaked out about how to get back to camp without being bitten by the rattlesnakes. Husband especially freaked out because he is terrified, terrified of snakes. All he could do was squat down on the ground and be very still so as not to disturb the snakes.

So we all sat for a while and contemplated our options. I wasn't so sure about the rattlesnakes. I couldn't see any, or hear them. I suggested that we start walking back to camp, carefully, and see what happened. As we discussed what to do a commotion began on the other side of the lake.

We heard the whine of several dirt bikes from off in a distance, but clearly close to our camp and getting closer. From out of the trees on the hill above the camp came maybe four or five bikes, busting into camp like the cops. To our surprise, it was the cops. The lights were flashing, the bike motors roaring, and then came the cop boat. We sat on the other side of the lake and watched the entire scene unfold. The cops were clearly in pursuit of someone. They went right to a white Honda-type sedan and I believe took someone into custody. When the bike cops were finished, the cop boat started coming around to our side of the lake. He shined his light where we were sitting and we froze. We were sure we were getting busted. For what? Who knows, maybe we were trespassing, maybe we were disturbing the rattlesnake sanctuary. We just knew that between the cops and the snakes it was perhaps safer back at camp.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the snakes, we found the barbed wire fence and made it unscathed back to camp. We used our small barbecue as a makeshift fire pit and watched the coals glow and change shape. Our trip was coming to an end and our sleeping bags were calling us. Husband decided to sleep in his truck and let Mr. D and I have the tent. Right next to us was another group of campers who had brought along a keg which they had floating in the lake. There weren't very many people to warrant bringing a keg, but whatever, they were getting tanked. This group of campers gave every indication that this was some sort of group home or boys home camping trip. Maybe it wasn't but that's what it looked like to us. The leader of the group home was a large woman who stayed mostly in the tent. What we didn't realize until the camp became quiet was that she had a serious lung problem. Having a bad cough is one thing. When the cough is more of a constant hacking accompanied by the gurgling, moist sounds of lung butter, you might want to think about seeing a doctor. This lady, every two minutes, was hacking up her lungs. Seriously, I think there were actual pieces of her lungs flying through the air, landing willy-nilly on the floor of the tent.

Well this just set Mr. D and I off. It was such a disgusting, constant, flemmy cough, but it made us laugh like it was a comedy routine. Every time she would start coughing Mr. D and I would start laughing uncontrollably. This lasted what seemed like hours until Mr. D and I drifted off to sleep.

This was one of the best times I've had, and is still one of my favorite memories.

A Poem

2006-12-05T13:32:00.000-08:00

The Other

Ecstacy
Overcoming me
Finally

I lay in the calm
Feel the glow . . .

He doesn't know
The storm brewing
The other . . .

Lingers in the depths of my mind
Pulls on my body
Drags me down
Willingly
I sink into
the realm of the other
Blissfully
skin's memory overtaking me
lips quivering

Begging, pleading
for deliverance
Just once
Again

Until I return
to the world that I've chosen
and hide the storm
of desire
in my eyes

Maybe It's Me

2006-12-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

Having a roommate is a very delicate relationship. It forces you to choose your battles carefully, especially if you have a roommate who is not especially considerate. A brief history -
When Husband and I met our current roommate, he was unemployed and living with his parents. We all became friends and, at that time, he was very polite and thoughtful. Husband and I have friends at our house every weekend and almost every day during the week. We enjoy the company of our friends even though the house gets kinda thrashed. But current roommate, before he was roommate, would wash dishes, help clean the house and in general thought of others, especially Husband and I. He wanted to be helpful. Husband and I encouraged Roommate to get a job and were very supportive of him becoming a productive member of society. His own mom was discouraging him from obtaining gainful employment, which is why Husband and I thought maybe living in our house for a while would be a better environment.
Fast forward a few months and he is now our roommate. Things were pretty good for a while. But slowly and steadily a self-centeredness and selfishness started showing its face in Roommate. He would (and still does) spend hours talking about work and his day and himself when he got home in the evening, not pausing long enough to even ask Husband and I about our days. That was the first indication that something was amiss. I'm still not sure if this is how Roommate actually is and he was going out of his way to be "good" so he could move out of his parent's house, or if he is actually changing into an asshole. Well, in addition to the detailed and lengthy monologues every day, Roommate also stopped doing anything around the house.
Let me insert here that I work, full time, just like Husband and Roommate. I also make dinner every night for whomever is in the house, but always for at least Husband and Roommate. I clean the house every week, I make sure the bath towels are clean and all of the other things that go along with keeping up a household. I ask for virtually nothing in return. I do these things because they need to be done and I'm generally happy to do them.
How things have changed. Roommate won't even lift a finger to do anything, dishes, take out the trash, clean, nothing. Okay, fine, I guess I can live with that. As long as rent and bills are paid, right? Wrong. Now it's like pulling teeth to get money out of roommate as well. And call me crazy, but I feel like at the age of 35 you should be able to figure out when rent is due and pay it. Your roommates shouldn't have to ask you to pay the rent. Same with bills. Why is it our responsibility to ASK for money? I'm not dude's mom. Nor am I a maid.
Okay, so fast forward again, but also reverse to Thanksgiving. Even though Roommate was invited to spend Thanksgiving with Husband and I (in September he was invited) he decided he was too good for my family and decided to just stay home. Except he didn't stay home. Roommate decided it was a good idea to buy a puppy. A St. Bernard puppy.
Perhaps now is the time to tell you about our house. Husband and I could not be happier with where we live. But it's a small house. Like 900 square feet small. It's barely big enough for me, Husband, our dog and Roommate. But in his mind it's more than adequate for a ST.. BERNARD. Look, I don't even know what his plans are when this thing gets bigger. He has no plans.
To make matters worse, Roommate didn't even discuss the idea of getting a dog with us. So Husband called our house on Thanksgiving to check in with Roommate and found out about the puppy. Roommate spent $200 on a papered St. Bernard. Great. I'm not saying anything bad about spending money on a dog. Husband and I only paid $20 for our dog, but to each his own. What I am saying something bad about is spending that kind of money on a dog when you can't even pay rent. Priorities you know? So the whole day of Thanksgiving Husband and I spent ruminating on this puppy and what in THE HELL Roommate was thinking. Roommate goes to work before it's light and gets home when it's dark. Who will stay with the puppy during the day? Who will train the puppy? Who will walk the puppy? It's not even the puppy that burns us as much as the complete lack of consideration and respect that Roommate showed for us.
Husband and I talked on the way home about how to handle the situation, which had to be very delicately. (Roommate already has a history of defensiveness and anger and, in general, very childlike behavior when it comes to conflict.) We got home to find a house full of people, our friends, which was just fine with us. It did make talking with Roommate a bit more difficult.
Roommate was visibly excited, thrilled more like it. He had the papers out and ready to show us and tell us all about the puppy's bloodlines and how many times she'd taken a shit already. The following conversation ensued:
Roommate: "Touch her belly, it's so soft, isn't she so cute?"
Me: "Yes, she's cute. Puppies are cute."
Roommate: stupid shit I don't care about having to do with bloodlines once again and blah, blah, blah
Me: "We're going to have to talk about this at some point Roommate."
Roommate: "Talk about what?"
Me: "About this, the whole dog thing."
Roommate: "I thought we already talked about it."
Me: "It would've been nice to know that you were going to get a dog. It would've been cool for you to talk to us about it first."
Roommate (now clearly agitated and defensive): "We already talked about it. I've told you so many times that I was going to get a dog."
Me: "Roommate, you've never told us that you're getting a dog."
Roommate (now even more defensive and clearly angry): "Man, I told you so many times sitting out on the deck. You knew I was going to get one!"
Me: "Alright, well we're gonna need to talk about it."
At that point I ended the conversation. Clearly Roommate had it in his head that he'd discussed this with us. Roommate has, in the past six months, "discussed" getting a boat, buying property, buying a house, and yes I think even getting a dog. The "discussions" go something like this:
"Man, I'm gonna get that boat. We gotta have a boat."
"Man, I wanna dog."
So, okay, clearly I'm in the wrong, we did have a discussion about the dog. It was just very brief and without any actual discussion.
Husband did talk to Roommate later that night. Roommate assured Husband that he indeed had a plan for the puppy and would take it to work with him and clean up after him and everything. Well, when Monday came the puppy didn't go to work with Roommate. Roommate locked her in his room. Oh, but it's okay, he put some puppy pad shit on the floor for her to piss and shit on. The carpet will be fine. Meanwhile Husband and I are kissing our pet deposit goodbye. Not to mention that Husband and I are still asleep when Roommate goes to work and the puppy, as puppies are known to do, cries and yelps when Roommate leaves.
Husband had to have another talk with Roommate, making it clear to him that the puppy can't stay in the house, locked in a room all day, shitting and pissing on the carpet. So Roommate has been taking it to work.
Fast forward once more and here we are. Rent's due yet again and yet again we are forced to collect it from Roommate. His new plan is to build a wall in our downstairs area (an unfinished basement-type room where the washer and dryer are, and that Husband and I painstakingly made into a cool-ass chill room complete with carpeting) to keep the puppy contained in the chill room. His theory - the carpeting is just remnants and the puppy can shit and piss all over it and it won't matter. That way Roommate will have one room, Husband and I will have the other room, and puppy will have her own room and we will have no chill room. Now, call me crazy, but Roommate and puppy each having their own room seems as though it's worth more than just a third of the rent. Not to mention, I want my chill room! We spend a lot of time making it chillable and nice enough to even want to hang out down there.
It's just so fucked up at this point I don't even know what to do. But I know one thing, shit's gotta change with a quickness. This will not stand!
But then again, maybe it's me.

The Trouble With Nudity

2006-11-20T11:47:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things to do is to be naked. I love it. I think that being naked is comfortable and freeing.
Now, I'm not really, altogether comfortable with my body. In fact I have a lot of problems with my body and it is sometimes an incredible challenge for me just to look in the mirror. So I suspect my love of being naked is somehow related to my poor body image, and in some way helps me to deal with it. And I'm not talking about anything in the realm of sex, I'm talking purely and simply being naked.
My husband and I, on occasion, indulge in some mind-altering substances. What those are I will leave to your imagination. And inevitably I end up either topless or completely naked. This doesn't bother Husband at all, and that completely trips people out. I suppose because most of the time I am the only girl in the mix and guys trip that Husband doesn't care that other guys look at me.
Husband, in fact, loves the idea of other guys looking at me. Is that weird? I don't think so and neither does he. But I can understand why that's weird to some people. In Husband's mind, I'm with him and that's not going to change. He knows that I love him and that I'm faithful to him. He's proud of how I look and it's almost a macho sort of thing, even though he's not at all the macho type. He figures, "whatever they can look but at the end of the day you're with me."
So this weekend was one of those occasions. And sure enough, there I was, topless in a room with 5 guys.
Did I mention this was in our house? I think that's key because I wouldn't feel so comfortable in someone else's house. But in mine, if you don't like it, leave.
Anyway, it was a very fun weekend to say the least. I wasn't naked the entire time, or even the next night. But what is the problem with nudity? Why are we so concerned with covering our bodies? I've thought for a long time that our aversion to nudity and the positions and roles we ascribe to it do a lot to shape our opinions about sex and our views of women, etc. I mean, think about it. Nudity in general is reserved for places and activities that "good girls" don't do. You can go to a strip club, rent porn or watch it on TV, purchase the company of a prostitute, and things like this. But there is no healthy outlet for nudity, unless you go to a colony. It's really a travesty. The human body, and especially a woman's body, is beautiful. It's an amazing creation. True, some more than others. But being naked tears down any wall. When you're naked you are vulnerable and you have to have a relative amount of trust in the people you're with. Husband and I happen to have amazing friends so that's never been an issue. And even if, as a guy, you're turned on at first by seeing a nude woman, after a while it's not something you even notice.
The fact that certain substances, mainly a variety of them, are typically involved really doesn't matter. In fact, I think it only enhances the experience. Letting your mind go is often a wise idea. Not getting out of control mind you, but letting go for a while. We're so caught up in our daily lives and just trying to get by that taking a break from reality and opening your eyes, mind and soul to the possibilities of existence on this earth is a much-needed rest.
I encourage you to be naked, to be free, and to let your mind, body and soul take delight in the simplest of pleasures. You never know what's to come or how your perspective on life can change. Anything is possible!

Stuck in a Rut

2006-11-03T12:11:00.000-08:00

I think I'm suffering a crisis of sorts. Perhaps not a crisis exactly, but I'm in a funk. I feel as though I've wasted my life in certain ways and I have a general feeling of dissatisfaction. These feelings are strictly focused on my professional life, however. I think the one great decision I made was marrying my husband. Aside from that, I'm scratching my head.
Husband has already pointed out that I've accomplished many things in my life. Well, yes I suppose I have. But so far I'm not feeling fulfilled with my career decisions. My blessed parents sent me to a private university, which I graduated from, probably with the hopes that I would make some impact on the world. But alas, my private education, while excellent, did not assist me in obtaining a dream job. Put it this way, I made more money when I worked at Starbucks than I do now. That was 8 years ago! Where did I go wrong? Well, now I'm self-employed, I'm an independent contractor. Except, in my world, an independent contractor is paid for services rendered. If I can get my job done in 3 hours versus 8, better for me. As long as the job is done to the client's specifications and is what the client expected, I get paid. However, I'm kind of a one-client show. I have an exclusive contract, so to speak. So, there again, I get paid based on a specific set of tasks that I'm responsible for. When I made this arrangement with my exclusive 'client' I gave him a great deal for my services. Unheard of, really. I did this because of many reasons, but mainly because I thought I would be working with him for the rest of my life. And based on conversations we've had, he would eventually need me on a full-time employee basis, at which time I would be well taken care of.
Isn't it funny how things change? Now my exclusive client wants me on an employee basis but doesn't want to pay me for it and wants to keep pretending that I'm still an 'independent contractor'.
It's not really about the money. Sure, I'd like to make more than I do now, but that's not it really. I want to be compensated FAIRLY for the work that I'm doing. And I don't want to be fucked with. If you want to hire me on full-time to guarantee that I'll be in the office everyday for a specified number of hours, let's negotiate. But don't give me shit because I don't come in everyday when I can work from home as well. Why should I drive 60 minutes daily, get paid this shitty salary, listen to you complain about me not being in the office everyday, just so you can have the "security" that I'm in the office in case something comes up? Gosh, who am I talking to? Whoa, okay, back to it not being about the money.
Really, it's not. I really just want to enjoy what I do, and I'm not sure I do anymore. There are so many things that I want to try, regardless of how much I get paid. I've never been a waitress, a bartender, a teacher, an exotic dancer (Husband has already said 'no' to that one), lots of things. I think it would be amazing to try on different jobs for a while. It would certainly get me out of this rut.

This Is Real Life

2006-11-01T13:23:00.000-08:00

So my husband and I have taken in a roommate. For various reasons it is a good, temporary, arrangement. The roommate is a 35 year-old male friend of ours and is a very respectable and responsible man. But, you know, everyone has issues so it's not all puppy dogs and ice cream all the time.
Roommate is not married, never has been, and is actively seeking a mate as it were. I suppose that once you reach the unmarried age of 35 you may start having minor panic attacks, envisioning your life as a 65 year-old single man with no teeth, sucking down PBR's while you yell at the neighbor kids. I think that's kind of where Roommate is. He's terrified of being alone yet can't manage an actual relationship with a normal woman. (Yes, I have opinions as to the causes of this, but that's another story for another time perhaps.) So he recently met a young woman of 22 and has seen her several times in the past couple of weeks. And by "seen" I mean that they have come over to the house and had sex for hours at a time, she doing her best impression of the porn star on Skinamax. Now, I'm not generally a mean person and I rarely make judgments about people based on just how they look. Every encounter I've had with Young Woman has been pleasant and she seems like a nice person. However, she's not small. Believe me, I am the last person to even comment on the girth of another due to my own deep-seeded psychological body image problems. But she's a big girl. Roommate is just about average, maybe below average height, for sure a lot shorter than my husband. So the mental picture we're forced to endure during the hours long sexcapades with the shrieking and whatnot is unpleasant at best. (I should mention that we live in a very small house with little to no "buffer zone".)
So last night Roommate brings Young Woman over for Halloween fun(sex). BUT, Husband and I were also in an amorous mood last night and we got to our bedroom first, HA! Let them listen to us for a while. Except that it's not really like that, you all know that.
A digression: When women go really overboard with the "oos" and "aaaahs" and screaming and moaning and shrieking, just like in a porno, IT'S NOT REAL. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it's fake. Real sex, real enjoyable sex, at least in my experience, is rather quiet. Yes, I make noise and stuff, but it's not the production that some women try to make it.
So husband and I are doing our thing, being relatively quiet throughout, and when we're done what else do we hear but the Sex Olympics coming from Roommates room. As I'm telling Husband the reality behind the sounds I look at our pup who has joined me on the bed. He is licking, hand to God, the wet spot on the bed. I point this out to Husband who laughs and says, "This is reality, the dog licking the bed, you asking me if you're gaining weight, me covered in poison oak, let's make a porno!"
"I'm starting a blog, tomorrow. And I'm writing about all of this. And it's going to be funny."
Reality usually is.
I hope you think so too.