Today has been plagued by a general insistence by everyone on driving 35mph regardless of the speed limit and for everyone else to ignore the implication of the music being cut off in a retail store (it means we’re closing now and you should check out or get out). I left work 30 minutes late and the mad dash began. It’s what I do.
The last week has been rather uneventful, at least for me. If it was, I don’t remember much of it. Sunday I got to go swimming and eat lobster for the first time (it doesn’t take like much to me…?), now all I want to do is go swimming. I’ve found a new author that I’m itching to delve into; he’s dead but the reviews say he wrote several psychological thrillers. I haven’t read any of his stuff yet, but they’re making movies out of them soon so check out Stieg Larsson’s “Millenium” series if you get a chance. Honestly I can’t remember what else has been happening…the internet was down and I did gloriously little on Thursday. The shop damn near fell apart while I was camping (the other guy lost his temper and yelled at the boss, said “I don’t trust you!” and other bad things), the boss took today off due to stress, and now we have an installation company we’re supposed to push who charges twice the rate of the freelancers. I sold my first installation the day of the meeting (my day off) in my beach shorts and flip flops. Yeah, I’m that bad ass.
Much of my free time will soon be spent on trying not to be so bad ass in retail. I’m shopping positions in my own field, which is interior design for anyone who doesn’t know. Retail has altered my perception of the general public, not for the good I’m afraid. People suck. And people have taken the adage of “the customer is always right” to include situations where the customer is being a complete and utter jackass, trying to get something for nothing, and/or needs someone to blame besides themselves. Case in point: we are closed for inventory. A lady comes pounding on the door, demands to be let in because the fan she bought from us was missing the cotter pin, her ‘handyman’ installed it anyway, and it fell from the ceiling, demolishing a coffee table and damaging the floor. Somehow this is our fault. Does anyone not see how retarded this situation is? If your shit is missing parts, come see us and we’ll give you one. If your handyman doesn’t know he shouldn’t install something with missing parts, then you got what you paid for. This woman expected the company to replace her fan, buy her a new table and pay loads of money to fix her floor. Oh yeah, and be seen and waited on on a day when we are closed. Just cuz the lights are on and you see someone doesn’t give you the right to pound on the door and demand service. There’s a reason the door is locked (to keep crazies like you out!!). So I no longer think people are inherently good. I think people are sanctimonious bastards who need to realize the world doesn’t revolve around them, it’s not that fucking serious (whatever it is), and I don’t owe them shit! And that’s at the start of my work week.
I have a new dream plan. It’s been occupying my head space for the last week, basically since we got back from camping, and yes, I’ve been mostly useless the whole time because of it. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember what’s been happening….? Anyway, I don’t want to spoil it, but check out this website for a hint. (Insert devilish grin here)
Check in for the gig I’m waiting on isn’t for another 40 minutes, which means carpet arrivals aren’t for another 70. These little bastards better be on time. “The Wolfpack” has a whole new meaning now which has nothing to do with the University of Nevada, Reno. Any Twilight fans reading this blog? I’ll reserve the next comment for myself. But you get the idea.
This Friday is my girls’ day out. I’m really excited. Haven’t decided what I’m doing yet, but whatever I F’ing feel like comes to mind. There should be a pool involved somewhere if possible.
I think I’ve run out of witty things to say for the moment. I’m getting tired though tonight is a long way from over. After this carpet drags on, I’ll go home and attempt to post my camping blog and this one, just for you. So feel special – I’m losing sleep over this.
Camping in Utah
We made it back alive! Based on the weather we’re having today, however, we shouldn’t have come back at all. 108˚F with 20% humidity. Gag and then pass out.
So we planned this camping trip with friends, they were all gonna carpool and share a cabin, rent a boat for the day, see Bryce, so on and so forth. Then everyone canceled on us, couldn’t get days off, whatever, and what not. After being temporarily miffed, I was ok with that; decided we were going regardless and gonna have a good time. 
So we canceled the boat and the cabin, got a camp space instead with the logic that despite money being tighter than a drum, we needed the trip. (I weighed my reactions to being broke when we got back vs. not going at all, and that settled it). Two days before we leave, the friends wander back into the picture, asking about departure times and if a German Shepard will fit in our car with two more bodies and our entire collective camping gear. The day before departure, we picked up two more. So now we’re a ragged band of 6, all arriving at various times after dark to set up tents half way up a mountain in Utah. We arrived first, with a borrowed tent we’ve never seen or set up before (ours finally died after the last trip), and using our Yukon’s headlights for light (her name is Winnie the Strong, by the way), spent an hour fooling with it, trying to get it to stand on its own. Once we finally got the thing constructed (nicknamed “Bitchy and Complicated”), we realize we’ve killed Winnie’s battery and she won’t start. She wouldn’t even try. Normally this wouldn’t be too big of a deal: we’re not out in the boonies by ourselves; we’re in a campground full of fancy RV’s owned by a couple of rascally Brits – somebody’s got jumper cables. We are, however, parked right where our friends need to set up their tents…and it’s the middle of the night. So then we wait. It’s rubbing up against 11pm Nevada time and still no sign of our friends, neither of whom have ever been where we are or driven that winding mountain road in the dark (when every deer on the planet comes out). I gave up and went to bed. Honey had a plan to push Winnie out of the campsite, across the road, and outta the way until morning. I figured he could handle it. 
All our friends made it in about 30 minutes apart and even found the campsite. They woke me up enough to hear Winnie’s engine turn over under her own power, which amazed us both. Our car is smarter than we are, apparently, and hence the moniker “the Strong”. (Her name is Winnie because my license plate ends with ‘WNY’).
Our first day in the beautiful 75˚F weather was spent collecting firewood and frogging about in Dixie Forest, visiting our ‘love tree’ where we carved our initials back in 2007, eating too much at the Bear Paw Café, and playing chess. I had a lapse in judgment and sat in the sun in my underwear without sun block for probably 45 minutes; and yeah, Irish girl that I am, burnt to a crisp. My nickname was Burnie McLobster from then on. We tried to catch the amazing sunset from our favorite spot (called North View) but all the wind was kicking up dust and making it hazy. When we came back, the 7th camper had showed up and we moved down to his site for the campfire – there was a family reunion on both sides of our camp, so 20 people where sitting around their fire, drinking and singing ‘La Cucaracha’ to some questionable guitar playing. 
Day 2 we lost two campers (they had to go home) and tried shore fishing. Honey got frustrated pretty fast and we opted to rent a boat after all. We got a small pontoon for five people and two dogs. I caught a fish, but broke my line before I could get him in the boat…which is when we realized we left the net in the car. Nobody even got a bite the rest of the day. I’ve never had good luck fishing there, no matter what bait, lure, or junk I throw in the water.
Day 3 was check out. I thought for sure the other couple would head for Bryce Canyon, since she’s never seen it and it was part of the original plan. They headed home after breakfast instead. We headed back the way we came, trying to avoid going into Zion the back way and being charged for passing through. We went back down to Cedar City to top off the gas, and then took a gamble that paid off a 100-fold. We took an unpaved track called Kolob Reservoir Road. Like Honey said, it’s not really one of our trips until we do something like that – wander off the beaten trail and go exploring. It’s where we’re most comfortable, just us two out frogging about. It was gorgeous beyond belief. We stopped and took pictures in several spots and came out behind the lake, which is only a short hop down to Spingdale right outside Zion’s front door. We went to Oscar’s Café, as is tradition, and had the green chile pork burrito. Did a little wandering in the shops close by to walk it off a little before heading out. We stopped at the apple orchard place, which we’ve driven by probably 6 times, never when they’re open, and bought ginger peachy butter (which I could gladly eat from the jar with a spoon). 
We made it back. Winnie did awesome. And I’ve discovered a handful of things: 1. I want to dabble in metal arts like wind sculptures and chimes, cuz my budget isn’t flexible enough to stretch around $500 worth of perfectly tuned Pacabel chimes nor will it be anytime soon, 2. we’ll have to find ways to road trip despite the recession – it’s therapy I can’t pass up.
3 Jobs
I’m going to start telling people I work three jobs. Cuz ultimately, I do: my day job, Honey’s photography gigs and assistant, and side work, like I did all weekend. I am a ridiculously busy and tired woman. Somewhere in there I need to find time for me, to eat well and exercise a bit.
I had something of an epiphany last night – I’m in the very unique and enviable position of having a man who loves me for exactly who I am, not the body I live in, not the money I can bring to the table, not contacts, connections, or any of that nonsense; just for me. I could weigh 100lbs or 400lbs; it wouldn’t make a difference. I could go bald, lose a limb, become blind, deaf, or severely disabled, and he’d love me just the same. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how lucky I am, and how I don’t know anyone else who can say that. Honey supports me, whether I want to work out or not, have a career or specialize in doing nothing, play Suzie Housekeeper or keep it to the bare essentials of sex and laundry. As long as I am happy and it doesn’t hurt me, he’s happy. I should be the happiest woman in the world…and I will be more often, as soon as I get my own head out of the way.
We went out with friends the other night, most of them the fit skinny types, and though everyone accepts me just as I am, I start comparing me to them and (of course) coming up short. It’s a neurotic thing I need to squelch ASAP. But having thought about it for two days, I’ve realized several things: 1.) I won’t ever be them – my body isn’t built to be a size 4 no matter what I do, 2.) that’s a good thing, because curves are rare these days, 3.) like Connie and Carla said, “tall, short, skinny, or fat – worship that body! It’s the only one you’ve got.” 4.) and maybe most important, I need to love me no matter how I am, cuz hating myself won’t be solved by changing dress sizes. The other thing I realized is that no matter how great this new HCG stuff sounds (who wouldn’t wanna drop 40lbs in a month?) I don’t want to count calories (500 a day? Seriously??). It’s also right in there with diet pills, fad diets, and surgery – I think that’s cheating. I don’t grudge anyone who has success for however long with them, I just don’t think that’s a permanent solution or requires much effort, and in the case of surgery, it’s very extreme and not bloody fair. I love to eat and don’t believe making food the enemy is a solution for weight problems. All bodies are not the same, yadda yadda, etc, etc. My opinions only, take them as you will. Anyway, at one point I was really excited [about HCG]; now my inner hippie and wanna-be naturalist is stomping her foot, telling me how much better I’ll feel and better the results will be if I do this on my own, just for me, and for the right reasons (i.e. health and energy instead of crushing vanity). My inner me has a point, as she often does when her head is screwed on straight. Another important thing, one that should keep the neurotics down to a minimum, is it’s not a race and it won’t happen overnight. I’ve lived most of my life carrying more weight than I’d have preferred and all of the best stuff, the best stories, and crazy adventures have happened just the same. Happiness will not be found on a bathroom scale for me, so I can just let that one go, don’t you think?
So if I can get all this wonderfulness to stick in my stubborn ass brain for more than a day, I should be fine – no, not fine (remember the Italian Job and the definition of ‘Freaked out Insecure Neurotic Emotional’?) I’ll be alright, relatively normal, less psychotic than usual, even-keeled, and so forth.
I've got work in another 30 minutes, so I think a few minutes of well-deserved 'nothing' is in order. Luvs.
I had something of an epiphany last night – I’m in the very unique and enviable position of having a man who loves me for exactly who I am, not the body I live in, not the money I can bring to the table, not contacts, connections, or any of that nonsense; just for me. I could weigh 100lbs or 400lbs; it wouldn’t make a difference. I could go bald, lose a limb, become blind, deaf, or severely disabled, and he’d love me just the same. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how lucky I am, and how I don’t know anyone else who can say that. Honey supports me, whether I want to work out or not, have a career or specialize in doing nothing, play Suzie Housekeeper or keep it to the bare essentials of sex and laundry. As long as I am happy and it doesn’t hurt me, he’s happy. I should be the happiest woman in the world…and I will be more often, as soon as I get my own head out of the way.
We went out with friends the other night, most of them the fit skinny types, and though everyone accepts me just as I am, I start comparing me to them and (of course) coming up short. It’s a neurotic thing I need to squelch ASAP. But having thought about it for two days, I’ve realized several things: 1.) I won’t ever be them – my body isn’t built to be a size 4 no matter what I do, 2.) that’s a good thing, because curves are rare these days, 3.) like Connie and Carla said, “tall, short, skinny, or fat – worship that body! It’s the only one you’ve got.” 4.) and maybe most important, I need to love me no matter how I am, cuz hating myself won’t be solved by changing dress sizes. The other thing I realized is that no matter how great this new HCG stuff sounds (who wouldn’t wanna drop 40lbs in a month?) I don’t want to count calories (500 a day? Seriously??). It’s also right in there with diet pills, fad diets, and surgery – I think that’s cheating. I don’t grudge anyone who has success for however long with them, I just don’t think that’s a permanent solution or requires much effort, and in the case of surgery, it’s very extreme and not bloody fair. I love to eat and don’t believe making food the enemy is a solution for weight problems. All bodies are not the same, yadda yadda, etc, etc. My opinions only, take them as you will. Anyway, at one point I was really excited [about HCG]; now my inner hippie and wanna-be naturalist is stomping her foot, telling me how much better I’ll feel and better the results will be if I do this on my own, just for me, and for the right reasons (i.e. health and energy instead of crushing vanity). My inner me has a point, as she often does when her head is screwed on straight. Another important thing, one that should keep the neurotics down to a minimum, is it’s not a race and it won’t happen overnight. I’ve lived most of my life carrying more weight than I’d have preferred and all of the best stuff, the best stories, and crazy adventures have happened just the same. Happiness will not be found on a bathroom scale for me, so I can just let that one go, don’t you think?
So if I can get all this wonderfulness to stick in my stubborn ass brain for more than a day, I should be fine – no, not fine (remember the Italian Job and the definition of ‘Freaked out Insecure Neurotic Emotional’?) I’ll be alright, relatively normal, less psychotic than usual, even-keeled, and so forth.
I've got work in another 30 minutes, so I think a few minutes of well-deserved 'nothing' is in order. Luvs.
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