Stinky little happy campers

To be stinky is to open the doors to the realm of...

Oh, who am I kidding?  I am a stinky fool.  I haven't showered since Saturday evening--before Kristen's bachelorette party.  Here's what I've done so far since then:

--Hung out with mosquitoes outside

--Danced on a bar rooftop

--Had sex

--Went on a five mile mountain run

--Went on an hour long trek in some rocks

--Went on a three mile city run

And STILL, even as I'm writing this down now, no shower!  Rick says to me, "Unlike some people here, I actually DO take showers," and he jumped on in to clean his goddess body.

Sometimes, as of late at least, I'm lazy.  I don't want to take a shower.  I blame this partly on the fact that I'm not living in my own apartment anymore.  Our lease was up last Saturday, and we're living with my sister and her husband until our respective moves later this week.  I don't feel as comfortable getting naked, running around in a place that's not my own--you know, I just don't want to take a shower as much.  

 I also blame it partly on BCM: Big City Mountaineers--the seven day backpacking extravaganza I volunteered for last week.  If you think I'm stinky now Rick Mick, you should have smelled me after seven days of not showering, not even wiping my butt properly.  I could barely stand myself.  And at the end of the trip, my tent mate, Ainsley said, "Man, you feet sure stink!" 

I mentioned BCM in my last blog, but don't think I explained the trip or organization itself quite thoroughly enough.  Big City Mountaineers (get the BCM thing now?) are a nationwide non-profit organization, like "I Have a Dream" Foundation.  They're shtick, however, is that they provide week-long backpacking and camping adventures for disadvantaged youth.  That's where our organization comes into play.  We work with disadvantaged youth--from 3rd graders to high-schoolers--and we want them to go on these trips!  We find some that are willing, and beg the rest.  And in both mine and Rick's experiences thus far, the trips have proven a huge success.  

I won't get into a detailed day-to-day, minute-by-minute of everything we did, but I will tell you this: the best time camping I've ever had.  And I'll blame it on the women.  I mentioned these unique ladies and their personalities in my last blog, so I won't go into more details about them (see previous blog entry if curious).  But I will say that this unique experience--getting to bond with nine women and girls that I've never hung out with before--was amazing.  I really never complained--was often found singing, dancing, cooking, chatting, laughing, playing games--things I hardly ever do camping with Rick.  Not to say that camping with Rick isn't fun--it's just a different experience.  This was girl power time.  Time to fart, bond, sing Disney tunes, talk about relationships--imagine "Sex and the Mountains" a new television series on HBO.

During one of our daily Round-Table talks at night, I mentioned how I loved having this unique opportunity to backpack and camp with nine ladies.  It was empowering!  I have hung out with small groups of girlfriends, but recently, most of my female interactions have just been one-on-ones with select friends.  I would jump at the chance to go on a big all girl camping trip again, and would love to--even if not with BCM.  The trip reminds you of how important female friendships are to women.  And let me tell you, they are indeed, and I know that those relationships will be the ones that get me through my two-year MFA stint without Rick by my side.  

So my advice tonight: invest in female relationships.  Go camping with girls.  Push yourselves together.  And--yes, take a shower...eventually.

Big City Mountaineers: The Characters

Seven days.  Five women.  Four girls.  Wyoming.  Backpack.  Adventure.  

Sounds like the opening to some suspenseful movie, right?  In that same spirit, and without further introduction, that's jump right into it.

THE CHARACTERS

ALLIE: me.  Twenty-four years old.  Afraid of the dark, sleeping alone, and had never been on a hiking trip past three days.  Usually gets anxious, but in some miracle, in the company of women, embraces everything about her experience: the oatmeal for breakfast, the pooping the woods, the endless team-building games, the Disney sing-alongs.  Awarded "Most Positive/Fat Kid."  Loves that optimism, loves that food.

TSEHAI: Twenty-seven years old.  The girl's girl.  The glue for the group.  You wish you were as cool as her.  Even with her endless mosquito bites, she's a bad-ass.  Wears blue rimmed sunglasses, a red bandana around her head and an orange one around her mouth.  A real bandit.  Awarded "MVH: Most Valuable Hiker."

TRACY: Twenty-six years old.  The soft-spoken, laid back leader of the pack.  She knows what's up, but won't baby you about it.  Like the wise, Buddhist-like sage that she is, she'll let you figure it out.  Blonde hair, medium build, glasses, and from Queens (sans New York accent).  She knows her shit, but won't flaunt it.  A real woodswoman she is indeed.

AINSLEY: Twenty-three years old.  Former YMCA leader and cheerleader, she's a big bag of tricks.  Awarded "Most Entertaining" for a reason.  Never a dull moment, she's always got some hand-clapping, chanting, hide-and-seeking, dancing, dinosaur imitating game in her backpack.  No wonder why it's so heavy.  

MIRIAM: Forty-something years old.  A woman with quite the interesting past: former telegram-singing clown, former oboe musician, former Alaskan salmon canner--you'd never imagine the colors behind the self-effacing computer programmer.  Doesn't like people to sing the song "Marian Librarian" from The Music Man to her.  "It's Miriam, not Marian," she rightfully declares.  Knows every type of flower on the trail.  Loves the little blue ones.  The Nature Woman.

OMOLAYO: Eighteen-years old.  Success story.  College bound on Volleyball scholarship.  Strong young woman (literally, she's a big and beautiful muscular masterpiece).  The leader of the girls.  The role model.  The go-getter.  The enthusiast.  Nothing stops this girl.  Watch out, Barack Obama, we have a future president on our hands.

FLORA: Twenty-years old.  A tiny, black fairy-like creature.  Beautiful, soft, yet with a biting wit, and can eat her body weight in one day.  An almost mythical creature.  A more quiet leader, always smiling, always trucking along on the trail eating her trail mix, of course.  Poetically awarded, "The Blossoming Spirit."

BRANDI: Thirteen years-old.  A black girl who likes alternative fashion and music--like skull and cross bones.  The sassy Grandma, simple and yet wise beyond her years.  Her pinky toe is stuck in the middle of the rest of her toes.  She calls it a birth mark.  Has a loving and endearing lisp.  Wants to be a part of the group, wants to be loved.  A genuinely great girl.

JAZMIN: Fourteen years-old.  The hardest apple, but most fulfilling of the tree.  The pickiest eater ever: no milk, no chocolate, no cheese...The photographer of the group, the veteran backpacker, the lovable, if not cranky, Grandpa to Brandi's Grandma: "Don't you be givin' her anymore chocolate!"  Afraid of thunderstorms, wants people close by her side even when she seems to shun them away.  Without Jazmin, the trip is too easy.  The favorite challenge, the funny woman, the courageous kid. 

UNCLE HERMAN: Age unknown.  A black shovel, sharp as a stone, used to dig up deep holes for dirty dumps.  Without him, the forest would stink of floundering feces.  Where's Uncle Herman?  It's time for a poop. 

Strictly Platonic, of course

Having been on Craigslist for a number of hours this past week--looking for a house in Tucson--I've discovered that there's more than just cars and houses to buy.  Well, duh--everyone knows this, right?  But one thing I didn't know, was that Craigslist had personal ads!  I thought the point was just to sell, well...stuff!  Little did I know, (but quickly found out) that Craigslist allows people to advertise themselves.

What first caught my eye underneath this "Personals" heading was something I'd never seen before.  Did you know that you can find "strictly platonic" relationships on Craigslist?  I didn't, and was intensely curious about what this all involved.  It proved to be some easy research.  In just a couple clicks, I came up with a variety of voices in the ads.  Some voices were tame, some sexual, some even ultra-religious.  I'll throw in some red parenthetical phrases so you can see my first impressions.

hello there! My name is dave, I'm a compulsive runner and am looking for running buddies (sounds cool), I don't care what sex you are, your persuasion, etc.. just that you like to run (good!).. I also don't care if you run slow, just that you wont poop (What?  That I won't poop?) out before the 3 mile mark (oh, I see!). I'm in a relationship btw so this is definitely not a hookup/workout kinda thing(good to know)... I love to talk when I run and it's hard to keep motivated without a good group of semi-reliable running friends. I've done a bit of trail running and would like to do it more regularly, like once a week to break up my normal running routine. I live about 7 miles round trip from a-mountain and that's a fun run too :) 

a little about me- I'm a part owner of 'shot in the dark cafe', kinda a hippy, but I'm also in the army reserve, go figure (right, very ironic combination):P I'm very open minded and outgoing... I like barefoot running (really?  I think that's kinda weird) :) I personally believe the running shoe industry is a big conspiracy to injure runners (I don't agree with you) but I wont fault you if you don't agree with me (Oh! You're telepathic!) btw, did you know that that studies show that the more you spend on running shoes the more likely you are to sustain injuries... hmmmm.. food for thought... I play guitar and am a nerd... an in-shape nerd :) wanna train for a marathon, I'm down, woohoo lets go run 

dave 

Dave's a good guy--especially for Craigslist Personals standards.  Can you really blame him for wanting a running buddy?  I'm going to want a running buddy--scratch that--ANY buddy when I get into Tucson as well.  It takes a lot of vulnerability to advertise yourself in such a way on Craigslist.  But I don't think I'm ready for that availability, that nakedness--in the "strictly platonic" ways they mentioned.

Speaking of nakedness, here's an ad that falls under the same heading.  This is from a 60-year-old man looking for "Nude coed partying":

Is there any place in Tucson where guys and gals can party and swim nude? 

Go sixty-year-old man, you got more balls than me!  You don't discriminate either--you just want to go where the naked people are.  Some advertisers though prove to be a little more specific in what they want in a friend.  Take this lady, for example.  Oh, she has a picture too.

I am a Born Again Pentecostal Christian (Oh man, this is gonna be good). I have been divorced for 3 years. I do not smoke, do not use drugs and rarely drink. I am not interested in FWB, or a sexually based relationship and I will NOT under any circumstances date a married man (you tell them, sistah). I am unemployed so I am just looking for a friend, someone to chat with for now. When I find a job I will consider dating. If you want to know why, ask me. I am looking for a friend who is a Born again, Holy Spirit filled Christian (sweet, bajesus!). Must NOT smoke, rarely or never drink, does NOT use any kind of drugs, is NOT looking for a FWB (just realized this stands for Friends With Benefits) or a sexually based relationship and is NOT (she loves her CAPS) married (but not married men). I have a few extra pounds (honest, yes, appealing? no) but that is not what a TRUE Christian man should be concerned about (of course not!). A TRUE Christian man does NOT care about body type, but where a persons heart is, her commitment to God (right, right, right). I prefer a man who puts God first in every aspect of his life (even when he picks out cereal?), believes in tithing (tithing?  As in, good tithings we bring?) and prosperity and believes in a GODLY relationship (how so?). If you smoke, use drugs, are a person who drinks on a regular basis is looking for sex or is married please DO NOT (yikes!) respond. If you have read this far and want to know more about me (oh, yes indeed!), send me an e-mail with a photo. The photo that I have posted is a year old, my hair is actually longer now. (ha--that part was my favorite, she sounds a little more sympathetic, humane, and even cute for a moment).

What I find so interesting about this woman, is that she's older.  Her note is much more serious than most of the others I've read.  Hers make me pause for a second--looking at her picture especially--because she's taking this service seriously.  Her picture is genuine.  Her words are genuine (if not crazy Pentecostal).  But however crazy she is, however much I laugh at her NOTs and GODLYs and FWBs, it makes me sad.  The title for her ad is: "Lonely lady looking for friend first."  She's fifty-five.  It makes me think, "How long have you been lonely?"  How hard that must be to become that desperate that you need to post online for friendship.  Or is it desperate?  Is it really just...brave?  Brave in the sense that she's no longer sitting on her ass complaining that she's lonely; she's at least trying to do something about it.

I'll be moving to Tucson next year on my own--living truly on my own for the first time--and I think, "How long would it take until I was posted on here?  Until I was browsing around for friends?"  As much as I want to make fun of these people, I have to give them a round of applause.  They're exposing themselves in such a way to be ridiculed, to be manipulated, to be...liked?  Is the world really full of that many bad people?

I say this because I too have been a successful customer on Craigslist.  I recently rented a small guest house for the following year from a young couple.  It's always a little crazy, a little out-on-a-limb, little leap-of-faithish making big commitments with strangers: signing your life away for the next year on a lease, sending a security deposit worth most of your current checking account balance, and just trying to trust someone in so little time.  But the main feeling I had was this: beautiful.  If people can get to know each other (just enough) and trust each other (just enough) in this crazy world, makes you think: well, it's (we're) not so crazy after all.

A Kite Preview

For my first hand trick:  a bunny out of a hat!

Just kidding.

My first hand trick is more of a preview.  A show and tell, so to speak.  Tomorrow I'm in charge of teaching fifteen ten-year-olds how to make a kite.  (hold your laughter until I tell how you how it went tomorrow).

Rick's class did it a few months back, and he demonstrated to me in his striped blue and gray undies, (I was still lying in bed at 8:00 this morning).

Step One: "Fold the construction paper in half like this."

"Hamburger Style?"

"Like...this."

I watched semi-sweet chocolate intrigued.  This should be pretty easy.

Step Two: "Measure one inch on each end and then make a pencil mark."

I was already losing it at this point.

"You mean, wait...how do you make the pencil mark?"

"I just showed you!  Just make an inch mark on both sides!"

Step Three: "Fold from this pencil mark to that one.  Then open it up."

Got it, I thought.  It looks like Batman.

Step Four: "Cut strips of masking tape, and tape down vertically, holding the kite together."

The bat wings, I thought.  It's a Batman kite.

Step Five: "Cut a skewer..."

"Shiskabobs!"

"Yes, cut a skewer so that it fits perfectly across this horizontal top end to that end.  Tape it down.  See?

"Yes."

Step Six: "Punch a whole towards the back end, and place your string, tying a knot to secure it.

"Now by string, what do you mean?"

"You know...string."

"You mean thread, thin stuff, thick stuff, rope, yarn...I don't get it."

"I mean like that stuff that's wrapped all together from Hobby Lobby."

I had a vision of Oaxacan cheese.  Yum.  But I knew exactly what he was talking about.  Reminded me of the smelly ropy stuff I used to see at the Hardware store.  My Dad always had a bunch of it in the basement.

Step Seven: "Take a piece of ribbon and put it here in the right hand corner for decoration."

"You mean, punch a hole like with the other string?"

"No, just tape it down."

"What kind of ribbon"

"Anything.  We used like colored tape.  It flies around for decoration.  It's just decoration."

He goes over the instructions one more time, and asks me to demonstrate.  I miss three out of the seven steps along the way.  Well, I don't miss them, I mess them.  Can't wait to see how this goes tomorrow.

Introduction to the Hands Series

There's a certain empowerment you get when you can work *well* with your hands.

At least, that's what I think.

I've never been one who's "good-with-the-hands," at least, that's the running joke between my sisters' and I. If someone was to rattle off a list of good-hand-techiques, give me the list, and ask me to check the YES or NO box, most would have sharp marks for el negativo.

Can you braid hair? NO!

Can you change a tire? NO!

Can you wrap a present without it looking like a half eaten pillow? NO!

Can you paint a picture that's aesthetically pleasing? NO!

Can you make pottery? Yes.

Does it look better than what a third grader would make? NO!

Can you hem a pair of pants? NO!

Can you make a blanket? NO!

Can you decorate a cake? Hmm, kind of.

Does it look nice? Sort of.

Now wait a minute. You're starting to think I'm like really incompetent, right? Well, that's just not true. There are many things I can do with my hands. (Get your minds out of the gutter) Honestly, I'm not too great performing that either. But I am good at these things:

Can you make a poster? YES!

Can you organize just about anything well? YES!

Are you a thorough cleaner? YES!

Do you have pretty good attention to detail? About the important things, yes.

So enough with this introduction, let's get on with it. So what you know about now is that I have a history of not being "too-good-with-the-hands." It's endearing, I guess. But there comes a point where I just look a bit helpless. And that's not a good thing. There comes a point when, for example, my Aunt Vivian asks me a simple task:

"Could you wrap my Bridal Shower present for Mary?"

"Sure!" (Although I know in my head it's gonna look rough).

What ends up happening is this: there are about three huge wads of wasted wrapping paper in trash bag (electric blue, completely unnoticeable). I've been in there for about twenty-minutes, and people are starting to arrive for the shower. Finally, there's salvation. One of my cousins, Karen, comes in and sees that I'm having some major trouble.

"Let me help you with that," she says kindly, but I feel like a ten-year-old. I'm twenty-four and a half, by the way.

I just want to be rid of most of these situations. That's why I've made this a goal of mine (and simulatenous writing assignment) to get GOOD with my hands. Maybe even great! Come join me as I take a journey through the world of hand coordination, hand flexibility, hand dexterousity, hand magic! Let see if we surprise ourselves.

Here's what I have on the line-up so far for Projects:

--Change a bike tire

--Change my oil

--Learn how to braid hair Corn rows, possibly (a little ambitious) from Black Ladies' Beauty Salon.

--Learn how to sew (hem my pants)

--Learn how to knit (I could be in lots of clubs)

--Learn how to make a piece of pottery that looks good!

--Wrap a present really well.

--Learn how to fold an EZ fold map!

--Learn how to cook a really complex meal.

That's it for now. Jane had a cool suggestion that I go to a Nursing Home or someplace like that, and talk to old people who've entirely (or almost entirely) lost control of their hands due to arthritis, some other problem. I think that could add something more serious, more emotional to the big picture.

In Loving Memory...

In the crazy rush of running today's Saturday errands, something made me pause.

I was at a stoplight. It was a squinty-eyed sunny day, but I noticed a sticker on the back of a black truck. It read: In loving memory of Heather, our Wonder Woman.

This made me think of a few things:

1. Who was this Heather woman?

2. What made her a Wonder woman?

3. How did she die?

4. I don't want to die anytime soon.

5. Would people call me a wonder woman after I die?

Let me try to find some answers to these questions.

1. Who was this Heather woman?

Obviously I have no idea. But I imagined that she was a boss of some kind. She ran a Theater Box Office. She always remembered everyone's birthdays. She could multi-task like nobody's business. She volunteered her time a lot. Did the Susan G. Komen walk every year. She had lots of other women friends. Went out to lunch with them every Thursday--kind of like the Red Hat ladies, but not as old. They all had themed parties, scrapbooked. She was the leader of her pack. She was the leader of lots of packs.

2. What made her a Wonder Woman?

She went above and beyond in everything she did. She hosted many a birthday party, wedding shower, baby shower. She worked full time, volunteered, and always made time for her friends. (See Question 1: "Who was this Heather woman?" for more specific details)

3. How did she die?

She died of Breast Cancer, ironically, as it was the Charity she did the most work for. Never missed a "Race for the Cure" Event. She and her girlfriends dressed head-t0-toe like fat little piggies in Pink every year. She was overweight, kind of like Miss Piggy. Her friends will organiz and race in her honor for this summer's Race. They will all walk, not run.

4. I don't want to die soon.

So, this isn't a question. It's a statement. Who does want to die soon? Well, maybe cancer patients, people in horrible, unending pain. But really. I was driving, and couldn't help but think: "Geez, I really don't want to die anytime soon." I have so much coming up: Graduate School, my next Netflix movie, dinner at a Mexican restaurant. In all honesty though, it really made me want to be more cautious while driving my car. That would just be a stupid way to die--a car accident. I wonder how old I will be when I die? Hopefully, reaalllly old. I still have so much to do: get a great job, get married to Rick, have babies with him, live in an old house, get a dog, buy lots of groceries, go on fun vacations---too many memories lurking around the corner, ready to be made. Too many photos yet to be shot on Rick's camera and downloaded onto Picasa, for the Aunts, Uncles, Grandmas, and Grandpas to see. I need to eat healthier, need to keep running everyday. Go to the doctors. Is donating my eggs for money really a good idea?

5. Would people call me a Wonder Woman after I die?

Not yet. I'd aim to be called a "Wonderful Woman." But Wonder Woman conjures up lots of multi-tasking craziness. Granted, I do want to be a brilliant, busy woman. I want to accomplish many great things. I want to make money, make people happy, make myself happy. But a Wonder Woman, no--I probably won't be called that after I die. I think I'd get too tired and die early while trying to live up to that title. Maybe that's the real reason why Heather died?

Glutton!

Instead of recounting the specific details of my sisters' two Bridal Showers this weekend, I thought I'd write down every single thing I ate over the short, fat weekend. All of this, after all, was the most prominent part anyways; the only physical thing that traveled back from St. Louis to Denver with me:

apples, Clementines, trail mix, donut, Chex-Mix, coffee, soup, crackers, cheese, beer, chips, chicken salad, buns, lime tortilla chips, plain tortilla chips, salsa, guacamole, fruit, chocolate bark, candy, cake, spinach balls, bacon/pineapple wraps, crab dip, crackers, chicken, salad, red wine, bread, macaroni salad, broccoli/cauliflower salad, chocolate cake, cherry pie, cinnamon buns, cinnamon buns, sausage/egg casserole, orange juice, coffee, water, cereal, milk, spinach, mushrooms, baby read tomatoes, cucumbers, salad dressing, chicken wrapped in bacon and cheese, brown rice, vanilla pudding, left-over Shower cake, baked Doritoes, McDonald's cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milk shake, and...more trail mix.

Oh, lawrd! Time for a run...