How Twilight really should have gone....

Top o' the world....errr

Dear granola-eating, rock-climbing, thrill-seeking, patchouli-loving friends of mine,

Don't say I've never given rock climbing a chance.

Still not interested.

Sincerely,

The Non-Climbing Heights-Hater.

Awesome

Thanks Doug.

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Oh my hells and cow bells

My dad and my brother Jarad, since he was roughly 9 years old, have had these manliness competitions - eg. who can stand the spiciest food, who can lift the most, who can jump the highest on dirt bikes, who can call each other a "woman" (or some variation of that) the most and basically refuse to step down from any challenge. But this week Jarad took it too far. He entered a wild cow riding competition at the county fair. Now I hadn't been to the Cassia County Fair and Rodeo in Idaho for over 10 years, but I knew that it could potentially be bad news given the fact that it would a) require me to go to a rodeo and b) I could potentially have to witness first-hand my bro being hospitalized. When it was all said and done just about both happened, and despite his insistence that "you can't hurt manly steel" I am still not convinced that he doesn't have cracked ribs. You can see why in the video, and he has a hoof print on his chest to prove it. I was also worried that he maybe had a concussion because he said he was dizzy and saw stars and colors for a while after the cow assault. If you can't tell he is the one in the maroon shirt wrestling the cow......strap in...


We were worried for a second...it was a good thing my dad wore his lucky Holstein print hat......


My niece was even wringing her hands...


But he pulled through. Bear in mind these pics are merely an hour after it happened so the black and blueness was yet to set in.


He walked away with with a limp from another hoof coming down on his calf. His "favorite work pants" were ripped and his whole body admittedly ached. But after a few expletives and a couple hours, he was already planning for his next bovine death match. No offense boy, but I probably won't be attending the next one. My ticker can't take it.

Sorry for the ummmm....misunderstanding

I recently returned from my yearly pilgrimage to Carlsbad California. It's been a tradition between me and my bestie for years and includes a luxurious stay in my auntie's massive ocean-front house, a lot of beach time, boogie boarding, shopping and relaxation. Nothing too exciting to report on, but on a drive down PCH from L.A. I saw this restaurant that took me back to a memory that I cannot believe I haven't already shared.
So about two or three years ago two girlfriends and I were in Orange County and met up with some random guys for dinner at this very restaurant. Well there was this guy that I was sitting next to, we'll call him "Chad" since I don't remember his name (Chad is my default guy-name for some reason - no idea why other than in the 6th grade I had an experience of unrequited love with a guy named Chad because he was the only guy that was taller than me in my class. Tragically he liked blonde, pretty, Rachel instead and never gave me the time of day. It probably didn't help that I habitually wore home-made culottes and didn't know how to do my hair.) Anyway this guy at dinner was a nice guy, outgoing and one of those unpredictable personalities that probably made him the life of the party among his friends - the kind of guy that doesn't ask "why" but rather "why not." Well I went ahead and ordered shrimp in this Hollandaise sauce (don't judge my unhealthy choices, I was on vacation). So to eat the shrimp I would kind of put a piece in my mouth, suck the sauce off, bite the tail off, and then pull it out of my mouth and put it on the plate. So by the end of the meal there were a handful of shrimp tails that had been in my mouth sitting on my plate. Well Chad had been gabbing the whole time and apparently not paying attention to how I was eating them. He turned his attention to my plate and the tails and said "You don't eat those?" And before I could say anything he grabbed a bunch of them and PUT THEM IN HIS MOUTH AND ATE THEM. What can you do? It was really too late to say anything, and doing so after the fact would just have invited embarrassment. When he grabbed for the rest of them I figured the damage was already done soooooo....I just let him chow down. Sorry Chad. But thanks for being the highlight of my night.

You're called Suck

Well it's official. I am a failure. I suppose it's not so bad. In fact there is really not much difference between this week and the week before when I wasn't quite yet a bona fide failure. I still get to enjoy life's simple pleasures like a soft cool pillow, a laugh with good friends and Propel. But still, the fact that I couldn't even stick to my laughably simple New Year's Resolutions feels like a slap in the face from my shamed conscience.
It was simple, two goals: don't kill any plants not marked for death and don't have any run-ins with the police. Seven months in and those intentions are dead. So to be fair, I actually did get pulled over a few months back. Call it convenient rationale, but I didn't count it because I felt a) I didn't deserve the ticket and b) the cops were stupid stupid stupid. Since I drive a sometimes shiny red car with sports suspension I feel like I deserved a break or a freebie, if you will, given the fact I am a natural target to law enforcement. So I ignored that one. Well two days ago I got nailed on 900 W. charged with failure to yield (apparently a pedestrian was waiting to cross) and expired tags. Cool. Then to add insult to injury, I bought a lovely and stunning lily this month, named it Sheila, planted it in the front yard, and then it promptly died. So I got nothin' going for me. I mean the year is just half way over. Maybe it's appropriate to make half-year resolutions...maybe not as hard as the original ones. I vow to drink a glass of water every day and maintain a pulse. Good day.

This...is...SPARTA!!!

I had five cats in my backyard. Not the cute kind, but the mangy feral kind that shriek at night and destroy your already fragile hibiscus plant. I had done everything from opening the window and yelling at them to chasing them with brooms. Finally at my breaking point I called animal control and they presented me with the ultimate solution - a fool proof trap to catch them and bring them in. I was elated at first and even anxious for the day they would have a trap available for me. When I got the call a week later that there was one ready I lost my nerve. I knew that the minute I took the cats in they would be euthanized, given the fact they were wild animals. Their deaths would be on my head and I couldn't take it. Fast forward to this week....I was talking to one of my friends who has known me for about six years. We were talking about the cats and then on to people softening in their old age, accusing me of being the poster girl for it. He then revealed to me that my nickname, years ago and unbeknownst to me, was "the General" - short for General Maximus Decimus Meridius (Gladiator 2000). Then he expounded, calling my former self the the "emotional Leonidas of Sparta." Oh, he had a good laugh and then started speculating on what prompted my fall from being compared to ancient war heroes - age, relationships, something in the water etc. He said that me not trucking the cats off to their deaths was truly a milestone and welcomed me to the softer side. Well it's true, I have never really given way to emotional nonsense and I still like to think that I lean to the pragmatic side of life. But really, you nicknaming jerks shouldn't celebrate too much. Just because I didn't cry over spilled milk in my tougher days doesn't mean I would have gleefully Cruella Deville'd neighborhood animals. AND even so, I haven't seen the cats lately which means someone else probably did it, which I have no problem with. Oh and PS - when I see you nicknamers, and you know who you are, please expect a hearty dead leg.