The Learning Circle

Yesterday, I went on a hike up mountain.  I've done this before, but usually, I go up switch backs, which are a zig-zag trail that helps with steepness. My mountain hike yesterday was just straight up a ski run (gros ventre for those in Jackson).  Lungs burning, legs skidding out from under me, and sweating profusely in front of my friend who I've never hiked with before, I felt like a lame-o.

Luckily, I had a fond memory to look back on and keep me motivated.  A few months ago, I took a couple of newbies up Snow King, which is a steep mountain right in town that I had my first badass break through on years ago.  My two newbie friends are from NYC and incredibly badass in many ways, including, but not limited to, outfit coordination and witty banter.  These girls were not at all prepared to hike up a mountain.  I greeted them in full athletic apparel, with a camel pack (back pack with water bladder), and a gung-ho spirit.  They greeted me with a small leather purse, adorable cut-offs, converse, and a cup with a straw.  I couldn't help but smile to myself.  I used to have no idea how to do this stuff either and now I kinda do.  I know what it takes to get up Snow King.  But my badass hiker friend, Ali, proved to me yesterday that I still don't know crap about heading straight up a mountain.  I love the circle of life.  There will always be someone who is better at something and someone who is worse.  Kinda sweet.  There will always be someone to teach you, and then, there will be someone to make you feel like a badass cause you can teach them later.

The Little Prince says, every adult was once a child.
Every badass was once a lame-o.

Simplicity

The other day girls at my work were looking through US Weekly and wondering why Angelina Jolie always wears black.  Listen up world, cause I know.

1)  She's got a rediculous number of kids and one could spit up on her at any moment.  Black is the best camoflage to spittle.

2)  Lady's saving the world as a Goodwill Ambassador for the UN.  That leaves less time for assembling ensembles.

She throws on a black dress, knows she looks great, grabs a baby or two, and heads out to end world hunger.  The lesson here is if you want to get mad stuff done, you gotta simplify the essentials.  In honor of badassing, I'm simplifying.  But I'm only going to wear red cause I deal with a lot of ketchup at work and, lately, I bleed a lot.

Death and Rebirth: Tale of Toenails

Last January I skied in a pair of boots that were too big, slammed my toes up against the front for a few hours and, to my horror, killed by two big toe nails.  Their death was slow.  First, they bruised.  A few months passed and they became brittle and then, one of the jerks just loosened itself from the body and had to be cut off.  A thin layer of ridged nail was left, thank God, since I expected there to be just goopy skin, but overall, the whole thing was horrifying.  I've scared children, manicurist, female friends, but to my shock and amazement, guys really don't seem to mind.  I was at the beginning of a relationship when the first toenail dropped and not only was the handsome fellow not disgusted, he seemed to like helping me deal with the departure.  He was the hero, I was the wounded gazelle.  Nice.  

Turns out, most dudes have lost a toe nail, and to them, it's no big deal.  Every guy who saw the bruised toenail would say, "oh, you're gonna lose that."  I would pout and say, "but it's going to be sandal season!  I'm disgusting."  The guys would just scoff and move on.  Looking back, the only disgusting thing about the situation is that I would spend time crying over lost toenails.  The other toenail just fell off.  I'll miss it.  It was big and beautiful and really looked good hot pink but it'll be back.  In the mean time, I should probably do some badass volunteer work (note to self:  find charity.  Being this self-involved is not badass.)  After all, some little underprivileged girls can't even afford nail polish for the nails they have.  

OOOOOOHHHHH!  Maybe I could give underprivileged girls manicures?  Start my own charity. That's badass.  I'll be looking for volunteers.  People, just because we've lost toenails, that doesn't mean we don't still have a lot to give. 

Scraped Knees Ain't Just for Kiddies

The entire time I was growing up I had scraped knees. I'd trip on my skip-it, slide wrong coming out of a tree, miss my landing jumping off the swings, and lose a layer of skin. There was always pain but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make for having so much fun. Sadly, it's been years since I've had a scraped knee and I can't help but think that it's a sign that I haven't been having enough fun. All that's in the past though, cause I scraped the crap out of my knee and had to get stitches on my hand! The badass is back and ready to play.

I've always prided myself on not being the type of woman who refuses to kiss a man cause it will ruin my make-up or won't get my hair wet in a pool. I try to prioritize a good time before a good look, but if I'm going to be a badass, I'm going to have to take things a step further. It's time for a confession. Ever since moving to Jackson, I've seen women with mangled skin. Anyone who mountain bikes gets some nasty road rash (cuts and scrapes). I've always thought, secretly, to myself, gross. I never wanted my pretty legs to be cut and gnarly. I thought scars were ok for men, but these women should really be more careful. They were really detracting from their summer dress beauty and men weren't going to think they were attractive. Turns out, somewhere around fourteen, I started sacrificing fun in order to be what I thought was pretty. I've just learned what these women must know: Why be pretty when you can be having the time of your life? And really? What's better looking then someone having an incredible time? Nothing, you fools.

And now it's time for a story: I Fell Off My Bike and I Liked It.

I fell off my bike. Riding back from the river, a short trip, in nothing but a bathing suit, I turned off a paved path onto a gravel road too quickly and skidded over. A rookie mistake. Apparently, a lot of people know about this whole pavement to gravel thing. I didn't. Now, I do.

I was with Shaun and I really didn't want to cry in front of him. The second I hit the ground I prayed, please don't let him do that thing where he babies me and then I turn into a sniveling infant. Luckily, I needn't worry. Shaun is a man of little compassion and much joy. He's made this apparent to me on a number of occasions. This is the same man who after seeing me leave work miserable because I was going through a break up texted me, "hold on to the night. hold on to the memories." I looked up at him from the gravel and said, "I'm fine. Don't freak out." The second my eyes fully focused I realized his face was frozen in a look of awe and excitement.

He said, "That was amazing!" Laughter. More laughter. Big laughter. I nervously giggled as I stood and contemplated wiping the gravel off my leg. What was clinging and what was embedded?

"I totally saw that coming. I watched the whole thing! Don't you feel great?"

"I guess it doesn't hurt that bad."

"Isn't it exhilarating? Aren't you happy you can still do that?"

Blood dripped off my hands. Standing there, in my bathing suit, the pain started to emerge. At first there had been nothing. Now, though, as I stared at an open wound, not scrap, not cut, but gash, a true wound on my hand, it started to burn. It burned until it stung and then stung until it ached. I believe Shaun was now shouting, "You're a badass!" Suddenly, a mini-van is beside me. A bleeding girl in a red bikini with scraped knees stands next to a fallen bicycle and a minivan. That sentence could be used to describe everyone of my k-5th summers. There I was fifteen years later and nothing had changed. As I talked to the dad in the mini-van, I started to feel good. Don't worry about me, sir. I'm fine. Just fell off my bike. Not the first time it's happened and you know what? I hope it's not the last. Shaun's point was sinking in. I can get hurt and it can be worth it. The moments leading up to the crash were definitely worth a scraped knee. I had just floated down a river on my back for the first time ever. I had danced around on the beach. I had raced along laughing hysterically on a bike, something I haven't done in way too long and trust me, the laugh was an incredible one.

If you're pushing yourself to do things you haven't done or do something better then you've ever done it, you're going to fail. You're going to fall. Failing and falling both hurt, but they are things that happen on the way to awesomeness. So what if my pretty little knee is a little less pretty? It's a little less scared and that's worth it being a little more scarred.

Plus, I got five stitches in my hand. I've never had stitches before. I'm a badass.

I did Vegas

and I told the door guy at the door that I couldn't stand in line or pay because "then I would feel ugly."  He let me in and gave me his last piece of gum.  HOT.

I lost a belly flop competition.

I drank, drank, drank, and didn't puke.

I danced, danced, danced in heels and didn't bust it.

I perfected shaking just my booty and keeping the rest of my body firm.  The largest black man I've ever seen complimented me.  Life goal accomplished.  

Vegas done.  

the slut/badass conundrum*

The art of female badassing is difficult to master.  One of the most evil forces trying to stop women from kicking ass like a female is the slut factor.  Being a woman is sexy.  Looking sexy is the whip cream on top of the accomplishment sundae.  Meagan Fox would be a sweet mechanic in Transformers if she wore a baseball hat and carhartt overalls but what makes her the f-ing shinz is that she fixes bikes in hot cutoffs and tousled waves.  She doesn't have to down play her female sexual power to be taken seriously because she can produce some serious work.  My question is, how many woman see her in those shorts and immediately write her off as a slut?

The reason I'm thinking about the slut/badass conundrum is because of my personal love of pillow fights.  Before moving to Jackson I had a lot of feminine prejudice against sexy women.  You would think that living in LA would have made me respect out rightly sexy woman, since the typical LAite tends to overindulge in sexual power.  The problem is that a lot of the LAites don't back their sexiness with intelligence, power, niceness, and drive.  Or maybe they do so much that I was too intimidated to notice.  I'll have to do further investigation on that topic.  When I got to Jackson, though, I met some seriously sexy hardballers.  My immediate best friend, K , is a 5'10" serious hottie, with lips like Angelina Jolie and legs up to my ribs.  She looks hot all the time.  Not booty hanging outta her shorts, giving it all way, nasty hot, but the girl's got a great body and she appropriately shows it off.  Hating her was a huge temptation, but she helped me ski, taught me how to make a bloody mary from scratch, introduced me to the power to knee high socks, drove me around the icy roads, and made it all look good.  This girl is from Texas and isn't afraid to raise chickens, build stuff, mow 5 acres of land, and lift what needs to be lifted.    While she never really convinced me that it's better to lift stuff yourself rather than tricking a man into lifting it, she did teach me that their is no reason to not look foxy while doing the dirty work.  

The moment I realize that K had smooshed my prejudices against obviously hot girls in boob shirts who like to take shots and go "whoo"  was the night she invited me over to hot tub with her boyfriend and a couple of friends.  I was the first to arrive.  After setting ourselves up with some cocktails, we put on some music and started the waiting game.    We're goofing off, listening to pop music and talking about the silly sexiness of hot tubs.  K gets the brilliant idea of pretending like we are having a pillow fight in our bikinis when her boyfriend arrives.  She's pretty sure he will pass out from excitement and we will be able to giggle about it for years to come.  As we started testing out our hilarious pillow moves, a strange thing happened.  We started having the time of our lives.  The reason slutty girls are always giggling in teen movies as they pillow fight is because pillow fighting is an amazingly fun/goofy/riotous past time.  There we were, in bikinis, alone, jumping off couches, trying to beat the crap out of each other and I was laughing so hard I thought either my ab muscles were going to give out or I was going to wet myself.  Perhaps, even both, chain reaction style.  I felt like a my carefree nine year old self at a slumber party.  

The Argument: 

Let's take a look at some masculine badass past times:  Dirt bikes.  Climbing shit and jumping off it (paragliding, skiing, etc.).  Blowing stuff up.  Pretty much the same activities associated with the deep desires of the common eleven year old boy.  In a lot of ways, badasses are just people who refuse to stop having the physically reckless fun of youth.  Hell, even Cool Hand Luke ate 50 eggs.  If eating contest aren't juvenile...

Awesome female pastimes that become slutty as we get older:  pillow fights, jumping on trampolines, cartwheel/splits contests, co-ed slumber parties, dressing up like barbies, etc., etc., etc.

Why should woman be held back from having a good time?  Girls always want to be pretty and feel like girls.  Woman always want to push themselves to the ultimate, whether it's starting a business, changing our own oil, cliff jumping, or learning to shake it like Beyonce.  Let's not let our desire to look good stop us from doing whatever we want.  Let's look like goddesses and act like badasses.  

*this article in no way encourages sexual promiscuity.  giving it up like it isn't worth anything is sluttacular and not to be done.

  

bloody mary from scratch

I've just made a bloody mary from scratch and am once again cleaning.  The badassness about this is 1)bloody mary made from scratch/memory.  (way obvi badass) 2)  I have to clean because of a wild pillow fight incident 3) I'm just stalling for time because I haven't been able to blog due to an overwhelming amount of badassness.

Please, stay tuned for enthralling tales on pillow fights, cliff jumping, old men hiking, trail running clubs, badass cubs in training and more.  Much more if you don't hear from me till I get back from Vegas ;)