Gray and Glory

Now, anyone who ever hears that I moved to Seattle always wants to talk about the weather first.  Before they ask about my new job and new life here in the PNW, there are always words in reference to the reputation this city has earned for the rain and gloom that dictates the majority of the year.  In these months, I have lamented to locals and transplants alike how mundane the trend is.  I've wanted to bark at all inquirers:

"SEATTLE has borne some of the best modern music of our lifetime!  Seriously, anything you like, I bet it's from Seattle.  (Other than Lucius)"

"SEATTLE is chock full of wonderful food and earth/body loving ways to get it! CSA farms! Fishermen!  Organic dairies!"

"SEATTLE is surrounded by water!  We have two highways that go over Lake Washington!  There are islands!  There are whales!"

"SEATTLE makes tons of beer!  Doesn't everyone want to talk microbrews?!  I know about IPAs!"

"SEATTLE JUST WON THE SUPERBOWL.  I see Russell Wilson almost every week, if I work on a Tuesday!"

"SEATTLE is where Grey's Anatomy is set.  I work in a hospital.  Don't you want to make some irritating reference to that?!  I'll bite!"

Months have gone by, and no one ever asks about orcas or Damien Jurado first.  They all want to talk about the gray clouds and the constant drizzle.  It drove me mad, almost as mad as the actual gray clouds and drizzle did.

Well here I go, eating my words again.

Sigh.  So, I want to talk about the weather.

The weather in Seattle is a miracle.

Let me back up.  For most of October-May, it's horrendous.  Horrendous in the mildest way possible.  It's horrendous because it's not really anything.  The weather for most of the year in Seattle is impotent, passive, and gutless.  A seemingly endless chain of mildly cool temperatures, thick cloud cover, and just enough breeze to annoy the snot out of you and mess up your hair.

On top of that, it's humid, thereby cementing the guaranteed Bad Hair Months.  You bumble around, not needing an ice scraper ever, but also not being able to roll down your windows in the morning.  Light comes in your windows during the day, but not enough to keep the lights off by mid afternoon.  Most days of the week, there will be a slight drizzle in the air for a few hours.  Not enough to count as real rain, but just enough spray to feel like your hairdresser is constantly misfiring her water spritzer into your face.

Have I bummed you out enough??  No wonder why I've been so moody and full of feelings.  I have no choice but to be indoors with them!  Now, to be fair, we have had a particularly mild winter, and I have also had lots of days outside playing in the beauty of the PNW, but more on that later.  For now, I complain.

(It could be April, it could be November.....)

I moved from LA, if you recall, where the weather is 78 and sunny for basically 300 days a year.  I could commit to an outfit 6 months in advance.  (For the record, cotton collared tank, cuffed twill pants, low cut converse sans socks, and a knitted long cardigan.  Works January-through-January.)  I always knew the sun would be out, and I could be in the hills any day that I wanted.  Honestly?  Of course I didn't cherish it.  Sure, I experienced a lot of Sun Guilt (feeling anxiety to get outside when it's sunny), but the morning discovery upon opening my door and feeling the sunshine on my face didn't exactly get me aflutter or anything.  I just put on my yoga pants and went about my day, unruffled.

Seattle will ruffle you in the most diffuse way.  It's the weeks of choosing this Patagonia puffer or that Northface fleece.  It's the constant dissatisfaction with your wiper blades, and the ever present mud on your boots.  You just bundle up and introvert, everyone does.

Here's what 5 months of dreary and inept weather has taught me:

The weather should make you feel something.

There should be ups and downs, a melody if you will, to your days!  No one will notice a note, even if it's the most beautiful note ever played, if that same note gets played every day.

But the miracle is here.  All of a sudden, there will come a day.  A day of glorious sun, where the air feels bright and virile, life giving and soul-patching.  Maybe that day was February 26th.  Maybe it was 61 and sunny.  Maybe the sun, in combination with the water, the farms, the whales, the Seahawks, and some great tunes (albiet from Tennesee) will create just the combination to make you absolutely drunk on your surroundings.  Maybe it will seem like the first time you've felt anything outside yourself in months.  Maybe, the gray impotence serves the purpose of providing the contrast to highlight glory, when it comes.

(Windows down, Sunroof back, biggest grin since September)

Lessons from Lorelai

(source)

In a gathering of dear friends and casual acquaintances recently, we got to chatting on our favorite TV shows growing up.  The 90s classics were all covered; the Boy Meets World, the Wonder Years, what have you.  But I couldn't help but chime in that I've been pretty formed by my exposure of Lorelai Gilmore.  As the leading lady and matron of the Gilmore Girls, she (actor Lauren Graham) navigated herself and her daughter Rory (played by Alexis Bledel) through the ebbs and flows of Rory's adolescence while running an inn in a tiny New England town.  She was a teen mom, who got her shit together fast and kept enough of a twinkle in her eye to maintain some fun and fancy in her adult years.  She's my hero, and her very spirit is one that I carry with me always, every time I flirt with an old man at a farmers market or grocery store.

What she's taught me includes but is not limited to the following:
1.  If you can't be appropriately dressed, be hot.  When the gals were late for Rory's first day at her super fancy private high school, Lorelai didn't have time to adorn her power suit before throwing the two of them in the car to get there on time.  Instead, she grabbed the first thing at the end of her bed: cut off shorts and cowboy boots.  She certainly raised some eyebrows among the country club set that morning, but hell, she looked hot.

2. Know when to pick your battles.  Lorelai had difficult, stogy parents.  The kind of parents that make you run away to a tiny town when something scary happens, because they'd be more hardship than help.  However, as Rory got older, she learned how to navigate their past hurts and somehow still manage to create a healthy relationship with her daughter.  I've recently come to terms that my parents and I won't have the kind of relationship that she has with Rory.  I'm just gonna follow her lead and choose to be amused by them, instead of bruised.  Superhero status.

3. Coffee.  She was addicted to the stuff, and a percentage of the story line of every episode emerged from Lorelai needing coffee, being on her way to get coffee, leaving from getting coffee, having to change her coffee source, waiting for her coffee at a counter, or being interrupted as she drank her coffee.  The lesson here?  Have something that you love and allow that to dictate your movements.

4. Talk Fast and Wildly.  I cannot think of a single scenario that wasn't mediated or at least commentated by Lorelai's witty banter and snarky rhetoric.  She may not have gone to college or speak another language, but she damn sure had english down pat.  I love women with sharp tongues.  I have this idea that they are more satisfied with their lives, because they know how to get the things they want.  Maybe they won't ever be invited to a G8 Summit, but they sure as hell would be the best gal to get you backstage at a Springsteen show.  Put yourself on your death bed for a second.  Which would you rather?  I say, get me straight to the Boss.

5.  She knows exactly how much shit to take from dudes.  Don't get me wrong, this girl is no damsel in distress like, ever.  But she rides the fence perfectly between (Goddess of Self Sufficiency and Low Bullshit Tolerance Who Could Drop Ya Like a Bad Cell Signal) and (Human Woman Who Falls for Right/Wrong People and Likes to Be Kissed Passionately and Hold Hands).  She falls for a teacher at Rory's school, but makes it totally cool and is open about it to everyone.  She tries to fall in love with Rory's dad, riding the wave of nostalgia and girlish affection a few times again.  She finally concedes to falling for Luke, the local diner owner that has always been there for her.  She fights it hard, but gives in eventually.  It's weird, but right.  So she cannonballs in.  She is always the bigger person, defending herself when she's being mistreated, and in turn defending the dudes when others judge too harshly.

If only she were real.  

The Skinny, Fat, and Smelly.

I've been staring at this screen for an embarrassingly long time, just staring at the sentence 

"I've been staring at this screen for an embarrassingly long time..."

A lot has gone on, guys.  I just can't know where to start and which events are the most important to jot down on this silly little outlet.  After a series of several thousand desperate distractions, I remembered this email I sent to a friend in September.  He had noticed some strange photo patterns on my Instagram, and just sent a "hey, what's going on with you?" text message to find out my deal.  He got way more than he asked for, and I am now gifted with a quick and dirty synopsis of my current state of being.  If you have the patience, this is the recap (mind you, this was written in September.  Should've posted it then.....):

Hey Hey-

6 months ago:

I start to feel.... itchy.  I've never been great at staying put anywhere but LA has been providing needed stimulation and distraction for three years.  I love the standup and my improv team.  I become obsessed with hip hop dance classes.  I also start to loathe my job and coworkers.  Not sure where I want to go or what I want to do, but just feeling discontent.  Tried distracting myself with new activities and people, and it works for a minute.

4 months ago:

I start hearing that 4 years in LA is the point of no return.  I sweat.  I think maybe what I need is a change in neighborhood.  As much as I loved my little place, I spent all of my time in Silver Lake and Echo Park.  I already had arranged a month off of work in July, so I figured I'd pack up all my stuff before I left and find a new place when I got back.  New start, etc etc.  I start telling people that I'm just waiting to be pulled somewhere, in a new direction.  I toy with getting certified in yoga, going off the grid and volunteering on a medical ship in Africa, writing a novel, dating comedians, etc etc

3 months ago: 

My friend Adam makes me read this book, "The Defining Decade".  It's basically a book speaking of the cultural phenomenon that defines our twenties as a throwaway decade, and how that's a load of crap.  Our thirties are NOT the new twenties, and being happy in your middle years comes from learning how to not be an assface and make anything of yourself in your twenties.  My discontent flares into full on existential crisis.  Conveniently, my intended month vacation to Europe trip falls apart.  I end up needing to be up in the Northwest for a few weddings in July, so I decide to take the time to do a long drive up there, take the 101 along the coast, run on my aunts farm, play in canada, unplug my devices and plug my ears, etc etc.

2 months ago:

I pack up all of my shit and leave it in my friends garage.  I set out on my road trip, just blaring Mariah Carey and bawling my bloody eyes out.  The drive is beautiful, and I reaffirm my love for the NW, and come to terms with the fact that I might just want to end up there. Its everything I love, and the place I want to be when I get old and ugly.  One major takeaway from the book is that if you know where it is you want to end up, GO.  Don't wait to get what you will want eventually.  Go get it now.  I get up to Seattle, hike in the mountains, wade in the water, and just decide I'm ready to be back here.  The fear of shame in leaving LA kept me there for a while.  I let go of it in July.  If I have to choose between being 'right' or being happy, I EFFING CHOOSE HAPPY! 

So I sent a breezy email to a few of my travel nurse recruiters, asking them to just let me know if anything in Seattle or Portland comes across their desk.  No rush, but think of me.  I immediately get a response for Seattle Childrens', which is a dreamy top 5 facility.  I submit for the position but don't hear anything.  I dont stress, wasn't in any rush. 

1 month ago:

I'm on my trip, darting all over the NW to get to all of the events I was committed to.  Had made several plans and re-plans to see my grandma over the span of 2 weeks.  Lost passport, surprise concert tickets, plans and fall aparts pushed and pulled me to finally go and see her on a Friday.  She passed away pretty suddenly that Sunday night.  She was feeling weird after a colonoscopy Friday night, pain came and went all day Saturday, and I finally just took her in late that night.  She had been bleeding from her spleen, and required surgery to stop it and clean out the blood in her abdomen.  She did great in surgery on Sunday afternoon and crashed 2 hours after coming back from surgery.  I was in her room and watched them code her for way too long.  My family was devastated.  I have never felt so much like I happened to be exactly where I needed to be in the world.  I extend my trip another 10 days to attend her funeral.  Hollywood has never seemed so vain or futile.  

Right after she passed, I got a cold call from the nurse manager at Seattle Childrens'.  We talk for an hour, and she offers me a job and surprises me with day shift, which I was not expecting.  Crying again.  Snotty and giggling at the same time.  

2 weeks ago:

I come back from WA to LA, with a dopey grin on my face the entire way because I just feel so damn good despite all the devastation I had just been through.   On my first day back to work, I hand in my two weeks and can hardly be bothered from then on. 

Last week:  I packed all of my shit in LA into a pod, to be stored til I find a place in Seattle.  My friend Coco comes to LA for an OC wedding, and makes the drive back up with me.  

We spend two nights on the Lost Coast, this crazy wilderness conservation area in NorCal. Google it, it is utterly breathtaking.  We hiked and swam and changed our brains forever.  Another night in Salem, OR with my sister, and then Coco and I met our third bestie Molly at the Gorge in Washington.  Dave Matthews does a three day concert series there every year on Labor day, and Molly is a tour manager who was working there that weekend.  We spend yesterday swimming in the Columbia River and hanging out backstage at the most incredible concert venue in the country.  

Today, I was up before the sun and sat on the edge of the river canyon, watching the sunrise and humming DM songs.  We hung out with Molly and the kids, caravan-ed to Seattle, and stopped by a sparkly lake for a swim to round out the trip. 

Tomorrow, I start at Childrens'.  I am exhausted but never happier.  I need to be here.  I also have been starting to think that maybe I do want to meet a dude and have a throng of screaming half-Asian babies in the more-near-than-far future, and maybe that dude should want to be in the NW, also?  So I should be here.  

I just reread all of this and cant believe how fucking wordy I am.  SORRY JOE, YOU ASKED FOR IT.  Let's still be friends even though if you've made it this far, you're probably so annoyed with me that you're currently online, trying to ruin my web reputation.  Leave those pics alone, JOE!

So that's the basic story.  Guess what.  I still have no idea what the hell I'm doing.  As is my life mantra, I have no answers.  Just balls.  

Love Love Love. 

A Vulcan's Nipples are like Humans.

This is why LA is so cool for twentysomethings, and way too cool for kids: when you go see the new StarTrek film on opening weekend at your neighborhood landmark theatre, your ticket gets ripped by Spock, crazy nipples and all.  Such a tender moment.

So My Husband has a Boyfriend.

{Here we are, watching his BF Aaron do yardwork}

Hey Gals!  Unattached with no prospects?  Yearning for male company without the threat of sexual exploitation?  You need a Gay Husband.  My Gay Husband is the best and I bet you want to know why:

1. He likes to do most everything I like to do.  We love to travel, hike, eat great food, ride bikes, gossip about all of the crazy bitches we knew in college, and argue over which men are more attractive than other men.  
2. He's super handy to have around.  When we went to Peru together, he knew enough Spanish that I never had to worry about getting voluntarily sold into slavery through language barrier induced miscommunications. 
3. He claims he doesn't want kids, but I know he would spoil the crap out of mine.
4. His sister is the same age as my sister, so the "This is the Annoying Thing my Sister is Doing Lately" conversations are basically endless. 
5. He'll tell me when I'm being a dumb wench, and I need that.  I tell him when he's being a snobby brat.  He needs that, too.  

Our Math was Always Wrong.

{circa 2001}

{circa three days ago, 2013}

Well aren't these two a pair?!  Terry Lynn and I have been basically inseparable since 9th grade, when we were paired to learn Trigonometry together.  I admit that I still don't know the difference between sines, cosines, and tangents (BAD BAD ASIAN), but I definitely ended that year with a new best friend.  Since then, we have been through:

1.  Three full length NSYNC albums (No Strings, Home for Christmas, and Celebrity), and all subsequent solo ventures by Justin Timberlake
2.  .....the heartbreak when Lance Bass came out.  He was our fave!
3. The sensation of her epic 16th birthday party.  Everyone at school came, I wore platform white sneakers, she was the belle.
4. Both of us leaving our tiny little private Christian high school, in favor of public funding to head straight to Eastern Wash U for our Jr and Sr years of high school.  We got in lots of trouble.
5. Both of us getting arrested at 4am on the side of a highway during the first snow of the year.  She was indignant, I was devastated that my political career was then over before it ever started or I had ever wanted one.
6. A few engagements to the wrong dude on her part, a few terrible dating stories on my part.
7. A period where we couldn't even like each other, and basically only communicated through our maintained relationship with her mom, whom we always shared no matter what.
8. A reunion and a shared apartment as full on post-grad adults.  Frequent congratulations to each other and reassurances that we already knew Everything.
9.  The birth of my goddaughter. When she told me, "Soooooooo, we have something to tell you...", I snorted and barked "what, you guys are pregnant."  Isn't that such a sweet story?
10. Seeing each other less and less, as I started to run around the country and world more and more.....
11. Picking up right where we left off, every single time.
12. Getting fat (see multiple chins in first photo)
13. Getting fit (see single chin in second photo)
14. Showing her that old photo and she groans, "I see why my mom kept telling me my eyebrows were too thin....."
15. Watching her finally meet the Guy, sighing with relief that he's not like All the Others.
16. ..... and in November, standing beside her as she marries that dude!  I bet I won't even cry.

I Spelled Sequoia.

I finally got my ass into the mountains and camped in California!  Over Memorial Day weekend, a few lovelies and I wound our way into the Sequoia National Forest for a few days of gourmet camp food, fireside singalongs (no, we really did that), and fricken freezing nights.  We had brilliant sun during the day, but the nights were below freezing.  I slept in two pairs of socks, my Uggs, a sleeping bag, and a heavy blanket.  At an altitude of 5500 feet, I guess that's fair.  It felt so great to get out of LA for just a minute, and reestablish that I am totally the kind of girl that can poop in the woods and like it.  Dirtball for life!  Fellas, please make an orderly line and leave your gifts at the door.

Sweat that CYCLE

A recurring cycle in my life:

1st: I see dance performed brilliantly.  

2nd: I am moved by the majesty of movement and music

3rd: I feel remorse over my lack of dance ability

4th: I think I lost my chance.

5th: I hate my parents for pulling me out of dance class as a child (note: they refused to buy the sequined recital outfits and were further convinced of the stupidity of American culture and child rearing.  another time....)

6th: What can only be described as an Ache starts to build in my esophagus and SOUL

7th: I lose sleep over this ache

8th: Something Shiny crosses my eye line

9th:  .....What was I aching about?  I'm hungry.

YOU GUYS I BROKE THE CYCLE AT #8!  I've been taking hip hop dance classes in Silverlake and I'm Obsessed.  This GROOV3 class is mainly a cardio dance class, but it's also mainly the most fun dance party ever.  There is a live DJ in the studio, whom never stops the HITS, Y'ALL.  Benji is the best, and I'm just sleeping so much better, knowing that I am fulfilling just a tiny bit of my untapped dance potential.  

Benji asked me to be profiled for his GROOV3 newsletter a few weeks ago, and filmed an interview of me for the site.  I'm warning you, I could not tolerate how annoying I am, and have not even seen this video in its entirety.  However, others have gotten laughs out of it so I just don't care if you all see how annoying I am as well.  

My Kind of MENorah.

Photo Source

This is a Pro/Con list for dating Jewish men that I found on Instagram.  

I will draw no conclusion at this time, but I will say this:

The best combination of features a man can have is ruffly brown hair, a butt chin, and a very distinct twinkle in his eye. 

Overbearing mothers are universal. 

Sing a SONG.

In case my friends don't find my constant musical outbursts annoying ENOUGH,  I have decided to Make it Official.  As of this week, I started the UCB's Musical Improv class.  Sooooo, over the course of 8 weeks, I'm learning to continue long form improv, completely made up scenes,.... all in song.  (OR SOMETIMES FREESTYLE RAP).

It's weird and stressful for sure; but it's so much easier to swallow the stress of improv when there's a song!  The accompanist plays a tune based on the suggestion, and as long as you understand song structure, it's really not that terrifying.  In fact, I love it so far and I've only been to one class.

You may laugh and roll your eyes now, but someday I will meet Wayne Brady in a dark lounge somewhere....and we will ascend the stage.....each give a nod to the jazzy pianist with the cigarette....and sing a song about a random one word suggestion from the audience.

An Unlikely Scenario.

Full disclosure:  I kind of secretly want a little ginger baby.  I believe they have special powers.

First Things First.

Y'all just want to hear about Machu Picchu, right?  Seems like the first thing everybody has been asking about.  After all, it's not every day I get to knock off a bucket list item.  So please, read my story:

We got up super early, left our hostel, and started trekking in the dark up the trail to the Inca ruins. We had one headlamp with low batteries (nick's-I gave mine away at the bus accident scene), a cellphone flashlight (nick's) and one seriously runny nose (mine).  I was still quite ill with whatever strep throat/sinus infection/ black plague I was suffering from since Lima.  Aaron woke up with a case of the sissies and had decided it was okay to take the bus up to the top with the elderly, injured and rest of the tourists who had had too many papas fritas (disclaimer: he did end up getting up later and walking up, but he took the road, which was easier, so I'm still gonna call him out). Spirits were high, despite health being low, and we started climbing up the 2 mile, 1200 foot elevation gain (read:straight up!).

Actually, to be fair, Nick barely broke a sweat. I couldn't breathe through my nose and my throat was on fire so I was sucking wind and pouring sweat. Not to admit weakness, I stuck behind Nick as close as I could, moving slower than usual but only allowing myself two 10 second breaks.  We started ducking in front of other hikers, one after another and I got amped knowing that we were making good time and were closer than all those clowns we passed behind. After 75 minutes, we emerged at the top, worn and triumphant, to be greeted by..... Four busses unloading tourists at the top of the hill. Quelle anticlimactic.

I was immediately enraged at the sight of all those freshly showered, powdered, pressed tourists happily snapping photos and chattering about their continental breakfast buffets while patiently waiting in line for admission. My ass got out of bed while deliriously ill, just to shlep up a peak in the Andes mountains in the DARK, and I gotta get in line behind these fools?!  In ever American style, I started squawking to Nick that surely there HAD to be some kind of expedited line for the hikers. Isn't there SOME recognition for the actively motivated?! Indeed there is not. .... And in a moment of frightening maturity, I came to a realization. Even though I had yet to even lay eyes on that which I came for, I had to recognize that, just like so many cliches before me, the character and merit of my efforts lay in the journey, not in the destination. My reward had already come to me, in the camaraderie and experience of getting there. The meat of the trip would not be the actual ruins themselves, but everything I had and got to do in order to get there. I laughed and shrieked so many times while biking, hiking, rafting, running, dancing, scrambling, and shuffling through the Andes mountains those four days. Even if the destination was overcrowded and foggy, no freshly groomed and well rested cheesy tourist could ever take that from me.

So I shut up and got in line behind the four bus-fulls of people.  And blew my nose into my sleeve.

The ruins themselves?  They give you such a weird feeling.  Have you been to the Grand Canyon?  You know the feeling you got the very first time you leaned over to see exactly what all the fuss is about?  That pleasant nausea associated with genuine awe and grandeur?  Your stomach kind of drops out your butt, your throat closes, and your knees melt into your ankles.  You blink through watery eyes and, when you calm down, you come to the realization that, the little human being that is you is so so small in comparison to the wide wide world?  It's like that.

Of course, that's the candid stuff.  But I gotta educate you, too.
Here we are, Top Ten Fun Facts:

10. the Inca ruins were built in the early 1400s and abandoned near 1532, when Peru was conquered by the Spanish.  It remained undiscovered until 1911, when Yale prof Bingham stumbled upon it, hoping to find another lost Incan city.  The only reason why we have it today is because the Spanish looked, but could never find it.  Miracle, huh?

9. Machu Picchu was a palatial compound, inhabited only by the noble and royal Incans.

8. They used wood expanded in water to break stones.  Crazy.

7. All of their structures have withstood multiple major earthquakes.  No big deal.  The ingredients in grout they used for some of their rustic structures remains a mystery.  It has lasted hundreds of years, and appears to have not eroded much at all.  No one knows whats in it and why it has lasted so long.  Scientists tried to replicate it, and their version wore away in 4 years.

6.  The Incans did not read or write.  There is no documented record of MP.  We don't even know what its real name was.  MP is what Bingham named it after the term the locals used to refer to the mountain on which it stood, meaning "old mountain".

5.  One toilet in the entire city.  Used by the King only.

4.  No dirt originally found on the mountain when they started building it.  All of the dirt there was carried in from Cusco, 80 km away.  By humans.  Up the mountain.  Insanity.

3. Incans paid their taxes in work.  At any given time, there were 2000 non residents up there, working to build and maintain the city, paying their dues to their nation.  Interesting concept, should be used in the fat America, I think.

2.  They split their priority evenly between sacred and necessity; the city contains exactly 80 residential structures and 80 places of worship.

1.  100th anniversary of its discovery this year.  What a fun surprise for us :)  Make the trek, it's worth it just for the special stamp in your passport.

Our first glimpse of MP. From the backside, down below it, hiking along the river.

At the top. My my doesnt Nick look unexerted.  Rude.

First glimpse.  Pleasant Nausea. 

See this?! Perfectly cut stone, laid to last centuries.  Temple of the Sun

The Incan Throne, if you will. 

I wish I could capture how it literally sits on top and amidst huge peaks, but you just have to see it for yourself.

Requisite, of course.  

This will help... maybe a better picture? 

Love Love Love.

Free Fallin!

If there is anything I love more than taking risks and running mad, it's a friend who is willing to run alongside me.  Every friend I have gets asked to do so, so when Stace decided to spend the bulk of her (f)unemployment in LA LA Land with me, I of course presented her with this:

"Oh, come over!  We should go skydiving."

See, I have been trying to get up to Santa Barbara to jump for months, and Stace's visit from the ahem, Texas was the perfect excuse.  She actually didn't even take much coaxing at all, but see, that was all part of my plan. 

When I'm about to make you do something I don't think you'll do, I scheme for days.  I will mention it in a manner similar to above and then drop it.  You, subsequently think that I have gotten over whatever hare-brained idea I mentioned and also drop it.  But then, the day before or day of, I bring it around again.  This time you don't have time to think about it too much or argue.  It works.  How do you think I got my dad to pack up my stuff for me in Spokane?  When you don't give people time to think about it, generally they will say yes when rushed.  I'm not saying it's right, but it works.  

Stace and I had a lovely drive up the CA coast to SB that morning.  I told her to call her parents and brothers, just in case.  Know what she did?  Left a message on her parents answering machine with the main message being "Burn me, don't bury me."  Lordy, this girl. 

We crawled into the tiiiiiiiniest plane ever that barely fit us plus our tandem divers, and the pilot.  Twenty minutes later, we were two and a half miles above the earth and up went the plexiglass garage door.  (there has to be a name for that?!)  Stace had been in pretty good spirits up until then, and I felt pretty good about dragging her up here to participate in my ridiculousness.  However, as she approached the door, the look on her face was horrifying.  She was  ashen and likely not breathing.  My stomach dropped out of my rectum, thinking she was going to back out.  My mind was racing with things I could say to her to calm her down.  Instead, all I said was: "Jesus will carry you!  See ya!"  I know, not the most eloquent last words.  

But I was right!  Stace dropped out of that plane like a pro and I followed soon after.  Perhaps I should have been more concerned with my own welfare, instead of hers.  I have a suspicion that my tandem diver had to pull the "oh shit" chute.  See, once you fall to a certain altitude, he is supposed to pull the parachute.  If it doesn't deploy, there are two back up chutes, just in case.  I suspect we had some trouble because we free-falled (sp?) for a looong time.  Mind you, I loved it, but it was considerably longer than I remembered.  Plus, we were the last ones out of the plane and the first on the ground by a lot, which means we spent much more time falling and less time with a deployed parachute than Stace and her tandem diver.  After the chute deployed, I was looking down for Stace and she was actually still waaaaaay above us.  I'm not saying..... I'm just sayin.  

Ain't life grand?  Jump out of airplanes, people.  This is the hokey pokey.  Go right meow.  

Love Love Love.

Love/Hate: LA

Rave:  I love that, in LA, everyone has a notebook/netbook/ipad/legal pad/laptop tucked under their arm in public.  Walking down the street, through coffee shops, and virtually anywhere people gather, people are inspired to jot things down.  Stacks of paper litter tabletops everywhere I go.  I just love that this city is obsessed with creating things, making people laugh, and sharing their zany thoughts and ideas worldwide.  I feels like things are happening here, and it is incredible to participate.  You get the feeling that everybody and anybody sitting next to you is on the verge of the Next Great Something.  

Rant: I hate that, in LA, people are obsessed with being discovered.  Everyone, virtually everywhere, is giving themselves strained necks in order to constantly be looking over their shoulders.  People are overwhelmingly consumed with the idea that the person sitting next to them anywhere could/will be the person to make them Someone.  I, officially, am making conscious efforts to not get wrapped up.  Seriously, celeb gossip is fun for about 5 minutes when they're live in front of you, and then it's ass numbingly boring.  These PEOPLE  make crap that smells as putrid as everyone else's, and they're just as awkward as well.  

Chasing Waterfalls

Isn't there something just magnificent about falling water?

Behold:

Escondido Falls, near Malibu.  It's a real easy hike crossing creeks, on a well groomed trail until you get to the lower falls.  Then some rock scrambling mud sliding, etc up three levels of falls til you get to the top, where you are rewarded with this.  Lord, I love to be outside. 

Maybe I love the new Conan Show.  Maybe their crew is fabulously young, hip, and adorable.  Maybe you should watch.

Ingenious Eight Year Old.

It's faint, but you may be able to make out the "JC"  upon this arm.  It was tattooed there by its owner in childhood.  Despite his own initials being the very same, this precocious boy declared to his mother that the ink is there in tribute to the other, perhaps more deserving JC, Jesus Christ.  80 years later, he will be quick to still claim Jesus.  A mother can hardly argue.

A Gem.

Yes, LA is a million inconvenient things.  But in my neighborhood, you can run along the streets, up hills, past bungalows, around a reservoir, and come upon this little Shakespearean bridge.  These little things count for something, right?

This is what the sky looks like.... when it's getting too dark to hike.  You should probably be heading back to your car, instead of continuing up the canyon, further into the wilderness.  I, however, am not a prudent individual and proceeded to lead my friends deeper into Will Rogers State Park, take just a few wrong turns due to confusing trail markers, and have to explain myself to a quite disgrunted park ranger.  Whoopsie.  Thank heavens for the almighty headlamp and our adventurist spirits.

Tee Hee.