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Thursday, December 9, 2010


Just got home from a day of effortless skiing and fell in my living room taking off my snow pants.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Party Dress

I've spent 3 days wondering if I should wear my impractical party dress to my work holiday party. Questioning my friend from college who lives in NYC about it she answered a definite yes. She reminded me that if there is anyone who can pull off an over-the-top outfit, it's me. The thing is, I'm not sure if it is me anymore. Now, I'm kinda a badass. People meet me and aren't surprised at the hiking and biking and skiing. They would probably be pretty thrown to know that I used to be known for my wild clothing and ever evolving look. The thing about overdressing in LA or NYC is you can always say, these people don't know where I'm going later. In my little dink mountain town, people know where I'm going and it most likely involves a bonfire or a keg.

At the same time, my little town is changing too. Every year more fashionable girls show up an refuse to give up their skinny jeans or eyeliner. So maybe I will meet in the middle with this little town. Right now I don't see it though. How can we keep all of the things we love about ourselves while turning into our new selves? Don't know yet. I guess I just have to see how the party dress goes over. I got my head stuck in the snow a few days ago and it supported my weight as I flipped over. If I can survive that type of ridiculousness on a regular basis, how scary can a little lace and ruffles be?

Side note: One girl is wearing make-up to the party for one of the few times in her life. I might look like a prostitute by comparison. This is some dangerous territory.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Political Conflict

Today, I read an editorial about what the Chinese government probably says about the US behind our backs. The point of the article is that we our a country so divided by petty arguments and our perhaps major differences that we can't get anything done. Final result is that China is gonna buy us if we don't become a more functional and united nation. I soaked this all in as I rode the bus out to the village to go skiing for my sixth day in a row. Fixing the countries problems isn't my top priority these days but I'd like to do my part. Embracing my new ski bum ways I settled on these two thoughts: 1) It's a bummer man. 2) All good starts at home. I'll just try to be more understanding of those who are different than me.

All thinking was then tossed aside as I got my ass in gear to ski what looked like it should be some fluffy new snow. Riding up the gondola I was confronted with my first tourist of the season. The gondola is series of little boxes that fix eight people max and bring out about two thirds up the mountain. It was just me and two sixty-something year old bussinessmen from Pennsylvania. One was already complaining about his knee and the other was cheerfully gazing out the window, seemingly trying to pretend he came alone. The ride up take only seven or eight minutes, but I've learned in the past things can get awkward quick. Feeling benevolent from my reading earlier, I decided to be nice to the poor saps. The complainer turned to me and said, "This is what happens when you get old." Instead of saying, "No, that's what happens when you get fat and only use your body once a year for twenty hours of skiing." I replied, "No, that's what happens when you use your body. I have bad knees too." The conversation went the normal course. Where are you from? How long have you been out here? Where do you work? This is where the conversation always either goes one of two ways. Either you will be talking to a tourist who respects your life choices and believes that there are ways to find happiness outside of a bank account, or you will be talking to the asshole I was talking to today. I gave no signs of unhappiness or a lack of fulfillment. I also didn't indicate that I ever planned on leaving Jackson. This guy went on to say how it is a dead end environment and the people who stay here too long end up lonely losers sitting at a bar watching videos on computers of other people drinking beer. As he said, "It's no life." His friend, who could sense I was feeling belittled argued that there is a richness inherent in living out here. The complainer just sited more examples of ridiculous living in a ski-bum life.

This is a divide that I can't find peace with either. I know there is a world of work out there, and a large part of me wants to show the world that I can make it. Another, slightly more dominant part of me is stoked that I'm probably going to ski over a hundred days this winter. After the skiing, I will then go into a job that I enjoy, pays me well, and allows me to travel. After all that I will come home to a big, handsome man and we will love each other. The whole while, all of this will be done in a healthy, well fed and exercised body. To me, that is a life. And while I want us to all come together in peace and love, if push comes to shove, I may just move to Japan. China seems a little too competitive and Japan has the better skiing.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

My Inner Latina Bunny Lead Me Astray

Be independent. Blaze your own path. Go forth and conquer. These phrases aren't for me anymore. Years of my life have been spent attempting to prove that the norm is bullshit. After some exhaustive pushing against the grain, I've realized that the norm is usually the simplest path to what you want. Cause let's face it, we all kinda want the same things. We want to be loved. We want to be considered attractive, smart, funny, and capable. We want people to understand us and to be able to return that understanding. If you know what's good for you, you end up wanting money. Most of us want someone to share it all with and then biology kicks in and you end up wanting some kids too. If you can escape the bio-tick, most people seem to end up wanting something to take care of, be it pet or career.

That all being said, sometimes my neurons still shoot off opposite my desire and I find myself off the beaten path. This time quite literally. It's snowy and cold here in Wyoming but not enough to be skiable. Filling my days has been a challenge. After a bunch of sitting around and a horrible amount of why have I even been placed on this Earth thought, I remembered that I'm a burgeoning badass and I can't let less than ideal conditions keep me from at least training. Plus, my dvd player broke. For a while I was filling my time watching Shakira video's on youtube, trying to train my hips. Still trying. My hips do lie. They say, I have the soul of a little white woman and not a Latina. Only time will rectify. As I waited for my hips to catch up with my soul, I figured I should at least walk up something.

Trudging my butt up Snowking I saw a bouncy, flouncy familiar figure. A mass of silver curls tumbling onto a body that could belong to a toned twenty-five year old but instead belongs to my mid-forties co-worker. She is one of the Jackson enigmas. Those who look and seem so very much younger than their number due to exuberant, active, healthy living. Before my new job, I worked at the Mangy Moose, which pretty much hires on looks. None of the lovely girls there where commented on at work as much as this woman I work with now. With no make-up and no scandalous outfit, this woman has more people exclaiming that she is beautiful. As I watched her practically skip down the mountain I was inspired. I don't just want to walk up something, I want adventure and fun. I want to challenge myself so that I keep my child-like enthusiasm. That's when I decided to go up the mountain on the less traveled path, Ferrin's.

It's not as if this trail is wild and reckless, just less traveled. Apparently, very much less traveled when snow has fallen because once I headed off on the trial, all human footprints vanished and soon I was following the cute little hop-prints of bunnies. Just me and the wild. That's right. I thought about my nick-name, Jessica Rabbit. I fit in here. I thought about my awesome friend Chase who fears no off-track hike and can identify all the animals tracks and poop. This must be how he got his outdoor intelligence. Just go out there and see what you find. Soon the bunny tracks were intersecting what must have been deer prints, there little spindle legs poking into the snow. As I fancied myself a real outdoor woman, I looked up to find that a moose about twenty feet away had already spotted me.

Moose are relatively harmless animals that only attack occasionally. At least that's what I've gathered over the years. You don't want to startle them and you don't want to get in between them and their babies. Don't know if I startled this one because I was imaging myself as a bunny. As I tried to figure out if I should go forward or back, my eyes grazed over his little one nestled down behind some bushes in the snow. Hmmmm... Not ideal. To me, huge antlers are the same as a person casually possessing a gun. Like a cop who always has one visible. I don't care if they aren't going to shoot me. I know they could and I proceed with caution. Pulling on the only etiquette I know, I said to the moose, "Hello. I'm just going this way." Gestured with my had the path and walked on by, keeping my eyes on the big moose. The moose started chewing again, which I took as a good sign.

Almost running into large animals is part of getting out in nature. Some people love it and strive for an encounter. I prefer trees. They are beautiful, wild, and far less threatening. Snow exposes so many prints that I have never seen before. The bunny and dear weren't the only animals using the ease of the cleared path to get around. Soon I was seeing what looked like dog prints but why would there be a dog without a human? Some tiny squirrel scratchings were visible. The trial was becoming over-run with the reminisce of my furry companions. I was hurrying along hoping to make it to the top of the mountain where I could cut over to the more traveled path down Snowking and avoid seeing the big moose again. As I neared the top, the prints got really big. Hoofs I can generally handle, but these were large paws. What has a big paw slightly larger than my own hand? Because I don't know all that much about wild animals, except that I like to avoid them, I'm not sure. All I can think is bear. Oh, God, bear. Trapped between a known moose and possible bear. This is where the less traveled path always seems to lead. Dang, dang, dang. After a few moments of trying to discern which way the big paws were traveling, I accept that I don't know anything and I better just go back from whence I came. Aka: Mooseville.

I scurry down the path, about the same speed and the joyous skip I hoped to emulate but powered by fear. When getting close to where I think the moose and babe were I start saying, "Hello? Umm, hello?" As this time the moose will say, "Oh, you again. Have a nice day." When I do get to the moose, he has done me a courtesy and laid down, making him seem a lot less threatening. As I pass by, once again gesturing with my hand my intended path, the baby moose rises to his feet, as if to follow me. WHY? I keep on walking with my hand up to say, "Oh, please don't get up for me." Quickly shuffling back down the path destroying all previous prints.

I guess it's hard to find an untraveled path. You just gotta hope that who or whatever traveled it before you is nice and doesn't want to trample or eat you. There is a snow storm dumping on Jackson today. Thank you Lord for an excuse to go out to lunch and do some shopping. Today I choose a well worn path of my past, but who knows what wild hair I'll get tomorrow. As much as believe in my mind that the easy path is the best, something in my fiery Latina soul just won't let me stay on that trail.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Money Follows the Sweets

I just realized some good Feng-shui in my life. My bank gives me bit-o-honey candies when I go in to make a deposit. This candy is so delicious and yet, my whole life has been so elusive. As a kid, I this was the candy that the cheap-o's and weirdos tended to hand out. I love it. Which might be bad feng cause I do tend to attract weirdos. Anywaysssss.... Usually can only be found at the dollar store and I hate going in there because I buy cat calenders and obscure candy. The only way I can get a small, pain free does of the bit-o-honey is to deposit money. All other banking is done at ATMs or as grocery store cash back. Hence, I want to make more money so I can bring it to the bank and get more candy. Thanks life for making things easy on me.

Going Soft

Walking with my mom yesterday I was trying to teach her how to use her core to help her get up hills. I had her tucking her butt, not slumping too far forward, all the while asking her if she could identify her core. She said yes. I still don't believer her. On one of our breathing breaks where I tried to keep focused on the fact that she is older than me and if I push her too hard I'll kill her, she wheezed out, "You know who has strong abs?"

"Who mom?"

"Your cousin, Zachary."

"Isn't he, like, nine months old?"

"Yeah! He can sit up all the way without using his arms. It's amazing."

Flashback in my mind to being in Guatemala on a stinky local bus making a stop and a bustling village with locals hanging out gossiping and selling food off of tables as everyone pretended flies don't exist. I was on the bus, near the back, crammed up against the window. There were about four more hours to my destination. I was snapped out of the state of zen that must be achieved on such a bus ride by the sight of a dangling baby. The typical method of baby transport in Guatemala is a cloth made into a sling with a baby tucked in around the mothers body. Seeing a woman with three slings on and four children grabbing at her skirt is typical. She may even be breast feeding one. The baby I was looking at was solo on the mom's body around her back. He/She must have been seven to eleven months old. Although, this is Guatemala where the tiny children look like snacks for an American playground. The baby might have been three. For the sake of the story, the baby was very much just a little fat cheeked, googly headed mass. Seriously. That's why I was shocked when I saw it dangling from the sling. Seventy-Five percent of the little one was outside of the sling, tilted toward the ground. I knew I was about to watch the death or severe damaging of an infant and there was nothing I could do about it. Even if I could shout from my confinement on the bus, I had learned earlier in the trip that I really don't know any Spanish. Some one asked me in Spanish if I spoke Spanish. I replied in Spanish, hot sauce. I was trying to say a little. Really, I know none. I could shout in English, the woman, if she even heard me, would turn, suddenly startled and whip the baby out for sure. As these thoughts skidded through my mind, wrinkling my forehead on there way, the baby used her/his obliques to right herself or himself in the sling. The mom never noticed. I'm still filled with a sense of wonder as I think about it. I think that was the moment I became obsessed with the core and its life-saving abilities.

Babies bodies are amazing: soft, strong, flexible, resilient. Pretty much everything I want to be. This summer while I was mountain biking a lot I started to get really strong and hard. My butt had no jiggle. My legs were tense even when I wasn't flexing. At first this sounds good, but then you have to think about femininity and music videos. Girls want some jiggle. Only a controlled bit and in the right spots but you don't want to be a rock. That ain't the end goal. I got softer as the biking season ended. Feels good.

I need to talk about not being too hard because I got a note from a friend where she lamented her body going soft after it had gotten really hard. This is a girl with a beautifully curved body who has never gotten near being fat. You know I am a proponent of being strong and using your body so that it doesn't break down later. I think the whole world need to play more because it is fun, with the power to make people healthy and happy. The industrial revolution forgot about the human body and I think it's time we bring it back and not just for a recommended fifteen to twenty minutes a day. All that said, I'm not a fan of being critical of something that is awesome. Just know, I bet you were a beautiful baby, cause baby, you're beautiful now.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

I'm Super Woman. Secret Power- Abs!

As I sat up in bed one morning, I was shocked by the fleeting glimpse of shadows in the mirror. Yes, my bed has a mirror right across from it. By the time I was fully upright the image was gone. I laid back down and slowly sat up again. There they were. Emerging from my childhood dreams, visible abs. Since that morning, I've been on a diligent search for my abs. As in epic tales where the hero goes on a quest, what I've found on my journey is far more than just a bikini ready torso...

See, once I knew the abs were in there I didn't just wait, I started to try using the puppies in times of weakness. On my bike, I realized how much stronger I was if I thought about using my abs as an extension of my legs to push and pull. When a hike was getting too tough and I was about to fall behind my super fit friends I'd engage my core and have an extra boost of energy. Even at work, when my body started to slag from too much standing, I'd turn to my new hidden strength reserve and all of a sudden I could make it through the night happily in my body. Turns out there was power and energy right in the middle of me that I've ignored my whole life.

That's right. I'm Super Woman. Well, at least closer to being my own personal Super Woman. This discovery came just when I was really starting to feel like a broken down loser. You know those times when all of a sudden you forget how to be happy? You look around and all of a sudden your life has gotten away from you. You hate your job. You don't remember what being surrounded by people who inspire you feels like. You can't remember how to be positive and bring love to the people you love. You vaguely remember being funny but now your only jokes are about how much you hate everything. It sounds horrible but I've come to these points of confusion and sadness enough times now to know that these feelings are not real. I'm just about to make a big change. I can take the grossness of what I'm feeling and realize it means I'm about to find a way to be stronger and happier than I've ever been. I start getting excited about the change that is coming. The excitement is often obscured by my jokes about hating everything but it's there. There isn't some obscure location inside of me anymore that I blindly grope for because of my faith. There is my core. You can't shake the core.

It was in the middle of all this sadness, where I felt evil forces trying to destroy me, that I found my core strength. The core is so important because it transfers energy from large to small body parts making the whole body stronger. What an amazing gift to find a whole new vat of strength at my disposal. Physically, I'm more capable than ever and my great love of metaphor has helped me apply this to my mental life. My core is there for me when I refuse to fall behind climbing the mountain. That is true whether it's an actual mountain, supporting the people I care about, having fun, or believing in my own choices. I've found even more strength and now I know how to exercise it to make it stronger. Plus, it mean I get hot abs. Thank you life. You are too good to me.

Monday, November 1, 2010


Just spent three weeks in Italy and I would have had to pry my hands off my gelato in order to blog. Sorry. My hands stayed firmly wrapped on the food. Plus, I was tipsy the whole time. Whoops.

Now I'm back and have much badassing to share. Here is just a glimpse. I passed up Halloween partying to get up at 5:30 in the morning and go hunting. That's right. The thought of helping skin a carcass was more enticing that dressing up and shaking my booty. Who am I?

Someone who wishes I could stay up all night dressed like a pumpkin and shaking squash, then hunt. Can't do it all. The addiction to the kill won out this time.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Shannon Dohrety Just Ruined My Blog

Shannon Dohrety's soon to be released auto-biography is called Becoming A Badass.

Upon hearing this news I think Shannon and I do have quite a bit in common. I want to binge drink and hit a bitch too.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Jessica Fierce

Since I was feeling a little homely last night, I've decided to spend this morning wearing heels and creating my own ultra-ego. Beyonce says she has an alter-ego named Sasha Fierce. That's the side of her that gets on stage and shakes it. I'm still thinking of names for my ultra-ego. I'm going ultra instead of alter cause in everyday life I like to shake it.

possible name choices so far: Jessica Rabbit
Zsa Zsa
Dang. This is hard.

Listen people, I'm going for something fierce, fun, and not strippery. Suggestions?

Ok. I'm gonna go do my hair and practice dancing in heels. It be a shame if an emergency dance situation came up and I couldn't shake it just because of my shoes. Practice is important.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Uh-oh! I'm a badass

Yep, I'm a badass and it ain't pretty. I just hung out with people in my work cloths. I introduced myself to new people wearing all black, capris, and clogs. While in the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who doesn't care about her hair, back in a bun with loose, unkempt strands. A girl whose face wasn't that important. The features were nice and bright, but without make up the whole thing was slightly blurry. All I wanted to talk to people about was mountain biking and skiing. Possibly, we could dash in some travel plans. I was content.

The general mass of people are becoming less important to me. "I never see you anymore!"

I'm lost in the woods. It's lonely and I miss you, but I'm too happy to bother finding my way out.

P.S. Shaun, I know you never read my blog but I really miss you.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Why does the hard road hurt so good?

At cocktail hour a few days ago, with a dear budding badass friend of mine, after talk of jobs and boys and gossip, the conversation took a sudden turn to biking. I've just had my hiney kicked by the flu. Not just damaged, but ravaged. Physical activity became a beautiful mirage, shimmering through a haze of sickness. In my delirium, I reverted back to my weakling self literally crying for help and healing. There was no help to be had and the healing was coming. It was apparently stuck in LA traffic, decided to get a burrito, got mugged outside a taco stand, taken to the hospital, had to heal itself... what I'm saying is, it took for fucking ever. The only thing that got me through was a pair of 5 inch peep-toe wedges that I imagined coordinating with outfits. Now I have a pair of absolutely unwearable shoes coming to me from stevemadden.com, but I didn't kill anyone and I'm still in a relationship with my lovely boyfriend. I say, money well spent.

Anyway, back to biking. My friend asked, why do you love biking so much? She wants to try mountain biking. I kind of stuttered out some phrases. It's really fun. Well, it does hurt a lot. It's such a great work out. So much so that it's almost exhausted my heart. Every good was mirrored back with intense struggle and pain. Luckily, she took up the conversation. This girl from NYC understands my gospel. She knows how good it feels to do something you never thought you could do. She said, "I want to do it and that is all it takes. Wanting to do it."

I encouraged her but in my heart I was flailing. Why do I bike? I'm covered in bruises and cuts. I'm not physically strong enough to be good at it. Why do I continue to try to share my life with someone else? I'm full of insecurities. When I'm with someone, they all tend to come out. Fear of being left. Fear of not being pretty enough, successful enough, nice enough, a good enough cook, clean enough, smart enough, funny enough. Why do I keep writing? Often no one comments. I'm plagued by spelling errors. I don't understand commas. I never leave enough time to proof read. Why do I even leave the house? Half the time people have to pluck random food off my clothing.

I don't know why. Just got back on my bike for my first post flu ride. I went easy on myself. Took a simple trail that I never take. It was kinda fun. I only tipped over once. No bleeding. No bruises. It was kinda boring though.

Perhaps, I know life is going to kill me eventually and I just want to be the strongest most accomplished me I can be when I go.

If anyone knows of a pain free way to live and still progress please leave it in the comments section of this blog. I'm still recovering from the flu.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

shout out

To those great people who are super happy while fulfilling a service they could be bummed about. I'm talking to you, chipper grocery check out people. You make my day better. You make me want to be a better waitress. You make the whole world shinier. Thanks.

This is your day. Better enjoy it.

ps. Late night Mc Donald's dude with the tude. Either get a new job, or start having fun with that headset. Don't tread on my good time with fries. And start realizing that I'm the best looking thing you're going to see at midnight. Jeez.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


I hate it when no one comments on my blog. Even if I still get facebook and verbal comments, I feel a hole in my being. I'm not impermiable, but I am more of a badass each day. My new muscles are covered in welts. My old heart still wants confirmation. That's how it goes.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

I Hit a Tree

I started writing because my thoughts were so loud and distinct. Organizing them into stories was a way to control them, make them useful, funny, instead of tormenting. My mind has become quieter and more action oriented, equaling a a cut back in the writing.

Yesterday, the thoughts started up again. I was composing a story in my head as I biked about how only you know what is right for you. No one else can tell you what you are feeling, physically or emotionally. There is so much pushing, to be better, faster, stronger. I will be all of those things, but I can't just be those things because someone tells me to be. To the girl at the bike store: I got the beginner shoes because I'm beginning. So, to answer your question, "Are you walking or are you biking?" I'm doing both, thank you. And to the dude with the hearing aid that told me I was never going to pass him in the granny gear: My heart rate is at 90% capacity, even in the granny gear. I may need to use the dead and buried gear for some of the hills. Just keep walking your dog and if my biking bothers you, turn down the hearing aid and close your eyes. While crafting my witisisms and searching for the thread that would link all of my thoughts into an inspirational tale, I hit a rock, lost control and slammed my bike and body into a tree.

I'm covered in welts, but no serious injuries. The new moral to the story is, stop thinking about the story and focus on whatever your doing so you don't slam into a tree.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Goal Accomplished

Goal accomplished. I'm a badass. There is dirt and a twig at the bottom of my laundry bin. My mountain bike is a source of so much pride, it might as well be the latest Mark Jacob's handbag. If something awesome doesn't happen in a day, I know it is my fault for not going out and doing something awesome.

This is is how badass I am now: I don't want to finish this post because I want to go mountain bike.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Fashion Crack

Nobody is allowed to give me shit about being some wimpy, clothing obsessed, just likes to party, prissy girl. I will shut you down.

But of course I am.

Even though I've been having to wear mainly dry-wick clothing this summer (def: quick sweat drying), I've been loving seeing other girls around town in sun dresses and sandals. Obviously, I miss my friends in Los Angeles. They greatly contributed to my happiness. I'm not going to bullshit you though, I miss wearing cute dress and shoe combos more than I miss all those great people. Sorry guys. A shoe never talks back.

The thing about Los Angeles is that it makes clothing easy to love. It's almost never too cold for a skirt. If It gets a little chilly, some over the knee boots will warm you up. You are going to want to wear a little blazer to the party, to stay comfortable. Upon entering said party, make an enterance, and make sure the blazer is seen. Remove blazer, hopefully revealing cute flair layer, something fun and flattering. Once the party really gets going, and you are dancing, your over the knee boots push you over the edge of hotness, and you take off the flair layer, revealing a perfect, delicate and sexy underlayer. This must be suitable for the dance floor but possibly too sexy for bright lights. Now, you are simplicity except for your amazing boots. Which is why it's so important to invest in accessories. Oh, the beauty of the outfit.

Los Angeles loves the outfit and I do too. Wyoming doesn't care what the outfit fucking does. Wyoming is cold, unforgiving, and demands ugly practical shoes. Shoes with substantial rubber grip, or it will throw you on the ground and make you squirm like a piggy in an oil slick.

There's gotta be a way to be super cute, creative, and modern with clothing in the deep cold? Right? Well, I can't find it. How do people do it? And still have the outdoor fun?

Somebody help me. My fashion crack source has been ganked by wyoming and I'm about to start twitching in a corner, crying about how ugly I feel and how dry my hair is.

Monday, July 12, 2010

So Excited I Might Pee My Pants

When is the last time you did something so fun that you didn't want to stop, even to pee?

For me, it was about 6 minutes ago. I just got clip-less peddles for my mountain bike. Even though it goes against logic, clip-less peddles are when you clip your shoes onto your peddle. This allows you to pull up on the peddle, as well as the typical pushing down. I've been off my bike for about a week now, because I got the wrong shoes and have been beaten down by some seasonal allergies. Everyday, though, I've dreamed about riding my bike. Excitement isn't as forceful as when I was a child, so I've let life get in the way of getting the right shoes, but today I got them. I got out of the car, immediately put my shoes on, and started trying out my new bike technique. I just couldn't wait! I couldn't go inside to put my belongings away or pee. Excitement took over and had me on the bike, attaching and detaching. Only being able to ride around in a tiny circle on a drive way, since I don't really know how to work the mechanics, I felt 4-years-old again. I practiced until I was about to wet myself.

Now, get out there and find something so fun that you almost pee in your pants. Life's too short to not be having that much fun.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Fat People Running

It's fat people running. It's babies dancing. It's me mountain biking.

Haven't been keeping up with this blog lately. There has just been way too much badassing and working to fit it in. Plus, my mind is becoming strangely clear and quiet from all the physical activity. Just got back from mountain biking, though, and on the tail end of my ride, I saw a fat man running. He reminded me of why I started this blog. I'm here to pay homage to that brilliant period of time when you are doing something that you are so unprepared for that you look ridiculous. You keep on doing it and you start to look great. I feel so inspired when I see fat people running. There bodies aren't trained. They are soft and lack aero-dynamisticity, but they are giving it a go. I love knowing that if they keep running, their bodies will adjust to help them run better. They will change their composition.

Babies dancing is springy, full of joy, but let's face it. The kids are shit for rhythm. Doesn't mean we shouldn't let them kick out the jam.

Monday, June 7, 2010

I Play Co-ed Soccer

I joined a co-ed soccer league today. There are are couple of types of co-ed teams here in Jackson. Some are full of college athletes and some are full of people drinking beer on a field. I was lead to believe that I was going to a game with a keg. As my coercer, Anna, and I approached the first field, our eye-brows shoved our foreheads together in confusion and horror. These couldn't be the people we were supposed to play with. They had uniforms. They had coordination. We were not part of they. The games are held at the high school stadium, which gives some context to Anna's next statement: "Wait. I think those are actually high schoolers." What are relief.

The last time I played soccer was in third grade. I was on a team that scored one goal all season, and it wasn't scored by me. Sports with teammates and balls have always intimidated me. On the swim team, the only person you let down is yourself. If you happen to space out pretending to be a dolphin, a ball isn't going to hit you in the face. Both facts comfort me. Co-ed soccer only appealed to me because I figured if I was drinking, being hit in the face would be more understandable and less painful. As we pulled up to the other field, my eyebrows got pushy again. Wait. These people look pretty good too. They weren't in formal uniforms, but they did have specific shoes and socks designed for soccer. There wasn't a keg in sight. Nobody even looked like they had been drunk earlier in the day. Unfortunately, this was it.

Being co-ed, I guess it's hard to get enough girls. If the dudes happen to get enough girls to form a team, three, they are at high risk of losing the girls because they will have to play the whole game. Even though my knowledge of soccer ends with kick the ball with the inside of your foot, I was welcome, as a girl. Playing soccer, while still being flinch and cramp inducing, is pretty fun. And I'm going to keep it up. At least until I get nailed in the face by a ball.

Friday, June 4, 2010

I don't want your rules. I don't even want my own. :My hair

For large spans of my life I seemed like the type of girl who was about to chop all of my hair off into a boy short cut. Spunk, sexual confusion, admiration for Gwyneth Paltrow in the movie Sliding Doors, I don't know. People asked for it. I considered it. La di da di da. Never happend.

I needed a rule to launch me in: Cut my hair short when I was thin enough to have the cheek bones to support it. I was thinking being a waifish pixie was my ticket to the androgenous carnival of modern fun and amusement. For the first time in my life, I'm being confronted with accidental weight loss. I'm riding my bike and climbing mountians, and I'm just dropping weight. This is weight that I was happy to carry around. I stored it in my pants and pranced it around proudly. Now, it's leaving me. As with most of my plans and expectations, turns out, my rule blows. A pixie cut is the farthest thing from a solution.

If my body is going to muscle up and drop signs of feminity there is only one solution: Bigger, Busslinger, Possibly Brighter Hair. Watch out. I may start teasing the shit up.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Hater Help: Getting Up Glory

I went back-country skiing again!!! I hiked up a big mountain, Glory Bowl, for those in the know, and it was awesome. The hike up took me forever. Everyone passed me. I almost threw up and there was a point where I could only take 10 steps without a pause. What is important though, is that I made it. Taking a chance, pushing my own limits, I decided to try this whole back-country skiing thing again. It didn't hurt at all, besides the challenge of the hike. The skiing was smooth and easy.

After seriously contemplating not going because it could be unsafe, I couldn't resist. The #1 reason I was driven to go was a conversation I had with a hard-core skier after my previous back-country flop. I told him of the perils, the falls, the temptation to just sit and cry. His response was something to the tune of, "That's ok. You're just not a back-country skier. You're a lift skier. That's who you are. You are someone who skis the lifts." He didn't intend it in a mean spirited way, but in my head the hater warning flashed. This guy echoed my fears back to me and as he shrugged off my attempt, I knew that wasn't the end of my back-country exploration. Nobody puts baby on a chair lift and tells her that's all she can do. At this point, I would like to say thank you to all the haters out there.

My first winter in Jackson, I was definitely a fish out of water. I was a girl who had stopped working with vintage clothing, who had never skied before, who had never really been around snow before, who was active but not athletic. A lot of that first winter was spent learning how to walk and drive on snow. But after I mastered that, I even got a little skiing in. At the end of winter, my lovely friend Anna said to a boy, "Aren't you proud of what a snow bunny Jessica has become?" His answer, "She learned how to look like a snow bunny but she isn't actually a snow bunny." True, I came to this town with more knowledge on shifting appearances than hitting the slopes. He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right. He couldn't see the snow bunny badass blooming inside. His words prickled me. Thanks to his underestimating me, I fully realized what I wanted to be capable of, which is the first step towards success. So, thanks haters. Without you, my own desires wouldn't flare up inside of me so brightly.

No one knows where you are coming from and only you know what you are capable of accomplishing. Actually, what's even better is you probably only realize about 1/100th of your own possibility. Let the haters light the fire under your butt and use the flame to rocket up the mountain. The climb is the hardest part. You are gonna need all the inspiration you can get.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Smart Choices in Back-Country Skiing and Other Things I Don't Know About

The weather being so crappy has made me seek out some new adventures. Actually, this is more of revisiting old adventures. Adventures of the mind. I've been reading a bunch, strengthening my vocab and mental prowess. I used to read all the time. I hope this doesn't make me sound like a loon, but I cut back on my reading because I came to the conclusion that it was making me think too much. As in, fueling neurosis and causing me to be so heady that I wasn't sociable. Mainly, I just got tired of people telling me that I think too much. Trust me, I'm not a genius and the thoughts were not leading to solving the environmental, political, or economical crisis of our time. The people were probably right. I was thinking too much. Actually, I might be thinking too much right now. I'm already doubting the reading.

I would prefer a nice cleansing hike right now, but it's snowing. Other people are out there being active. They are back-country skiing. Dang-it! I want to do that, but based on the first and only time I tried, I know back-country skiing can be scary. It's scary because it is legitimately dangerous.

This is where thought becomes unavoidable. Thought is key in risk assessment. In my reading today, I found some badass wisdom from Yvon Chouinard's book, Let My People Go Surfing. This man is the founder of Patagonia, the outdoor clothing and gear company. He was also one of the early innovators in rock climbing and seems to be someone who conquers all sorts of outdoor adventures while running an extremely successful and environmentally responsible corporation. Damn, this man is a badass.

Since trying some back country skiing and having it kick my tush, I've been contemplating limits and knowledge. Chouinard had some advice for me today. He says, "Never exceed your limits. You push the envelope, and you live for those moments when you're right on the edge, but you don't go over. You have to be true to yourself; you have to know your strengths and limitations and live within your means." Essentially, he is reinforcing the philosophy I've heard around the mountain: ski today at the level that allows you to ski tomorrow.

But how do we learn our limits? Mr. Chouinard shares later in the book about how he started being careful. He dove off a bridge and hit a sandbar that was a foot underwater. His neck was fractured by landing directly on his head. I don't know if I should be using this guy as a role model. I guess I won't know what to do until I do it.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

I need a teddy bear.

It's 2 am and I can't sleep because the wind in rushing by my window and beating on the pane. It's howling, gusting, smacking. It might be about to beat me up. I'm just plain scared. So much for badass. I need a teddy bear and a glass of warm milk.

Sunday, May 2, 2010


On a walk/write around town today, I decided to see if I could get inspiration from an old favorite: window shopping. In my layers, topped with a fleece, and trotting along on my tennis shoes, I cruised the couple of boutiques this town meagerly possesses. My first stop, Katherine's. A beautiful store full of designer clothes that I can't afford. Staring at the over sized Marc Jacobs leather bags and over the knee suede boots in the window, I didn't get my usual tingle. A few years ago, I loved clothes so much that a great pair of shoes could give me a literal body buzz. Hope that isn't a feeling I've lost forever. Looking at the beautiful things, my only thought was, "But what could I DO in those?" The clothing is made for being in the clothing and standing still so people can admire the clothing. C'mon. I want to climb something, or at least, dance.

The change has been slow coming. For a while, I wasn't as concerned that the clothing was truly beautiful and inspiring, just as long as I felt it made me and my body look beautiful. Now, I want functional, flexible clothing that is comfortable and will keep me a desirable temperature. If it happens to match and keeps my body from looking like a 14-year-old boys, that is bonus points that go to me having a really good day.

It's possible that I'm on the precipice of losing all of my city girl cred. Oh, help me. I think a trip outta this town maybe in order. I need a city and one in Utah or Idaho will not suffice.

If I'm not able to make it out of this town, please, just keep an eye on me. If anyone sees me in some sort of athletic Patagonia sundress at a wedding or similar social event, smack me in the face until I come to my senses or bleed on the damn dress. I'm not hating. It works for some people, but that's not me. I don't have the toned arms to pull those dresses off.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Engaged: Rock Climbing and Marriage

When I was in Thailand, I decided to give rock climbing a go. There was an instructor, an assistant, a cute capable boy, and his overweight sister who kept quoting the TV show Biggest Loser and saying, "We're gonna die. We are so going to die." Without much instruction we were harnessed in and sent up a wall. Two things made the experience horrible. 1) The girl repeating the word die as I tried to shimmy up. 2) The assistant was in charge of my rope and spent more time looking at his hot instructor fiance than me. I lost my grip and fell about 10 feet before he caught me. Ever since then when people bring up rock climbing I've said, why would I want to desperately cling to a wall of rock?

I thought I knew myself, but boredom will make me do crazy things, so when my friend Shane invited me to the rock gym, Enclosure, here in Jackson, I said sure. Had I tried it before? Ummm.... Just once in Thailand. Never a rock gym. I didn't want to share too much of my true hatred for the activity because I was bored and lonely and desperate for action. Previous experience has taught that people aren't going to want to hang out with me if I'm whiny and full of hate, so I tucked the fear and dislike away for the present.

Turns out, rock climbing isn't so bad when the path is marked out for you on a rubber wall and you are surrounded by padding. I recommend trying out rock climbing in this fashion. Leave Thailand for the people who know what they are doing. My favorite part of the experience was Shane explaining to me why he loves climbing.

You go from standing on the floor, full of life's nerousis and distractions to be being fully engaged in one step. By just getting your hands and feet on the wall, you have put yourself in a position where your entire body is active and your mind needs to be focused on keeping you there. Clinging to a wall does have a way of snapping you into the present. I will give the activity that. While climbing, even fully surrounded by padding still scares the poo out of me, and the experience caused my body to tremble, I can say that I felt fully engaged. I wasn't bored or worried about the future for a second while I was on the wall.

Can't pass up this opportunity to give a shout out to my friends Max and Brittany who just got engaged. They are an amazing couple who seem to make each others lives better. They have a smoothie and yoga routine going that anyone should envy. I'm happy to see love advancing in this independent valley, where the persuit of freedom seems to override the fostering of love.

Personally, I've always been a little weird about marriage. As a little girl, I fantisized about having 4 or 5 marriages. I'm pretty sure this is just a negative side effect of watching Elizabeth Tayor's E! True Hollywood Story way too many times. Once I hit 18, I started dreaming of a quicky marriage in Vegas followed by an annulment. It just seemed like a fun story for my retirment years. Really, I've just always been more into rings and dresses than the thought of a life long commitment. But I've been haunted by Shane's word, engaged, since he gave me the motivational tutorial. I do love being engaged in a physical activity. Does that equate in an abstract way? Would I like to be engaged to a person?

On a solo, low-key bike ride the other day, I got to thinking about staying engaged. When I had the bike in a high gear and was challenged, all I could think about was my movement. My mind was clear and happy. Then, I'd get tired and let myself coast. Beyonce as a really talented and engaged performer came to mind. I thought about how she must have amazing focus. Then, I thought about how much I admire her butt. Then, my own butt came to mind and a peddled harder for a few seconds. The distraction had crept in, though, and soon I was back to barely moving and thinking about how my butt seemed a little flatter that morning and maybe my butt is getting flatter from biking. Not good! I'm going for rounder and plumper! In this time, I could have been hit by a car or thrown by a pot hole because I was not in this world. I was completely in my own head and nothing was happening to my butt because I was barely cycling.

Maybe this is why people get engaged. It is easy to date around, and hook-up with someone who is ok when you really want physical affection. It's even becoming hugely, culturally acceptable, but it isn't challenging or very rewarding. It's the cycling equivalant of coasting. Really getting to know someone. Investing in another person. Accepting all of someone and allowing someone to see and accept all of you, even the really embarrassing parts. That must be what being engaged with another person is all about. It sounds really hard and scary to me. Even more frightening than rock climbing in Thailand. But the challenge is what makes it rewarding. It's what causes growth. It's what keeps you in the moment instead of thinking about stupid crap on TV. Rock climbing builds crazy little muscles in hands and arms and places I haven't even considered. Maybe getting engaged to another person, making that commitment, builds crazy little emotional muscles in the heart. Or wherever the love center really it. Maybe it makes us able to love stronger, longer, better. Sounds good to me.

The theory I was left with is, being challenged makes it much easier to stay engaged. We can live our lives like drones, coasting, or we can push harder, challenge ourselves, and stay engaged. Being engaged, we can enjoy this moment and grow in it. Otherwise we have to feel insecure about our butts compared to Beyonce's. That is no way to live.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


I thought I knew how to ride a bike. There hasn't been much biking in my adult life, but hey, it's like riding a bike. Right? My discovery is that phrase only applies to quick jaunts around town or one of those care-free beach rental rides. If you wanna ride a bike up a really steep butte, there is stuff you need how to know. Learning about shifting gears, different ways to engage your muscles, how to change a flat tire is important. Most crucial, however, on bikes or on whatever mode of transportation you have picked for this great road called Life, is how to keep your momentum up. And what's even more important is keeping your momentum up while flailing wildly, almost falling, and, let's hope, learning something. The butte I went up the other day was such a challenge I almost puked. I could feel the corners of my lungs. A new muscle has popped up on my forearm. That was some fricken doing. And after it was done I felt really great about myself. It would be nice to be in such great shape that I didn't dry heave. I guess that will come in time. Probably come when I'm better at keeping my momentum up.

What you all just missed in the writing process of this very line, was several failed attempts at getting personal with you. Words strung together to try and tie in the anxiety I feel living in a ski town and working as a waitress. I keep deleting and looking for a way to continue in metaphor. There are all sorts of things my fingers tap out that are then deemed either not worthy of the public or too private for the public. Here is what I don't want to tell you: how I wonder sometimes if I'm being sucked into a life that while being quite easy and in many ways fun, will never amount to a career, a family, or financial stability. What if I never fulfill my potential and i miss out on some of life's greatest joys? I would like to delete that last sentence. Pretend it never existed. Say I'm having enough fun to not care. In many ways, I don't. I don't need much money, I don't mind my work, and who knows if I even want a family. Children are scary and seem very time consuming. There. I said it and I'm not deleting it.

The anxiety is pinned to specifics, but really, I'm scared of losing momentum. Some people can relax, live in the moment, find every second's beauty, just enjoy. I'm not one of those lucky people. I need a goal to keep my eyes open and fixated on going forward, otherwise I just sit on the couch and think about the chances of actually dying of boredom and how ashamed I'll be to have died in such a whiney, losery way. The biggest shame in having these feelings is that the emotions are born from and suckle on the situation. Sitting on the couch makes me have the thoughts and the only reason that the thoughts are legitimized is because I'm there sitting on the couch. This is called a vicious cycle and it's what I am doomed for if I don't keep up momentum and push forward. If I'm not accomplishing, the feeling comes. There is no avoiding it, so, please, don't just tell me to relax.

I've accepted the feeling. That doesn't mean I've found a solution. I do know some handy tricks for keeping momentum up while going up a really steep butte on a bike, though.

1) Slow down.
2) Get into a lower gear.
3) Circle in one spot if you have to until you can push forward.
4) Vary the muscles you are depending on for strength.
5) Practice, train, build muscle and it will get easier.
6) If you absolutely have to stop, stop. Rest, get back on, and head down the hill for a few seconds to get some
momentum and then head back up the hill.
7) Visualize how hot your body is going to be if you keep it up.
8) Imagine all those assholes who have ever tried to make you feel fat, like you couldn't, or like you weren't good
enough to even try something. Now imagine you crushing them with every pump of the pedal. You can even puke
there heads if it comes to that.
9) Look around and be thankful for the beauty around you.

I don't know if these tips can help in every situation in life. If only everything had the automatic gratification that biking possesses. Then again, it is nice that most situations don't make me dry heave. Pros and cons on that one. These tips got my doubtful butt to the top of a butte. I don't know what to do with my time not on a bike, but maybe it's time to slow down, get in a lower gear, vomit on the heads of my doubters, and push forward.

Friday, April 23, 2010

I Can Make My Own Sushi, Thank You Very Much

Badass shout out to my friend A. A is one of those amazingly tough girls, who's about 5'2" and 88 lbs, could out run, lift, pretty much out anything me. She can catch a fish, skin it herself, and then make a beautiful meal with it, looking so cute that you would never know she was covered in fish guts earlier that day. If she wasn't so nice, funny, and willing to teach, I'd have to hate her. Instead, I choose to see her as an inspiration. I'll never be able to be picked up and carried as easily as she is, sadly, but she can pass on to me her talent for rolling sushi and for that, I love her.

Like with everything, it seems, I could learn how to do this myself online, but it is so much easier and way more fun to have a badass to lead me. Here is an online step by step: http://sushiday.com/archives/2006/10/26/how-to-roll-maki-sushi/ If you can't find a badass guru, I think that you should fake it, till you make it and throw a sushi dinner party. Everyone will love you for it even if you aren't an expert. The world could use a little more love.

As a new hobby, I've been spending a lot of time in the kitchen. This is part of my badass for life plan. Along with brushing, flossing, moisturizing, a regular sleep pattern, and being active, I think that cooking my own delicious food is one of the secrets to impenetrable health and happiness. Just a theory I'm testing out. If this doesn't work, I'm returning to candy and cocktails instead of meals. The jury is still out.

Here are the positive arguments for cooking that I've found so far:

- I can feed four people for what a nice restaurant would cost to feed just me. This is the beginning of my charity work.
- I've lost weight without even trying.
- There is double joy in knowing that it is delicious because I made it that way.
- People seem impressed by me!
- Who ever I cook for, the person starts to feel like family. I like it.

To everyone who has cooked for me, or let me cook for them, thank you. It was a pleasure. And a big ol' super-sized thank you to the people who answer my calls about how long to cook chicken or whatever. You are all very skilled and impressive. Everyone thinks so.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Outside Motivation

I wanted to keep it low-key today and take a nice walk to the library. On the way home, ominous clouds pooled above. As rain started to splat on my head, each single burst was a motivation. I don't mind a rain drenching, but I'm not gonna be fined for the library books getting soaked. Accidental workouts are the best. I got my heart rate way up without having to get my own motivation up. Thanks, weather. I needed some help today.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

The Queen of Snow King

Personal rule of thumb for Jackson: If someone else can do the activity with a baby strapped to them, I should be able to do the activity.

A few days this winter were spent with me trying to covertly tag along with people skiing with babies on their backs. To me, this is the most hilarious, frightening, and mystifying thing I have ever seen. The question, of course, is, "Is this safe?" One dude I followed didn't even own ski pants, opting to ski in jeans, but didn't hesitate to strap his baby onto his back and ski. My opinion is, if you don't care enough about the sport to buy the appropriate clothing, you aren't devoted enough to ski and carry a baby. And the guy didn't put down the safety bar on the lift. That's just dumb. A few days later, I was stalking a different dad. This dude was decked out in all the latest gear, and was telemarking, which is a type of skiing where your heel is able to raise and you do lunges as you ski. I don't really know why anyone does telemarking. As far as I can tell, this is just for people who find normal skiing so easy that they decide to add a lunge. Whatever keeps you motivated, crazies. I followed this badass dad off the lift, thinking, this is the guy. This uber-athlete is going to show me the way of extreme parenting. His form looked good, but he was going pretty slow. Ok, I thought. Good. He is being safe, avoiding the crowd. Nope! The dude was waiting for a thinning out so he could do a jump! He caught about 4 feet of air off a jump with a baby on his back. Since this is all discovered by my paparazzi style following of strangers, I know I lose some credibility on my judgment, but skiing with a child on your back is crazy. That said, I'd still like to do it. I will be wearing ski pants and not doing jumps, but someday, I'll expose a child to my insane yet moderate recklessness. Even if I have to borrow one. Just kidding. If you let me babysit for you, I promise not to strap your child to my back while skiing. That would be dumb... I think. Let's just stop talking about it.

Ok. So, since I don't have a child to occupy my time, and really don't want one, I'm prone to self-indulgent boredom. After a few days this off-season of icing my knees, painting my nails, and investigating Masters programs online, I decided to cut the crap and get my booty moving. I went for a walk. Low-key but nice. Not supplying the thrill I've gotten used to though, I considered kicking in up a notch. I went and once again stared up at Snow King. Not sure if people were still climbing up the thing and skiing down, I was secretly hoping that the hike would be deemed impossible. If no one else was doing it, I wasn't going to do it. Just as I was about to return home and settle into watching The Devil Wears Prada's director's commentary, a Subaru with skis on top pulls in front of me. A couple gets out, and as the woman started to unload the skis, the man pulls out a baby carrying thingy. Oh, damn. Not only are people climbing Snow King and skiing down, they are doing it with a child strapped to their back. No more excuses.

I went home, got my skis, and that's right, I climbed that mountain. My goal was to get halfway up. Even though I was so out of breath at times that I thought I was going to puke, I ended up making it to the top. Resorting to my tough times tactic, I counted steps to keep me moving forward. A lot of the journey I was only able to do thirty to forty consecutive steps without taking a breather. I got up to around 130 steps. I was only passed by one person and she was a God send because I was then able to follow in her footsteps, literally. Much easier than carving out my own path in the snow. Breaking trail is all well and good, but ain't no shame in following.

Two things I'm really proud of: 1) I resisted the urge to shout, this is my first time, to the girl who passed me headed up and the people who whizzed by me on skies. 2) I climbed all the way to the top of a mountain and skied down!!!

After, I felt so proud, I decided I deserved to celebrate myself. I cooked a steak, drank nice wine, and generally felt awesome. Way awesome. Ain't nothing like doing yourself proud. My life has given birth to a badass, me, and it's definitely a bundle of joy.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

We All Deserve a Nice Polish

My toe nail is about half grown back from when I killed it at the beginning of the ski season. For ski boots, toenails must be kept as short as possible. Between the ski season and the havoc of summer, I haven't painted my toenails in about a year. Today, I've decided to paint that pitiful half toenail a pretty pink. The nail may not be conventionally pretty by magazine standards, but I don't see why it should be treated like it's pretty. First coat is on and it looks like a multi-dimensional, all pink, cubist painting.

Plus, it's snowing today, so I don't think it's going to be trotted about in sandals anytime soon. Not that I'm ashamed of you, toenail. You are beautiful just the way you are.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Back-Country Skiing: The Story of a Wimp

Just to let you know I'm a real live human being writing this, know that I'm telling this story while wearing a pink Snuggie and sitting on the corner of my bed, Indian style. Now, we are intimate. Let me share my embarrassment further.

Feeling all cocky at the end of the ski season, I decide I'm gonna kick things up a notch. The mountain right by my house, Snow King, that I've talked about before, being extremely steep and one of the first things I challenged myself to climb regularly, is taunting me once again. When the mountains have officially closed to skiing, stopping the lifts, people will continue to climb up them on foot and ski down. Yes, this crazy steep mountain, that I have almost thrown up while just trying to walk up the switch backs that aren't covered in snow, is a mountain that some people climb in ski boots, straight up. This town is fricken' cra-cra crazy. It appears some people are doing this on their lunch break! Don't they know that a good latte can take 4 minutes to make and fully savoring a panini takes 9 minutes. There isn't enough time on a lunch break to climb a mountain with skis strapped to your back. Some people don't understand time management. But, after two years of watching these idiots, I finally decided, if you can't beat them, which I def couldn't because there bodies are made of steel, join 'em. Plus, it's the off-season and I'm really, really bored. My other current project is at home laser hair removal. At this point, I'm up for anything.

Super motivation kicks in and I prance my booty down to one of the local badass stores, Skinny Skis, that I've really only bought fleeces and yoga pants in so far. Staring at the back-packs and glancing around the store, I'm hoping someone will say, can I help you, and I'll be able to casually ask questions, flippantly pretending I don't need that much guidance. I know the employees here are amazing cause I've seen them discuss gear with other people. This time of year, though, the town is practically empty and the store is switching over from winter to summer. All the employees are busily shelving. AKA: Ain't nobody gonna throw me a bone on this one.

I approach a woman. She's engrossed in organizing head-lamps. Interrupting her focus, "Excuse me. Could you help me find a back-pack that I can strap some skis to. I have absolutely no idea what I'm looking for. I really know NOTHING about it."

God bless this woman. She wasn't daunted. She laughed gently, sprung up, and said, "Ok. Let's find you a back-pack."

She then took 15 minutes to show me the type that would work for me, how to put skis on, all the advanced features I could grow into, and the best fit for my back. She even took the time to tell me about the skiing conditions on Snow King and the optimum time to go. Normally, I hate when sales people talk to me too much, like some little bump-it wearing boutique girl telling me that belts make all the difference. I KNOW ABOUT BELTS!!!! But this woman seemed like the Messiah to me. Thank you for taking the time to help me, glowing and beautiful Skinny Skis employee.

Next stop, scoping out the mountain. I'm standing at the base of Snow King, noticing there isn't a set path to walk up. I've heard about boot packs, which are like stairs in the snow that other people have formed by climbing up. This snow seems to be too thin to necessitate a boot pack. Not wanting to be the loser who is walking up and ruining the mountain, I decide I better ask somebody. Luckily, a middle-age man is just taking off his skis at the bottom. This guy looks like he will sympathize, since he has a belly big enough for me to curl up in and doesn't really seem to fit in with the super-athletes either. I once again, throw myself into the alter of self-deprecation.

ME: "Excuse me. I was just wondering if there is a spot that most people walk up this thing. I'd like to hike up and ski down but I've never done it, or anything like this, before. Any tips?"

HIM: "Oh, umm. Nope. You just get up there anyway you can. Getting up is the really hard part. You can just head straight up, or squiggle around"

Ahh, yes. I think I will squiggle. This guy is awesome.

ME: "And, where should I ski down? How's the snow?"

HIM: "I've been sticking to that path there. Pretty good."

ME: "Great! Thanks. Just gotta go get my snow pants on. Awesome. Sweet."

HIM: "Good luck." And with a smile and a couple of heaves. He seems to still be catching his breath. I love this man. This man is part of my team, even though he doesn't know it.

That part about just needing my snow pants is a lie. I've been planning all day to do this with my boyfriend, because the one thing I've learned about trying all this active stuff, is that I don't know crap, and it really helps to have someone there with me, even if they don't really know anything either. Another body out there helps. The real truth is though, that when it comes to physical activities and the outdoors pretty much everyone in this town knows more than me. Everything is a learning experience when you're really dumb. I'm blessed with a lot of teachers.

So, I'm waiting for a man to help me. I was raised in Little Rock, Arkansas and I just default to this setting. On my way to pick up said man, I get a call.

BOYFRIEND: "Hey, Babe. Chase wants to do some back-country today."

ME FULL OF DISAPPOINTMENT: "Oh, ok. Well, have fun. I'll catch up with you later."

BOYFRIEND: "No. No. C'mon. You've been saying you want to try this. You in?"

ME FULL OF FEAR: "Um, I don't think so. I don't have any of the avalanche gear. I'm not mentally prepared. I... You go. Have fun. I'm already turning my car around."

BOYFRIEND: "No, c'mon. I'm doing something with you. Just come over and we will either do Snow King or the back-country. Just get your butt over here."


I get there. I discuss this all with the BF and his epic skier of a roomie. They down-grade the back-country plans to something very light. Sugar Ridge or something. Some place with extremely low level danger and a simple hike in. Oh, yeah. I should explain. Back-country skiing is skiing in the national forest or where ever, but not at a ski resort. There are no lifts, you hike in, and there is no ski patrol whose job it is to save you. You need to have a beacon, shovel, and probe in case there is an avalanche and you need to be dug out. This is more probable because ski resorts bomb areas to prevent avalanches and in the back-country the only person looking out for you is your partner. Ain't no one gonna make it safe for you. People do it because the snow is amazing and you can continue to ski when ski season is officially over and the mountains are closed. This has definitely been a part of my fantasy. I want to be a back country skier. I've wanted to try this, but I don't know if I'm ready. The problem is, you can never know if you're ready for anything. You just have to try. Which is what I tell myself when my boyfriend pulls the ace on me as I waiver back and forth on going.

"C'mon. Aren't you a badass?"

This has been coming up a lot since I started this blog. I don't want to take a shot of tequilla and I someone says, "C'mon, badass." I don't want to ski and it's, "I thought you were a badass?" I get my feelings hurt and cry and it's, "You're a badass. Don't cry. There is no crying in badassery." Well, folks. Here's the news. I'm not a badass. I'm a wimp. I cry a couple of times a week. I feel lost a lot. I fall down frequently and randomly. I am a light-weight drinker and most of the time I would prefer to be home eating cake. I'm a wimp! Ok. I am. But, for some reason, I WANT to be a badass. I want it really bad. I want to be strong, physically and mentally. I want to take this life, and make it into something great. I want six-pack abs in my forties and a life I can tell my children about that will fill them with excitement and inspiration. That is the push-pull. What I am now, and what I believe I can be if I keep trying. So, I say yes to the back-country skiing.

I get a crash course in the avalanche gear that is strapped onto me and am shown how to strap my skis onto a back pack. This is all great stuff to learn.

But the skiing kicks my ass so very hard. The hike up kicks my ass cause I haven't been doing much cardio this winter. The skiing kicks my ass cause the snow is different than I'm used to having been baked in the sun. Also, and by far the worst, my fear kicks my ass. I'm out of my element, everything is new and I can't get my head to focus on skiing. Thoughts of my inability to do this new thing won't leave me alone, so, I see a tree and get scared I'm going to crash and fall over. I fall and fall and fall. My knees get fucked from it all and I'm feeling pain. Not can't-keep-going pain, but why-am-I-doing-something-that-would-inflict-this-much-hurt pain. I make it out, thanks to my boyfriend and his amazing friend helping me so, so much. Can't lie, though. I'm pissed. It was too soon for me and the snow conditions were crap. I shouldn't have been out there. More research and strength were needed for the trip to go well. I wouldn't have known that, though, if I didn't do it.

I've taken a few days off from physical activity. Icing my knees, stretching, and strengthening. This is the most pain I've felt in a long time, and the effects are different than I thought they would be. I thought I was pissed and not going to want to challenge myself like that again. I thought, good, an excuse to sit around and eat a lovely bag of cookies. Cookies are necessary but that isn't the final word. Now, all I want it to be better prepared and stronger. Then, I want to do it all again. I still dream about being a back-country skier and I just might be with a little help from my friends, sales people, and total strangers.

PS. It is unbelievably beautiful out there in the back-country.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

The Benefits Taste Fucking Delicious

There is a lot of pain in all this badassing. Some good, like when a muscle is built, and some bad, like when knees aren't bent enough coming off a jump skiing. Hell, even emotional pain like when I accidentally got my ski caught coming off a chair lift and did an awkward split that had both knees on the ground pointing out to the side, and then fell backwards. That was some physical pain, but mainly, it was the emotional embarrassment that really stung. If you haven't been that active, born with the badass spoon in your mouth, this journey is gonna be a little tricky, but there are perks. One major perk. Ice cream. Once you get the badass spoon in your mouth, it's ok to have ice cream occupying that spoon! Let me explain.

I've always been fascinated by those people who seem to be able to eat anything and stay slim. And by fascinated I of course mean bitterly jealous. Luckily, I've overcome my hatred of these people because a lot of really hot guys have this flaw, and I'm not gonna let my being a envious hag stand in the way of my having an Adonis like boyfriend.

Like most prejudices, I overcame this one through falling in love. My boyfriend happens to be one of those mass consumers who seems to transform all of the fried chicken he eats into six pack abs. It's annoying, but not a deal breaker. When we first got together I was worried about me being able to stay with him. I had to say to him, "Stop feeding me cookies." It became a refrain in our relationship. I would just be cuddling with him on the couch and he would be hand feeding me ice cream, cookies, breads, burgers. If he thought it was scrumptious, he thought I would see being fed it as an act of love and sharing. Umm. No! I thought, "how am I gonna keep this hot guy if I keep eating all this undeniably delicious crap!?"

Well, miracle of miracles, I've managed to lose 13 pounds since we started dating and I've been eating ice cream on the regular. How? The hot bastard drags me outside to ski, hike, whatever, constantly. I just keep badassing. I try new things and then I try to do the thing faster, bigger, better than I've been doing it, and the weight just accidentally slipped off. I feel like I lost it somewhere on the slope and I hope it dissolves in the snow and returns to the earth. Go make some tree fat, former bulk. I've got some ice cream to eat and a mountain to climb. Hell ya, it feels good to be a badass. And it tastes fucking delicious.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Back to Life

The ski season is over. Yesterday, was the final day of skiing, my 55th day this year. With the closing of the mountain comes the closing of my job for about two months. The town of Jackson goes into a type of hibernation during the off-season. Spring is slow coming. It's snowing and grey today. With the ski mountain closed there is no reason for tourist to come here. With the murky weather and no tourist for people to make money off of there is no reason for anyone to stay here. Most of the people I know are preparing to take off for an exotic adventure or at least a road trip, if they haven't already. I've decided to stay here this off-season. I thought, I'll read, write, catch up on TV, enjoy the quiet. Today, though, I just miss the rush of skiing. This couch is not doing it for me the way my skis have started to do it for me. I don't want to sit. I don't want to relax. Seems I've underestimated the depth of my badass habits.

Guess I'll have to get my thrills by reminiscing about my season with you folks. Oh, the good old days, filled with babies strapped to peoples back when they skied and snot rockets. More to come. Right now, however, I'm working on, and this is not an exaggeration, twelve loads of laundry. I've let some domestic duties fall bay the wayside. Skiing is just so much more fun. Will I ever be able to just live a simple life again? 90210 is on and I don't care. Jackson, what have you done to me?

Saturday, March 13, 2010

It's Badass, Not Hardass

I'm devoting today to love songs. The theme of this blog is tricky, cause it's hiding behind this whole "badass" thing. Sure, I described it yesterday to a fellow writer as a city girl's adventures and mishaps while trying out extreme sports and the great outdoors. I felt succinct. That is a nice feeling. It only lasted a minute because this blog is obviously about the persuit of happiness. But some homeless dude, who was later portrayed by Will Smith, already took that title, so I'm becoming a badass instead. Today, I need music to fuel my happiness.

My #1 badass band rec: Rage Against the Machine

totally surefire ass pummiling music.

My choice today: Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Baby, I Love You by Aretha Franklin
Living of Love by The Avett Brothers
Oh! Darling By the Beatles

That's it so far, but the day is young. Spring and love are in the air.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Honeymoon in Waning

To Eddie, I said, "Some people after we graduated seemed to lose their minds. Have these people lost all perspective?"

"Yeah, and that one crazy girl lost her mind and moved to Wyoming. Three years later she is still there. What the fuck is she doing?"

Ok, Eddie. I hear you loud and clear. It's hard to miss anything my friends from college say since we all went to school for theater and are trained in not only vocal projection and enunciation, but in being as specific as possible with expression, using words, facial expressions, and our bodies. Even over a cell phone, Eddie can pin me down with his words. Really, three years later, what the fuck am I still doing in Wyoming?

I moved to Jackson Hole, Wyoming on accident. This happens to a lot of people, only most of the people come out here because they love to ski or hike and then find that they never want to leave. I came out here, not knowing how to ski, having hiked in the past but had traded in my hiking boots for some retro inspired peep-toe sandals years ago. A juice fast and a little meditation were the only things on my agenda when I came out here spur of the moment for what I thought would be a two to three week trip. My parents split their time between Jackson and Illinois, so there was a empty house just waiting to host my mental clarity retreat. The fast lasted two and a half days, was broken by a beer at a bar, where I was asked out on a date by the bartender and the rest is history.

Actually, it isn't that simple. If I had fallen in love with the bartender, he had ended up being a millionaire who just enjoys bartending, but his real passion was financially supporting me and taking me around the world, the rest would be a clear cut history. I guess the rest is the beginning of the adventure. The rest involves me talking to people about their lives out here and learning about travel, outdoor adventure, and living a life that isn't based around a career goal. The rest is meeting people who intrigue me and were open to sharing their passion for skiing, hiking, travel, and heavy drinking with me. This is the beginning of a story about finding love. Not the love of a bartender, but a greater love of life and the me who is living this life.

Three years later though, the honeymoon is over. I'm still in love with my life, but things need a little kindling to keep the fire burning. I'm not learning how to ski, I'm a skier. Sure, I've got a lot to learn, but now it's about the nitty-gritty. About devotion. It's not just amazing that I'm skiing now. Now, I have to get good at it, and that's always been the point in my life when I falter. Trying new things is a specific skill that takes courage and a willingness to fail and be humiliated. That I have. Getting good at something means sticking with things even after your limitations have been fully realized, but still trying and accepting that you are not a natural and you're not going to end up in the Olympics, but you can get good, if you just stick with it. I think. Don't really know, cause I normally don't stick with something long enough to find out. The initial rush of a new challenge is too enticing usually.

The older I get, the more I wonder though, is there a deeper fulfillment that I'm missing by always ditching out when things get tricky and moving on to a new challenge?

Skiing is just an example and not the main focus of this question. What about love relationships? What about work? What about my devotion to eating well and not just meal substituting margaritas and pizza for a full day of nutrition? These questions have to be asked now because something terrible is happening. I'm getting bored. As a person prone to boredom easily, I know the symptoms. Feelings of hopelessness, the desire for cigarettes, extreme quietness, watching hours of Sex and the City on DVD, and just mentally looking for trouble and a good fight. This is not good. This is no way to live!

So, how can I fan my own flame? What changes need to be made to keep myself passionate about life and my love for it? I've got some ideas: finding more fulfilling work, and being open to the possibility that more schooling may be in the future, a nice new dress and some lip gloss, creating some concrete fitness challenges, and trying something new socially like a dance class.

What I really want to know is, what are you people doing out there to keep yourselves motivated, happy, and fulfilled? I'm not about stealing.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Snot Knock

This winter has knocked the snot out of me. Literally. I was skiing one day, which is a pretty snot filled experience at all times. Skiers have no problem wiping their drippy noses on anything available. These people are so comfortable with the fact that their noses will be eschewing liquids all day long, that the gloves produced for the sport actually have areas that are made for wiping snot on. The product info that comes with purchase says something like "snot strip" or "nose wipe". What I'm telling you is, the gloves say, "It's ok. Put your boogers on this clothing and then wave them around at people. You're skiing. This is acceptable." I'll wipe on gloves, and I like to carry a dainty travel tissue thing with me, but I'm still quietly horrified by the ever popular snot rocket. This is where you use the force of your nose breath to propel the mucus from your body. No hands or material required. I get that it is practical. I get that we are in nature and societal rules just don't apply, but my inner city girl, who still fantasizes about cashmere cardigans won't let me snot rocket. I'm sorry. I just can't.

Like most of the things I thought I would never do, for example spending days without make-up and really ugly practical shoes, this damn nature has some how tricked me into doing. The other day, I was feeling badass, going fast, knees bent, soaking up the bumps, till one got me, and I hit a bump that sent my knees into my chest, literally, knocking the snot out of me. All I can really say is, I was delighted. I finally understood a literary term I've been using since childhood and obviously, I'm on the road to full out badass. I felt like a kid in the movie Stand by Me or like Huck Finn. I felt sparky and adventurous. My mind may not agree with snot rocketing, but my actions just can't be stopped. I'm just too naturally sparky and adventurous. Yes, I was very impressed with myself, ok? Goes to show, you never really know what's gonna get the excitement flowing. Life hold may surprises.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still not going to snot rocket on purpose. I need to hold onto some individualism and the prayer that I can still blend in a city, but it's nice to know I snot rocket if I have too.

Thursday, February 25, 2010


My body is tired and I miss brunching. That is how it is. Yet, today, I ski. This will be my 40th day of the year. Not bad for a newbie.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Hot Older Women

As a 15-year-old, I remember being hesitant to wear eyeliner because I heard it would give me more wrinkles in my thirties. I still have trouble using heat styling tools on my hair because of the damage I fear they will do long term. Essentially, I'm willing to sacrifice quite a bit of looking good and hip now, in the hopes that I'll be a hot older woman, and here is why: I'm slightly obsessed with being a cougar. Always have been, always will be. When I hear people say phrases like, I'm in better shape at 40 than I was at 20, I get a little buzz of excitement. I think, hell ya, my future. My mind is taken over by visions of my all organic kitchen, green tea addiction, and the six pack I got from trying to keep up with my kids, just like Sarah Jessica Parker. Hey, you can't choose your fantasies. This is mine. All I can do is enjoy it.

I was blessed with a cougar filled day out on the slopes, that started with four moms on the shuttle from the parking lot talking alternately about their kids classes and the runs they were going to do that day. These woman were classic moms, except for one thing. They spend their weekends down-hill skiing at one of the most challenging mountains possible. Well, that, and for post pregnancy bodies, they were all bodacious. To say how bodacious, I must say that they looked bodacious in ski attire, which means they are not only cute, but can find ski pants that accentuates their butts. These are hot woman in ever sense. Not, Los Angeles, I will do anything to look like I am 20 hot, but like, I'm still super active, loving life, and an expert shopper hot. These woman spurred me to pay more attention through out the day to all the woman 40 plus on the slopes. It seemed everywhere I looked some silver fox was swishing around me, and I was happy to have it happen. If you're in your sixties and wanna fly past me, spraying me in the face with your snow, I ain't gonna hate. Celebrate! The death of aging like a wimp. I want to age like these badass'. In honor, at the end of the day, when my badass boyfriend led me over to the half pipe I gave it a go. Not, because I wasn't freaked out, but because there was a woman ahead of me encouraging her six-year-old son to try it. Not just try it, but to "see how big you can go." He did. She was laughing, saying, "God, I hope this doesn't make me a bad mother."

My reply: "No way. This makes you a badass mother. At least, he isn't going to live life filled with fear." With that, the woman said, "Yeah!" Turned to her husband with a huge grin and said, "Hope I'm not to old to try this!" She took off down the half-pipe, shrieking with delight. I followed. No big air was had, but I did laugh like a three-year-old who was just thrown into a foam pit at Chuck-E-Cheese for the first time. That type of joy is elusive and can only be found by trying new things, something that is harder to do as you get older and are doing fewer things for the first time. The harder it is to accomplish, the more badass it is though. I've known that since birth. So, at 15, I could have been a little sexier with eye liner and flat-ironed hair, but I'm saving that sexiness for later. When it will be really impressive. A weekend that could have been devoted to botox will now be devoted to skiing. Maybe I'm alone in my thinking, but to me, that's hot.

warning: skiing is very damaging to the skin and sunscreen must be applied. do not get all crazy "I don't care how I look." you will have missed the point entirely.

Friday, February 12, 2010

The Ski Bunny is Back

My ski boots have been adjusted, and while my deformity is still bringing me pain, I skied today and yesterday. What can I say? Today was a powder day, meaning fresh snow, and what kind of ski bum would I be if I let a calcium deposit that looks like a bone deformity keep me from the hill?

For my bravery and dedication, God game me two gifts today. I got some fresh tracks in powder, which feels like gliding over butter, and a bit like flying. Plus, I got to cockily pass a group of four dudes to go through some rough terrain. They were all, "Oh, sorry. Let us get out of your way." I was all, "Why thank you gentlemen. I would wait, but I have a devotion to the freshies. That's short for fresh snow. Laters, boys."

Really, I just passed them with a smile, but they knew. They could see, I'm a badass skier, even if only in the eyes of some lost out-of-towners.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Today, I Give Up.

Ok, ya'll. I'm officially deformed and I'm not ok with it, yet. It's not really official, either, but I have a strong feeling that my foot will never be the same. The other day, I was skiing, and my foot had a new inconvienient type of pain on the side by the pinkie toe. Not a major pain, just something I thought I would look into later. As someone who frequently runs into walls while walking and smacks my hands into near by tables and such, I've learned to ignore a lot of pain. Yes, I should pay more attention and go slower, but jesus, I'm doing my fucking best, ok? So, I feel the little pain, assume it will dissappear, but the next day the pain is still there. Only, then, and by then I mean last night, so I sit down and take a look at the problem area. Expecting to find nothing, instead I find my bone right under my pinkie toe is engorged. The damn thing is poking out more than it used to. What? What? What?

My lovely boyfriend is there for this experience. Now, my boyfriend really is lovely. He also has an amazingly wicked sense of humor. He's also really good looking. He was also raised on a farm, is used to bodies getting fucked up by being over-worked, and as a child was run over by a truck. Not much phases this guy. I tell you all this because in the moment I discovered my deformed foot, he laughed at me and said, "Well, I told you to get your ski boot re-fitted. At least now you will."

Obviously, I love him less now. I'm f-ing deformed and the bastard laughed at me and pointed out how my negligence lead to my downfall. Yes, he's right. I'm to blame. My ski boots don't fit right and, apparently, as I've been told many times, it's very important that ski boots fit right. Sorry, dudes. I'm not used to activites that include changing the shape of your bones as a consequence. It has never entered my conciousness that something like that can happen.

Last year, I lost both my toe nails to ski boots. Turns out, your toe nails fall off, it isn't pretty, but they grow back and everything is ok and it doesn't hurt that much. I'm trying to put this whole foot deformity thing in perspective, using how I was really upset to be losing my toe nails, but I survived and thrived as a base for...

No. No. I'm sorry. I just want to move back to Los Angeles or some other form of civilization that has cheep pedicure places and try to become a trophy wife. That's where I'm at today. I was born with wide feet that I've always called dinosoaur feet and been insecure about and now they may just be getting wider and freakier.

Today, my foot hurts and I don't give a damn about becoming a badass. I'd like to stay here writing and try to find some positivity, but I've gotta go get my boot re-fitted. I'm either doing that, or eating toaster struddles and look at apartments in Los Angeles online.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Even a Badass Cries

Out of no where, yesterday my friend told me a story about skiing with a totally badass chick who does lots of heli-skiing or something. I guess this girl was hucking (skiing off) cliffs and badassing around. My badass-in-many-ways-but-not-so-much-extreme-skiing friend was giving the girl massive props. "Damn, girl. You are so fucking tough and badass."

The girl had been telling stories of injuries and adventures. Her response: "Yeah, but I still cry."

I don't really know the whole story. Bits and pieces were told to me at a keg party. Brings me comfort to know that even badass's cry too. So, to reference my last blog, maybe crying doesn't suck that bad. Maybe, just letting the crying stop you from continuing sucks.

Monday, February 1, 2010


In working out, there is the good pain and the bad pain. Pushing your muscles to grow always hurts, but pushing your muscles too far and causing damage hurts bad, real bad and for a while.

As a geeky, overly analytical lady, I love when I experience metaphors physically for things I assume must also be emotionally true. Metaphors are so fun! With skiing recently, I've been experiencing a lot of the type of pain that no one talks about. The in-between pain. This pain is most commonly experienced by twisting an ankle (or in skiing by getting the damn skis stuck around a tree or something). Everyone misplaces a foot now and again when walking and, tweek, there is that pain. It f-ing hurts, it might for a bit, but by the end of the day, it will be forgotten. This is the type of pain that really makes you stronger. In the book, Younger Next Year, by Chris Crowley and Dr. Harry Lodge, they talk eloquently about this topic. I'm gonna break it down for you like you are a three year old. When you challenge the tiny muscles of your joints, you are stretching them and forcing them to re-build and become stronger. Just like lifting weights causes tears in your muscles that must be repaired hence getting bigger, every tweek of the ankle is actually like a couple of push ups for the thing. It's better if you don't have to feel the pain. Your ankle being so flexible that it never tweeks is ideal, but at least, with the pain, you can know that soon you will be stronger and better able to wildly conga on that ankle.

I really hope the concept applies as a metaphor for emotional experiences too. Let's face it. That shit hurts worse. As a child, I was so shy that I would cry if a stranger talked to me. I would just panic. I also had no concept of irony, sarcasm, or humor. Just a very literal tyke. Any joke, therefore, seemed really mean and I would cry again. This is not something I'm proud of, but hey, I was four. I can't take full responsibility for my actions. Something I've learned since then, though, is crying sucks. Sometimes necessary, like during holiday movies, but in general, feels bad, makes it harder to function, think, or move on. I'm still a bit of a sensitive ninny, but I'd like to think that every time I feel a tweek, and don't let it get to me, I'm getting stronger and more capable of fun in any scenario. By the time I'm 90, someone could drop me in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by bitchy hyenas with the magical ability to talk, like a cartoon, and I'll be so strong and charming that we'll all end up doing each others nails. If I cried in that scenario, I'm sure they would just eat me.

In conclusion, pain is ok, crying sucks.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Since moving to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I've been faced with some humiliating conversations about my future. At this point in time, I'm a waitress at an after ski bar. People are always jealous/disapproving of this life choice. Finally, I got to have the conversation I always wanted. Here it is:

28-year-old-ish investment banker type: "Hey. So... You live here?"

me: "Um. Yep. And that's how I'm able to work here today and bring you beer."

28: "So, you're a ski bum?"

me: *small cough on my own saliva that now seems to be far too plentiful*

My mind took stock: 25, cocktail waitress, no prospects or concrete goals, no commitments, and about four days a week spent on the slopes. HOLY FUCK. I'm a ski bum. Two years ago, I didn't know how to ski, and now I'm a bum. I'm a person who has lost or given up everything. Apparently, I did this all to ski (and travel). How did this happen? Not a clue. I don't know if the future I'd thought I'd have, was taken from me by failure, or if I hopped onto a more rewarding path. I don't care, either.

me: "Yeah, Brah. I guess I am."

28: "So.... How is it? It looks kinda awesome."

me: "Are you fucking kidding me? Best decision of my life, ever."

Sunday, January 10, 2010


I got a pink snuggie and a neon orange hunting vest for Christmas.

My family celebrates late. So many blessings.

Friday, January 8, 2010


On my recent trip to Central America, my travel companion and I were mistaken for lesbians. This hasn't happened to me much in life, but the few times it has, I've always been really flattered. Being a privileged white girl who is painfully average, I always feel like if I'm mistaken for a lesbian I must be projecting more depth than I actually have. I must seem like the type of person who has over come adversity and made the choice to proudly be who I really am. This is not at all true. Being me is really really easy. No one gives me a hard time. Not a proud statement, but a true one.

That being said, we all have our insecurities. I, for instance, have an abnormally large head. Not freakishly large, mind you, but about an inch and a half larger in circumference than the average woman's. This fact was embarrassingly discovered in high school during a drama club hat fitting.

We were all lined up, waiting for our heads to be measured. I was behind one of our more painfully dorky members. Let's call him Matt. Matt was a guy who wasn't smart, or clever, or in anyway charming. He was loud, awkward, proud, and stubborn. Hopefully, he's grown into his looks and some woman just loves the dickens out of him now, but in high school he had no physical redemption. He was about 5'5", appeared both soft and abnormally thin, and his head balanced on his body like a melon on a tooth pick. I've always looked for the good in everyone, and usually found it, but this Matt guy was so dorky, even I had trouble not shunning him.

So, I'm behind Matt in the head measuring line. Our lovely costume mistress (Who is presently getting a shout out. Way to work the cookies, hot man, and nice job! I'm so proud), wrapped the measuring tape around his global head, and surprise, surprise, the thing is a whopping 24 inches. Everyone groans at the type of horror that you can see coming. Of course, this guy has a disgustingly huge head to store all of his disgustingly bland and gross ideas and then spew them on the world with more vehemence because of the size of his ginormous gourd. Ew. Big head.

My turn is next. I've never been petite but I'm not worried. In all ways, I'm usually average. The tape is being fitted around my head, the lovely costume mistress is yanking it tighter, trying to make the number smaller than it is actually. This can't be true. Twenty-four inches! I've got the same huge sized head as Matt. Me and Matt: Big Heads.

Since than, I've had to accept who I am. Most hats don't fit me. I can take my boyfriend's cap and not have to adjust it to wear it. Sometimes, in photos, I can tell that my head is the biggest in the bunch. But, hey. We've all got things that could drag us down. I'm not gonna let my huge head turn me into an insecure social outcast. I carry this big, wobbly head with pride. I hope Matt does too.

Just a little tid-bit about the early road to badassery.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Alternate Title

When I was deciding on titles for this blog, I considered The Devil's Plaything. It would have been a play on "Idle hands are the devil's plaything." The theme was projects I do to make myself a better person. I count trying rock climbing as becoming a better person, so it would have been a lot like this blog, only with more cleaning and day to day activities. Essentially, all the little projects I create to avoid boredom, depression, and low self-esteem.

Well, i'm currently the devil's plaything. Not much is getting done. I lack focus and am doing a horrible job at everything. The worst part is, I feel like poo. Don't worry. This is just the kick in the pants I need to get going on some serious badassing.

No more pussy-footing around. I'm sorry to those of you who have complained about my lack of blogging. Now, please, lay off. I'm not here to listen to you whine. I'm here to become a badass. Let the stories commence. Devil. I ain't gonna be your play thing no more. Go find another toy.