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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.