Into the Wild

I am going camping this weekend and am beyond excited about it.  I haven’t been camping in years.  Yes, I’m sad to admit that it’s been years.

Well, I guess that Joshua Tree a couple of months ago counts.  But before that I can’t even remember the last time I went.  High school?  When one of my best friends and I planned a joint camping party that our parents were supposed to supervise but then my parents sort of bailed on it?  Yeah, that was probably it.

And then college happend.  Days filled with classes and work and weekends filled with homework and more work.  Certainly no time to take a weekend off – especially when all those vacation days were saved for trips home.

This year there have been some failed attempts to go camping.  Valentine’s weekend when it was supposed to rain but then it was a beautifully sunny day out but we’d already made other plans.  And then weekend after weekend with something else going on.  Nothing important, but something just big enough to keep us at home.

And now that we’ve set this weekend for a nice little backpack trip – nothing too big, just enough to wet our toes and get us back into Holy hell, this is fun!  Let’s do this every weekend! sort of mentality.  Waterfalls and long hikes.  And, hopefully, no drunk people wandering by at 2:00 to wake us up with their hilarious (um, awful) stories of the night; or their fights.  Did I mention we live next to a dive bar that it seems like everyone in our complex closes down four nights a week?

We’ve invited some people to join us – you know, in an effort to keep making friends.  Not sure right now who will go, or how it will change the dynamic if certain people decide to attend.    So far, though, one person has declined becuase he can’t afford all the beer he would need to spend one(!) night away from home.  Perhaps that’s for the best though.  I practically live in a frat house anyway, I don’t need that when I’m trying to escape.

Girly Girls

I have never been overly girly.  Throughout college, my idea of getting dressed up involved a pair of red tie-dyed Birkenstock, black t-shirt and khaki pants.  Now it’s progressed to fancy flip-flops, dark jeans and not putting a Patagonia over my black t-shirt.

Yes, of course I own high heels and much fancier clothing, but those hardly come out of the closet.  It’s hard to want to get all dolled up when Wes rolls out of the bedroom in a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers.  We are both to blame for the over-all non-fanciness of our evenings.

But, as I was saying: I am, in general, not a girly girl.  My hair dries straight and doesn’t hold a curl, so why bother with the blow dryer?  My freckles are dark and many, so why deal with foundation?  My job is in a warehouse so who cares about the nice pants and dress shirts in my closet?

I try small things to start feeling like I’m more girly less tomboy-ish.  Like when I cut my hair last year.  But that fell through when I refused to wake up early enough to blow it dry and style it.  Most recently I cut my bangs and have been trying that out.  I even bought a flat iron this weekend and was able to use it this morning.  Guess what?  It makes a huge difference and I hate that I’m going to have to wake up 20 minutes earlier so that I can fix my hair at the gym before I go to work.

But what I hate even more is when guys tell me that they don’t like girls who are high maintenance with looks.  They like a natural girl who wears little to no make up; they like a girl who can ski the entire mountain without complaining – who wants to ski the entire mountain; they want a girl who wants to hike and run and bike and do all those adventure thing.  In reality, though, it seems like their fantasy is the woman in heels whose hair and makeup is done every morning.

In college I was hopelessly in (what I thought was) love with a guy who treated me like shit.  Who said how awesome I was and smart and funny and beautiful.  But who ended up falling for a friend who wasn’t as funny or smart or awesome.  But she was always dolled up.  Heels and hair and clothes and makeup.

When I was working in the restaurant I would hear all the time that women wear too much make up, and guys like the natural look.  But the days when I would come into work with make up on is when I would receive compliements on how I looked – not more compliments than usual, I wasn’t getting complimented without makeup.

I get it.  Everyone wants a partner who looks good and who can get fancy.  I’m just tired of the contradiction.  I’m tired of the way I feel when I hear it.  I’m tired of trying to feel like I have to be two different people.  I hate the way high heels feel.  I like the way they look, but when I’m wearing them I’m much more irritable because guess what?  They fucking hurt.  All those fun things I’m up for when I’m dressed casually just go out the window.  Do I want to walk down to that next bar to have a drink?  Fuck no.  I want to take a cab two blocks because the cuter the heel, the more it hurts.

I try to glam up my outfits but, as I stated before, that now includes nicer flip-flops and a sweater instead of some hiking/running apparel.

I may start straightening my hair in the morning in an attempt to not look like I just rolled out of bed, but I’m never going to be that girl who picks out heels to go to a movie or wears wedges to the beach.

And I think I’m okay with that.

Live Long

When I was in fifth grade (I think this was around the move to Idaho, but it could have been earlier; I just remember my room being mostly empty from packing) I started crying myself to sleep nightly.  I had gotten it in my head that, being the youngest in my family, I would be left alone some day.  My parents would die first and then my brother would follow and I would be left an orphan.  As a child you don’t really take into account that you start your own family, and I did not foresee myself leaving home two weeks after graduation only to return for short visits.  All I could see in my future was the loss of the closest people to me.

This went on for a week or so until my brother finally heard me crying one night and he and my mom came in to comfort me.  I’m not sure what they said, but I know it stopped the nightly cryfests.

At least for a little while.  I still dread watching loved ones die.  So much that I even envision what would happen.  At some point I’ve watched, in my mind, all of the people I love die.  I come up with scenarios and make a plan for what I would do when I found out.  Who would be the first person I called?  Would I be calm and collect while sorting through, or would I collapse in a puddle of tears?

In 2007 I received an e-mail that my grandfather was dying.  Of all the people I’d prepared myself for, the one person closest to death never entered into my mind and, so, I was not prepared for it.  And, when I finally got the news, several days later, that he had died the feeling was one that I wasn’t prepared for.  Complete and utter sadness.  My grandfather, a war hero, was dead.  I read the e-mail my dad sent over and over, silently crying the entire time.  And then, because I was at work, I went searching for the most solitary place to cry: the roof.  Up there, for 20 minutes, I sobbed.  It was loud and messy and I was completely alone.

At 24 I had my first serious death and I was unprepared.

The days after were difficult because no one seemed to care, which of course wasn’t the case.  People cared and offered condolences, but they didn’t care in the way that I did.  And why should they?  It wasn’t their grandpa that just died.  But even more difficult – and comforting at the same time – was being around my family.  Recounting stories and experiencing our loss together.

Almost two years later, and certain things still remind me of my grandfather.  Any tv show that has a coffin draped in the American flag will start me crying; certain songs; WWII shows.  But, gradually, life goes on.  I don’t walk around on the verge of tears, like I did for those first weeks.  I remember his stories and his love and try to forget the death part because that’s not how I want to remember him.

I just read this and relate to it.  It gets me thinking of my grandfather, but it also gets me thinking about my family.  Because yes, I still think that I will someday be left alone while those I love die.  Morbid, I know, but I can’t help it.  Sad songs on the radio that deal with death make me think of my own family.  Right now there’s a country song on about a father dying and when it comes on I am a puddle of tears.

A couple of days ago my parents received word that a coworker of my dad’s had died.  He didn’t feel well so he went home early; when he didn’t show up for work the following day or answer his phone, someone went over to check on him.  He was found dead, probably of a heart attack.  My parents are now at the age where their friends are drying.

Now, granted, he wasn’t that healthy: he drank – a lot – for a number of years, smoked, chewed and didn’t exercise.  While talking to my mom about I implored her and my dad to start exercising regularly.  I don’t want to be the next person to get a phone call from something that, ultimately, was preventable.  It’s also got me making time for the gym – even when I don’t want to.  There’s a long life ahead of us and I want to make sure that we get as many moments together as possible.

Blocked

One of the best parts about my job is the “fun’ stuff – all of the event planning.  Right now I’m working on group BBQ in June.  It’s done every year and, apparently, every one loves.  However, one of the things that I’ve noticed about this job – this satelite office of a giant company – is that there’s no real pride in where we work.  They come to the BBQ for the free food but there’s no real sense of togetherness (ugh, I wish I could think of a better way to describe it, but that’s all I’ve got) – that I can see – in the employees.  They create cliques at the events and it becomes just another excuse to get out of work early.

So, for this year, my goal was to try to bring everybody together.  In any way we can.  So I thought of making a skit to start things off and to get people excited about being at a company event.  And, becasue I’m seen as creative, I’m in charge of writing the skit.  The plot is all planned out, but the part where getting words on paper and making work is really not as easy as it should be.  I keep staring at the screen and hoping that inspiration will strike and the skit will just magically appear.  I think part of the nerves is the fact that people will be reading this and commenting on it and acting it out.  Will the funniness that we talked about at work translate to the pages?  Will everyone else find this as funny as we – the brains behind the plot – think it is?

Even if we do pull it off, will it be enough to turn the event into something that makes a more cohesive team?  Or will it just be employees who happen to be at the same beach?

Harder Than Expected

So here’s the thing about growing up: it sucks.  And what sucks most is making friends.  In school it was so easy to meet people; they were everywhere.  The person sitting next to you in any class could become a friend; the coworker at your part time job could become a confidante.  Anyone, anywhere, could become someone important in your life.  Well, for a time being.  Obviously the people I met in college weren’t meant to be life-long friends, but they did get me through some pretty tough times.  They were there when I needed them, and perhaps now I don’t need them anymore so it’s all good that they just started fading out.  Maybe the friends I met post-college were meant to be my life-long friends, as it seems to be now.

Unfortunately, I left them all behind in Northern California.  And, like I said, making friends is hard.  Most of the people I work with are older than me and have kids or are married.  Or, for whatever reason, we just haven’t meshed as friends.  As coworkers who laugh and occasionally enjoy a good joke, perhaps, but we haven’t worked our way into the Hey-what-are-you-up-to-this-weekend phase of a friendship.

Wes is out of town this weekend and I’m feeling the absence of friendship more so than I usually do.  This weekend, while spread out before me in a series of naps and deliciously spicy food, is also going to be a little bit lonely.  No one to call for a late-night drink, or an early morning run followed by brunch.

Over the past six months nine months I’ve met a handful of women, but none have become friends of mine.  We are friendly to each other when we see each other, but we’ve never crossed the line to becoming call-on-the-phone-when-I’m-having-a-bad-day friend.  I’m not sure we’ll ever cross that line.  When we were in Belize, though, we went diving a couple of times with another woman who was also there for a diving trip.  We exchanged e-mail addresses and became facebook friends and have been sending each other small notes back and forth ever since.  Not great friends, no, but friends nonetheless.  Friendly enough, in fact, that we talked, in the abstract, about going on a diving trip together.  Tonight, that became a little less abstract when I told her to visit us for a SCUBA trip and she responded that she and another lady friend are trying to plan something and would I be interested in joining.  Now, even though I’ve only spent approximately 36 hours with her, I feel comfortable enough to respond that Yes, I absolutely would be interested.  As long as it’s some place warm because diving in warm water is way better than diving in cold water.

I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this, except for the fact that I’m alone for the next couple of days and I don’t have any friends to enjoy it with.  So it looks like I’ll be enjoying some sweet alone time.   At least for the next six months.

Home Alone

Today turned out to be one of my favorite work days: Shoe Give Away Day!  How can you not love that?  I got these delicious things:

New Shoes!

They are sort of awful, but I do love them.  I’ve been wanting a pair of crazy fun shoes for a while but damn they are expensive.  So I waited.  Getting them free, however, was just what I needed to add these to my wardrobe.

It was a nice perk after I realized that I forgot my wallet this morning – I left it sitting in my purse on the couch and failed to move it to my bag when I left this morning.  Also,  I didn’t pack a lunch this morning because I had to be at work early.  Luckily I had time this morning to eat breakfast (though, apparently, no time to make a lunch or take a quick run-through of my work things).

Now I’m a waste of a person on the couch – tired and hungry and really wanting a nap.  Instead I’m watching Ellen and waiting for Wes to arrive home with the last ingredients of our dinner.  After which I will be taking him to the airport.  Which means that the weekend is all mine.  Sleeping in, eating/cooking food that Wes wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.  Like Indian food.

If the weather cooperated and allowed me to get some beach or pool time in I would be even more happy.  Unfortunately it looks like it might be a little overcast, possibly rainy.  After a week of 80-degree weather.  Get it together, Southern California!  You’re warm when I want you to be cold and you’re cold when I want you to be hot.  I’m living in bizarro world here.

Green Day

I actually forgot that it was St. Patrick’s Day when I woke up this morning. Luckily I had one item of clothing that was green in my gym bag.  Not that it’s mattered much – no one here is have much fun with the day.

I guess part of the reason is that waking up at 5:30 am every morning makes celebrating St. Patty’s Day in true fashion (read: getting completely hammered) is a horrible idea.  But another part is maybe I’m growing out of the getting completely hammered phase.  I mean, not that it doesn’t sometimes happen (like, perhaps, every time I go home to visit?), but just that going out with that in mind isn’t the best start to an evening – or morning.

Yes, I will go out and have a green beer – if it’s available, if not I’ll go with some Irish beer.  No whiskey, though.  Remember, it’s all about not getting too hung over to go to work tomorrow.

So… Happy St. Patrick’s Day.  Enjoy the drinking, or staying at home and lounging in green pajamas.

So….Santa Barbara

Remember when I said that I was trying this new thing of not holding grudges?  Well, that’s still technically true.  But – there’s always a but – I think that maybe it’s time to hang up old “friendships” that aren’t really much of anything.  No grudges, just moving on.

This weekend I was supposed to meet up with two old friends.  Of course that didn’t really work out.  One was too hungover to get out of bed, apparently and the other, well, I’m not sure what happened to the other.

The Other is my old roommate.  Who, when I visited for my cousin’s wedding just two months after I left couldn’t be bothered to meet me out.  “I just don’t have the energy,” she said, or something like that.  Not for breakfast, not for coffee, not for lunch or an afternoon drink.  She just didn’t have time to come out.  I did get to see her when I stopped by her house to pick up the last of my things that had been stored there.

We talk intermittently and I went to her wedding (in which I was supposed to be a bridesmaid – or so she claimed when we were living together – but I think it would have been weird to ask someone to be in your wedding when it was difficult to return any phone calls).  She’s not the great friend I once thought she was, but I suppose that’s to be expected.

When we spoke on Saturday she was so excited to be seeing me.  I think she may have let out a little SQUEEE! when I told her I was almost there.  And, so, I expected to see her.  I called her when we finally got into town but didn’t hear back from here.  No worries, I thought, she said she’d meet up for brunch tomorrow.  But then Sunday?  Still nothing.  No answer to my text message until 3 hours later, at which point we were already headed home.

So Santa Barbara.  Well, it was a nice get away.  It was nice to spend some time in a city I once called home with Wes.  It was nice to walk the streets as a tourist and not have to worry about working or being too hungover to work.  To not have to worry about the latest boy drama.  And, in the end, I think it was nice to be there without having to worry about the people I once called friends.  Now they’re just people I used to know.

Also, I love my bangs.  I can’t believe I waited so long – I have been contemplating this for months.  They’re just what I needed to make myself look presentable in the morning.

Santa Barbara Makes Me Do Crazy Things

Like get bangs….

Thanks to Tylenol Cold & Flu

After spending two nights last week in a Nyquil-induced sleep I decided that over the weekend I should wean myself off of all medication and just let sleep, liquids and the sun (I suppose there are some times when living in California is a good thing) do their job to cure me.  I was feeling better Monday morning and went swimming, but just the act of that – half a mile only – was enough to drain me and Tuesday I decided that maybe I wasn’t completely healed and should therefore hold off on the exercise.

Then, after digging through a box of medications that we never unpacked – Aleve, Advil, foaming spray neosporine and various other things to make one well that will probably expire before we remember we have them – and found three doses of Tylenol Cold & Flu.  Now, I get sick a lot – well, used to anyway, I’m doing better now) – so I know what works for me and what doesn’t.  Nyquil, for one, doesn’t really work, but it knocks you into a sleep so deep that you don’t care how awful you feel, and that’s usually good enough for me.

Last year, in one of my bi-annualy colds my roommate mentioned the awesomeness of Tylenol Cold & Flu and I tried it just as I was getting sick.  I took the PM one and slept peacefully through the night (just like wtih Nyquil) and woke up feeling much better.  Another evening like that and I was fine.  Tylenol Cold & Flu worked its magic and I told anyone who was sick, or even thought they were, how great this stuff was.  However, since I haven’t been sick in almost a year I had completely forgotten about the healing qualities of those little pills.  Instead, I stocked up on Nyquil for Wes and just used it when I came down with his cold days later.

Wednesday morning after taking them I fetl awesome.  Still a little stuffy in the nose, but no aches, no sore throat, no pounding in my head.  And now I’m back to telling everyone how awesome Tylenol Cold & Flu is.  Seriously, if you’re sick or might be sick: get it.  Advantage: the non-PM formula doesn’t make you drowsy at all.  I’m the type of person who will feel most non-drowsy formulas, but not this one.

*********************

In other, healthier news, Wes and I are headed up to Santa Barbara for a quick get away this weekend.  You know, some shopping, some drinking, a secluded hot tub (as opposed to the one in our complex that, when working, is filled with a group of guys who seemed to have never left the fraternity lifestyle*).  Oh, and brunch with some old friends.  Yes, I’m feeling a little conflicted about this because, well, because we haven’t been friends in so long.  However, I’m trying this new thing where I don’t hold grudges and push people out of my life.  Perhaps they’ll never be the really good friends they once were, but it’s nice to have people you can call on. And Sunday brunches with a mimosa or bloody mary will ease any situation.

*Speaking of the fraternity lifestyle, this weekend as we were washing our car two guys skateboarded up to us in the parking lot and asked us if we wanted to play beer pong.  It was 6:30 pm.  On Sunday.