What a fine looking boat

My most memorable night in college took place in a very dingy bar called The Store.  I stood a few feet from the entrance and struck up conversation with a random man. You put Eileen and I in the same room and undoubtedly we will make small talk with the most bizarre person there. I think I commented on his shirt and the perfected trimmings of his beard and within minutes, I was barreled over with laughter at nearly everything that he said. We were than shocked when only moments later, this man took his beer bottle by the neck and chucked it all the way across the bar. Was it something I said? Our eyes expanded but he just kept laughing as if nothing had phased him. The bartender kicked him out, even as Eileen and I pleaded for him to stay. (Crazy, maybe, but definitely the most entertaining run-in that night.)

Events like this led Eileen and I to be somewhat of a Thelma and Louise duo. Freshman year was constantly filled with the most unconventional interactions. Her visit to my homeland was nothing shy of what was to be expected...

A thunder storm was rolling over the Wasatch mountain range so we headed up to Silver Fork Lodge for a a glass of fancy wine. Our waiter, David, loved us. Even after Eileen knocked plates off the table and I quizzed him on every wine on the menu. What is not to love? When we ordered our second glass, David simply stated "and I smoke a lot of pot." It was completely out of nowhere, had nothing to do with what was being discussed, but we didn't want him to feel awkward so we slyly accepted it for what it was worth. In passing, while clearing another tables dishes, he mentioned that his four year stint in Germany only offered him the ability to buy  drugs in the local tongue and nothing more.  So it was only natural for us to assume that is where his chipped tooth came from The most shocking part about him was that he used to live on the same street as I did in Chicago, a breeding zone for lunatics. Crazy man encounter number 1.

Because we are a.) responsible and b.) without ownership of a car, we called a cab that night to pick us up. Scott, the driver, seemed nice enough. He discontinued the meter while we waited outside Elizabeth's house. "No reason to charge you ladies to just sit here." What a lovely man we thought.

And when our 80's rock band closed the bar with a surprising Come On Eileen, Scott was right there to be a courier home. As we approached the cab, he jumped out, cell phone in hand pointed at us like we were in a photo shoot. "Can I take your picture so that I can save your faces in my phone for when you call the next time?" Had he said it in more than one breath, calmly and cooly, maybe I would have considered. But he looked almost cross-eyed and giddy similar to what you may envision when I psychopath is about to strangle his victim.

Nothing was comfortable about the drive home. We made up a story about how Elizabeth was just visiting Salt Lake and how her husband is a traveling Lawyer who goes state to state filing lawsuits on Obstetricians for faulty deliveries. "Nope, that is not their house. Just a rental. A rental that they don't permanently live in. Because they live in another state." 

I am sure my lie was far more elaborate then need be, but I wanted to ensure that Elizabeth would live to see another day. Eileen and I sat in the back, texting each other how we could prevent Scott from seeing the landscape of my house for the second time. "Remind me how to get to Kenwood again." 

"Actually", I blurted out. "Change of plans. My mom is going to meet us at Wendy's...at 2:30 in the morning. She is craving a frosty."

It brought back memories of the time the two of us got abandoned on the West side of Chicago and nearly picked up by a band of brothers in a molester van. To be expected in the second city where gangsters were revered but Murray? She had only been in Salt Lake for 12 hours and we had just met crazy man number 2.

I promised Eileen that people in Utah were not overtly strange but I knew that I was lying. Maybe I was trying to make even myself believe that Utahns are actually a positive contribution to a global society, but when we made a visit to Temple Square, she saw right through my false statements. We spent a solid amount if time grilling, (and I mean open flame...essentially harassing) anyone who wore a badge and sweater vest. Sister Gutierrez and Sister Felhman were the unluckiest of the "Lords Children" that day because we didn't even give them time to inhale.

"What is the deal with garments?" "Why do you pay a tithing?" "Don't you all hate black people?" "Why can't normal people go in the temple?" "Why can't you choose where you go on your mission?" "So, let me get this straight, your prophet deals directly with Jesus Christ himself and that is why you don't question the rules?" "Where are the restrooms?" "Can I go in them?" "Say I really don't want to be baptized LDS when I am dead, as you people often do, but my neighbor thinks it would be nice, do I have the choice to refuse entrance into the gates of heaven?" "Would you guys be pissed if Polygamy was actually brought back and mandated?" "Where exactly are these golden plates you claim exist?" "So, no one has ever seen them" "And why so many children?"

And on and on for a good hour or so. Sister Gutierrez was getting dry in the throat, 'thirsty' is what she called it, and had me read one of the excerpts from the book or Mormon to drive home her point. I have to say, they put up a good fight (we don't easily back down) and I was impressed that they nearly batted an eye at the surprise attack. As we ended our trial, they left us with a challenge: log onto the website to find more of the Lords answers. (With all of todays technology to track people down, we would rather not.) And had they all had walkie-talkies, I am sure they would have sent broadcast reports to follow up on all and any questions asked by the freckly brunettes. "Yes!", they must be thinking, "such curious minds lead to such feasible converts."

Day Four took us up to East Canyon for a few hours on the kayaks. The water was like glass, mirroring the picturesque hills that surrounded us on all sides. We had the place to ourselves and had we kept it that way, the day may have ended flawlessly.

Each kayak is by no means heavy, but they aren't light either so the task of loading and off-loading requires two people. As we began the necessary preparations to load 'em up, a very nice couple parked beside us. Small talk was made as we commented on the beauty and solace of such a hidden gem of a spot. "I am just so surprised it doesn't get busier," I noted. "With it so close to the city."  

"I know," the women gleamed. "It is our new favorite spot!"

Eileen and I hoisted the second boat up to slide it on top of the other as the man walked over to examine it. "These are some fine boats. You can't fit even a can of beer in  most, but it looks as though you could even throw a tent in there!"

Costco; they think of everything.

He walked over and brushed his hands over the opening as if it were a prized race car. Leaning down on his knees to view the slim curvature of the bow and then the rear. "And what is this here? A hatch of some sort?" He wedged off the cover which opened to just another compartment...no big deal. It was when he tried to 'fasten' the cover when we came across the problem.  By cover, it is merely a rubber lid..like Tupperware.

We were still holding it up, ready at any moment to be done with the annoying task, when he starting pounding his fist to form a seal. In my head, and as the grip was already slipping from my hands, I kept repeating stop pounding it, stop pounding it, stop pounding it but by the fourth one, my grasp relaxed and the sharpest pointed edge, landed right on my big toe. 

Even though it was our first encounter, I had no qualms about digging my fingernails into his arm...it was the first thing I could grab and he is lucky I cut my nails short. And as instinctual as yawning, my mouth made a gaping assault onto his shoulder where it took every ounce of will power not to clamp down my teeth. It felt like a firecracker had exploded conveniently on my foot...and how nice...on the boniest part.

He couldn't stop apologizing, and I knew it was an accident, but when we got in the car we couldn't help but ponder why he would attempt to do such a thing. First off, the edges weren't even lined up and the large, industrial plastic boat was hoisted in the air. It is people like this, and I see far more in Utah than anywhere else I have traveled, that I wonder if they were without oxygen for too long at birth. So this is the result of when umbilical cords are too-tightly wrapped around necks?

With some master convincing initiated, Eileen is seriously considering a move to New York City. This would (hands down) potentiate my off the wall run ins. It may just go from multiple times a day, to hourly. 

I write this post as I lay star-fished on a row of ice packs. Along with de-toeing my foot, I also pulled what I think is the longest group of muscles in my back while lifting that damn kayak.  I only have two more days in Salt Lake and than it is off to Chicago. From there, the plan is Wagons East. Please though, do not hold your breath. Plan with me are never certain and are always changing. Just send me your good vibes and all will be good in the end.

Love tap from a brown recluse?

My finger hasn't reached this point of desperation yet but I am thinking it is only a matter of time. I woke up around 3:30 AM scratching my left pinkie finger relentlessly. The kind of scratching that when you stop, you noticed you nearly removed all viable flesh right down to the bone. 

I have never done well when it comes to itchiness. Give me a broken nose and all I need is a nostril plug. Perhaps knee surgery? Wrap it in an ace bandage and send me on my way. But a sun rash, mosquito bite, a healing scrape and you can count on agonizing misery equal if not worse than Chinese water torture.

I know exactly when the bite occurred.  With my eyes stuck on the trail, scanning for snakes that frequent this particular area, I gently brushed my hands across the tall growing reeds that grew to my left. I love the feeling of their soft texture tickling my fingertips so I clenched one and drew it from the ground, twisting it round and round. 

Had his home been more obvious, possibly more web-like, I would have thought twice about disrupting it. I don't particularly like being bumped by strangers either. The worst is at summer music festivals when the temperatures are oven-like and large, drunk, hairy arms slide into you without even a pause to recognize there had been a collision. But do I dig my teeth into them? Imagine instead, that same sweaty gross person, opens his arms, bear hugs you and shakes you up and down? Biting him then might cross my mind. So in this case, it was my mistake, lifting the reed and jostling this creatures' comfort zone. 

I didn't see him bite me. I couldn't even tell you if it was an actual spider. Maybe it was an ant or a very stealth hornet, but minutes after picking that thing I felt a sting. I looked down and a  very minuscule red dot was now centered on the more distal portion of my pinkie. It didn't hurt. Just another blemish on my perfectly pale, Irish skin.

When I showed my mom the swelling which was infringing on my ability to bend, she gasped. "A brown recluse? If it changes color, get it checked."

I looked at it again and saw all colors of the rainbow. It IS changing colors! And are those fang marks? I felt my veins pump with poison. Today could be my last.  Where can I get my necroses hand on anti-venom at this hour?

Of course I immediately googled it. Top symptoms include redness (check), itching (double check) small little bumps that later turn to bursting blisters (surely on the way).  As I browsed the images that came up I saw evidence that spider bites are something not to ignore. Like when a large car accident occurs, and eyes can't turn away from the gruesome pileup, I too couldn't draw my stare away from these grotesque images. Deep, necrotic tissue coined 'volcano lesions' ranging from black, blue and yellow with infection to red burn-like splotches.

My pinkie problem all of a sudden didn't seem so bad when I came upon  one mans inner groin which appeared to be splashed in a wave of patterns. I surely would be able to function at nearly 100 percent capacity sans one digit, but this man may never again relive an intimate embrace. Poor guy.

We always made fun of Charlie in his younger years, for sleeping with a can of Raid in hand, available to aerosol spray the little culprits to death. Now, I think it is an ingenious idea. My incomplete hand will never forgive me on how I could have prevented such thoughtless accidents had I just had a can of Raid on me. 

From the image below you may note that Salt Lake doesn't fall within any of the shaded areas. I felt a bit relieved as well, until I read that the recluse is a 'spreading species' and although it is rare, they can be found in undiscovered areas. Damn.

As of 4:45 my vital signs seem stable. There are, however, sporadic spasms in my left forearm of unknown origin.  Don't be such a drama queen you say? Its just potassium deficits and the workings of the sarcoplasmic reticulum? More likely than not, it is result of a fresh blood supply being blocked by my breakfast sausage looking finger. I better stop all this typing as not to provoke throbbing pain.  Than again, this may be the last time all ten fingers make an appearance on my keyboard. Oh what could have been! 

Selling Myself Long

We are all familiar with the term "selling yourself short." If it wasn't your mom or kindergarten teacher calmly telling you not to "sell yourself short, you have all the knowledge in the world to tie bunny ears" when the frustration of not being able lace up your new runners was astronomical, than it may have been your high school soccer coach loudly yelling on the field "god damnit! Now don't sell yourself short out there!"(JV mind you) Either way, the mode of expression has been used regularly for quite some time with the intention of trying to persuade one to think they are not worthless but actually worthwhile.

I sold myself way too long today which is leading to a perpetual worthless feeling.

Like our faulty governmental system, my life has a tricky method of checks and balances. Reality never allows me to get away with...anything, quite frankly. Just when things couldn't get better, they get worse. Just when I think I am feeling great, I get sick. And just when I think I am super smart, I do something that is so moronic and idiotic, I retreat to a dark hole where every chubby middle school kid was during their 7th grade year. 

I have started studying for the GRE. My plans for graduate school have got me more excited than when we videotaped the entire 1996 summer Olympic games in Hotlanta. (Just ask my VCR how many times I rewound and rewound and rewound that tape.) Eager to do well (or just mediocre) I figured no time is better than now to crack the books. With an ever-extending 2 years out of college, I was surprised with how well I was flying through the analogy section. Admittedly, I LOVE this section as I tend to make analogies with every facet of my life. My theory is if you can relate something, anything, to various worldly aspects, than people will always see where you are coming from. 

Thriving on my 'similitude high' (similitude : analogy :: water : H20), I geared up for (what else?) yoga. It seems as though everything goes wrong on my way to yoga. It is when I finally make it there, that I can reflect on the shit that has hit that illusive fan and rationalize the meaning for my misfortune. So after rocking the analogy portion of the test, I couldn't help but think that people who say "the GRE is no joke"are just crazy. Maybe, just maybe, I am an actual genius and the GRE is in fact a big Joke. And I will prove it when I score an 800 (is that a possible score?) on the verbal section. All nonsense from a girl who is still reading a book she started in March.

Circa 6:53 pm; I am found backing out of my driveway, looking left, than to the right as I slowly accelerate making sure I am not hitting any animals, flowers or humans. While concerned with what I wasn't hitting, it never crosses my mind to be concerned with what I was going to hit. Looking straight back slips my mind. So easy to do. You know like how certain activities may just slip your mind.  Did you check the mail? Oh, oops, it just slipped my mind. Did you clean your room? Hmmm, dangit, that totally slipped my mind. Did send that life-saving vile of blood to the blood bank? Uhhh, it slipped my...Just Kidding.  Anyways, I merely bumped (crashed) into the neighbors identical car, which they mistakenly had parked on the street, in what I now call the line of fire. I thought I was a good driver? Driving : Jamie :: exercising : asthmatics, apparently not always the best combination.

Now whose fault is it that their car happens to be the same exact color as our tinted back window? Even if I had looked (and I did glance) long enough to validate open space, I am not so sure I would have seen it. They clearly should have thought that over prior to purchasing a house that is within 100 yards of any reverse-rolling vehicle driven by any of my family members.  I have to say, my track record isn't exactly clean here. I am thinking about posting a large warning sign or having a Kenwood Dr. meeting discussing the details of my driving rap sheet. That should likely keep the neighborhood quiet and car-free.

In high school, I had not one but two incidences, of hitting other cars while reversing....right in my driveway.  They were the same circumstance upon two separate cars about 2 weeks apart from each other.  Thousands of dollars later, one would hope that all my car reversing lessons would have been learned. But look who we are dealing with.

The damage assessed on Mike and Asia's Forest Green Lexus was a minor pebble in comparison to the boulder (sized) mark on my moms bumper. Good Grief! I hate this car...more than you know. My bank account is asking why I show it no mercy.  It is just a very sharp bone to swallow as I initiate a move to the most expensive city in the nation. Far too expensive to even think about ever driving a car again. For that I am actually smiling.

Instead of kayaking in beautiful East Canyon tomorrow, I will be spending the early morning discussing bumpers with The Dent Masters. I just hope that (since it will be over 90 degrees) their oil-streaked and chiseled abs are shirtless and glowing with sweat. Boys, don't ever sell that core class short!

So, I over estimated and sold myself long today.  It was a defective business transaction that is just a blip in my personal modus operandi of checks and balances. You see? The Princeton Review is taking immediate effect! My ego only gets the best of me for minutes at a time until, like a bird of prey, actuality and truth dive-bomb my little world. 

(You may think "Hmm fender benders aren't quite like having your eyes pecked out by a beak", but it's the first analogy that came to mind.)