So much chaos! No time to blog!
Amid all this chaos, there lie many great things, though. I have many things to look forward to…
1. I am moving soon! It’s sooner than I expected and part of the chaos (especially considering that I’ll be turning around and doing it all over again 6 months later), but it is an overall good thing. I am getting out of a living situation with roommates from hell.
I will miss my garden tub, though. Not to mention that, finally, after three years, some really cute guys just moved into the apartment building next to mine. Just my luck.
2. I’m going to Savannah this weekend for one of my best friend’s (Red's) bachelorette party! Woo hoo! That should give me something to blog about.
3. Red’s wedding is only a month away and I’m very excited about it. Usually, I am not one who gives a flip about weddings, but this one is going to be special. I am going to be her “unofficial” photographer in charge of the more candid shots. Not to mention that Red is going to have us girls’ make up done by a make up artist! I have, of course, had a cosmetologist do my make up before but never a make up artist! I’m really excited about this sweet little gift from Red. The make up artist said that she will give a 1950s Hollywood movie star look complete with the “cat eyes”! Judging by the job she did on Red, I am going to be so beautiful!
4. Red’s wedding kicks off my much anticipated and even more needed Spring Break! I have decided to do some snorkeling and other adventures in the Florida Keys with Best Friend during this time. We were originally going to take the Bahamas cruise that I won, but we figured that even considering the expenses paid by the cruise people, we would still be saving mega bucks by opting for camping in the Keys. I am even hoping to budget in a trip from Key West to the Dry Tortugas. The Dry Tortugas islands are this country’s most elusive and inaccessible national park, sitting some 70 miles west of Key West in the Gulf of Mexico. Naturally, this makes me want to go there. Still, Dry Tortugas or not, this is going to be a blast. It’s been way too long since I snorkeled Florida’s coral reefs and spent some wild time in crazy Key West a.k.a. The Conch Republic! Plus Best Friend and I calculated that flying in to the Bahamas is about a $60 round trip for us. We can go there anytime. And I just might do that! Now what to do with the money saved on this trip? That brings me to #5.
5. I hoping to go somewhere fabulous this summer. Maybe a Euro Trip! If not this summer, then very soon. Until then I can dream about it.
I'll be around to visit everyone's blog soon. :)
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Visit
After my little drive in the country on Sunday, I proceeded from the Sells Mill Park into my hometown to visit with a friend. I was feeling a little uneasy inside as I drove along the familiar streets of my youth. It had been a long time since I had been to visit this friend—too long. I was worried about exactly how I would feel during this visit.
I took a right onto Candler Street, growing a bit more apprehensive as my car rolled along. And since when did they put in place all these stop signs? Each time I braked at the four-ways, I felt a bit tenser as I knew I was closing in the distance between me and my destination. Then I smiled for a brief moment as I passed by the house that my friend Red lived in during our teenage years and the eye doctor’s office right next to it. I chucked in spite of myself as I remembered how our friend La-La’s grandparents could never remember Red’s real name and always referred to her as “the girl who lives by the doctors.” My smile faded and I felt tears threaten my now stinging eyes. The steeple of the First Presbyterian Church, the church I grew up in and was baptized in, came into view, but I would turn off just before I reached it.
As I parked my car, I noticed that my hands were shaking. It had been four years going on five since I had talked to her. Her birthday was last week on February, 13th and I had missed it. Again.
“S.,” I began, “I hope you can forgive me for not coming by in such a long time. I know that I promised I would always stop by. I’m so sorry that I have let you down and I hope that you know that I still love you and you are never far away in my thoughts.”
She didn’t say a word as I sat down in the grass in the yard and poured my heart out to her. She didn’t say a word even as I finally broke down and cried so hard that I lost my breath.
I didn’t expect her to say a word. She, my best friend, had passed away five years ago. And the grassy yard that I was sitting on wasn’t the same grassy yard of her parents’ or my parents’ home that we used to sit on until well after dark on a summer’s night. It was the grassy yard of Rose Hill Cemetery. And I hadn’t been able to bring myself to walk across the grass of Rose Hill to her resting place in almost five years.
Some people wear rose-colored glasses to view the unpleasantries of life. Some people wear their blind folds and see only what they want to see and ignore what they do not. I fall into the category of those who wear blinders to deal with things. Of course, this isn’t really dealing with it, but rather a way of not dealing with it. It is a way to just make it by. I found my personal loss to be too much to deal with so I blocked it out until I felt I was strong enough to deal with it. Until that point, I simply “just made it” by.
I had another tragedy of sorts happening in my life at the time of her death and many, many worries. It was more than I could handle at that time. It was especially hard losing her at this time in my life as she was someone that I trusted and counted on completely. There are things that she about knew me and my life that she took silently along with her to her grave.
My life quickly down spiraled from this point. Life was sad, lonely, and miserable for me. It took me so long to recover from these things. And now I have reached a new level of happiness in my life, a new way of thinking, and have accomplished so much that I had wished I could share with her. And that is just what I did on this day. I opened my heart and caught her up on all of the events of my life. I felt this was something I needed to do. I felt this was the final stage of healing.
More than anything I wanted to take her hand and gently squeeze it, just to let her know that I am still here. I wanted to take her hand the same way that I did when her mother passed away and I tried to comfort her…The same way I did as she lay dying in a hospital bed.
No, she did not say a word, but I know she heard me. And though I could not hold her hand, as I placed my hand on her headstone, I could feel her and I knew she could feel me. And as I stood up to leave, the wind that blew through my hair didn’t seem as cold and I could almost feel her spirit surrounding me. I thought I heard her whisper, “I knew you would make it. And things are only going to get better. And I’ll be there.”
I smiled and said aloud, “Just as you always were.”
I took a right onto Candler Street, growing a bit more apprehensive as my car rolled along. And since when did they put in place all these stop signs? Each time I braked at the four-ways, I felt a bit tenser as I knew I was closing in the distance between me and my destination. Then I smiled for a brief moment as I passed by the house that my friend Red lived in during our teenage years and the eye doctor’s office right next to it. I chucked in spite of myself as I remembered how our friend La-La’s grandparents could never remember Red’s real name and always referred to her as “the girl who lives by the doctors.” My smile faded and I felt tears threaten my now stinging eyes. The steeple of the First Presbyterian Church, the church I grew up in and was baptized in, came into view, but I would turn off just before I reached it.
As I parked my car, I noticed that my hands were shaking. It had been four years going on five since I had talked to her. Her birthday was last week on February, 13th and I had missed it. Again.
“S.,” I began, “I hope you can forgive me for not coming by in such a long time. I know that I promised I would always stop by. I’m so sorry that I have let you down and I hope that you know that I still love you and you are never far away in my thoughts.”
She didn’t say a word as I sat down in the grass in the yard and poured my heart out to her. She didn’t say a word even as I finally broke down and cried so hard that I lost my breath.
I didn’t expect her to say a word. She, my best friend, had passed away five years ago. And the grassy yard that I was sitting on wasn’t the same grassy yard of her parents’ or my parents’ home that we used to sit on until well after dark on a summer’s night. It was the grassy yard of Rose Hill Cemetery. And I hadn’t been able to bring myself to walk across the grass of Rose Hill to her resting place in almost five years.
Some people wear rose-colored glasses to view the unpleasantries of life. Some people wear their blind folds and see only what they want to see and ignore what they do not. I fall into the category of those who wear blinders to deal with things. Of course, this isn’t really dealing with it, but rather a way of not dealing with it. It is a way to just make it by. I found my personal loss to be too much to deal with so I blocked it out until I felt I was strong enough to deal with it. Until that point, I simply “just made it” by.
I had another tragedy of sorts happening in my life at the time of her death and many, many worries. It was more than I could handle at that time. It was especially hard losing her at this time in my life as she was someone that I trusted and counted on completely. There are things that she about knew me and my life that she took silently along with her to her grave.
My life quickly down spiraled from this point. Life was sad, lonely, and miserable for me. It took me so long to recover from these things. And now I have reached a new level of happiness in my life, a new way of thinking, and have accomplished so much that I had wished I could share with her. And that is just what I did on this day. I opened my heart and caught her up on all of the events of my life. I felt this was something I needed to do. I felt this was the final stage of healing.
More than anything I wanted to take her hand and gently squeeze it, just to let her know that I am still here. I wanted to take her hand the same way that I did when her mother passed away and I tried to comfort her…The same way I did as she lay dying in a hospital bed.
No, she did not say a word, but I know she heard me. And though I could not hold her hand, as I placed my hand on her headstone, I could feel her and I knew she could feel me. And as I stood up to leave, the wind that blew through my hair didn’t seem as cold and I could almost feel her spirit surrounding me. I thought I heard her whisper, “I knew you would make it. And things are only going to get better. And I’ll be there.”
I smiled and said aloud, “Just as you always were.”
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Changes
Today I took a country drive near my hometown. Sunny days like these are meant for drives, especially when they are too cold and windy for hiking and too beautiful for staying indoors. Whenever the mood strikes, I usually head north for the Appalachian Mountains, but today I chose another path and I found myself in rural Jackson County, Georgia.This is Sells Mill, a picturesque imprint of the past still standing along a small creek. The area around Sells Mill is designated a county park which is usually bustling with people grilling out, picnicking, and fishing in the mill pond, but today I was the only person there.
I have been here many times. I am repeatedly drawn to this mill because I love historic structures and the grounds around this mill are so nice. Huge slabs of granite, the rushing creek, and the wildflowers that grow around it in Spring are awesome.
But there was something different about Sells Mill today. It has been through some restoration. The front of the mill is now covered in fresh, yellowish painted wood. The rusted pipes of the old mill run are now replaced with concrete. At first all I could do was stare at it. I wasn’t so sure if I liked the mill’s makeover.
The rotting, old planks of weathered wood and the rusty pipes and wheel were the very reasons I found the mill so charming. It looked old. It reminded me of the days of a by-gone era. Now it appears newer and more like a part of today’s world. I began to wish that it had been left alone, unchanged, standing in its original state, scarred by the hands of time.
I plopped down on my bottom on a rock by the water and stared more at the waterwheel, still pouting that somebody had come along and changed my mill. As I looked at the rusty wheel, I noticed that it was sitting more securely against the building rather than barely attached and ready to roll away as it was when I last visited. Then I noticed the broken windows had been replaced. And someone had removed the graffiti left by some redneck lovers. Those were good things. The structure was now more stable and intact and protected from the merciless weather. A little bit at time, I came around and finally admitted that I was glad that someone had cared enough about my mill to restore it. Because of this, Sells Mill will be stronger, prepared to weather the storms, and survive to be standing for many more years to come.
This got me thinking about changes. Everything changes, including people. Like it or not, I know I personally have changed much over the years. Sometimes these changes don’t seem like the best thing at the time nor do they seem to be for the better. The changes we make in ourselves, either by own power or that of an outside force, are like restoration for our hearts, souls, and minds. And in the end, like Sells Mill, I think we will find that they have made us strong enough to weather the storms of life and sculpted us into a survivor who will be able to stand on their feet for many more years to come.
See what happens to my mind when I’m bored? I contemplate mills and the changes of life.
Waterfall from the mill pond.
You can see the original wood still on the sides in this picture.
View from the parking area.
Self portraits also happen when I am bored. Especially when I have a place to myself and do not need to worry about how ridiculous I look propping my camera up, hitting the shutter, and running as fast as I can to try to get into a pose before the camera clicks. By the way, don't be laughing at my hair! It was a windy day! :)
After all the self portrait fun, it was becoming darker and cold. I took this one last shot of the dying light reflected in the mill pond. I wonder what changes I will find next time I come back.Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Sending out an S.O.S!
It’s that time of year again—the worst part of the school year. I’m afraid I’m going to need a place to vent or else lose my mind. The Outdoorsy Girl’s Adventure Blog may be temporarily featuring more adventures from the classroom than from the outdoors. So I will be depending on you, my blog buddies, for support to get through this very tough time in my life. I know I can count on y’all, right?The kids have lost all self control, which is especially terrible if the class had very little self control to begin with. They became restless after the Christmas holidays and Spring Break is still an eternity away. They will not listen and follow directions to save their own lives. They can’t even hear my directions because they are so loud. All the noise, noise, NOISE is doing to leave me completely deaf before the end of the year. Truly, it’s an awful, awful time of year. What else can you do when nothing you do, say, or threaten works any more?
I’ve had to come up with a new idea to deal with a serious class issue—tattling! There is nothing more irritating to me than a Tattle Tale. I’ve tried to explain numerous times that events such as someone hurting you, hurting other students, or hurting school property are viable reasons to tell on someone. However, someone sitting in your seat, accidentally spilling milk at lunch, or using a red marker when you think they should use blue are NOT viable reasons. I personally don’t care if someone called you a “cry baby”. (Because you probably are!!) My favorite tattle of all time was the day that a little girl was crying hysterically because one of the other girls told her it wasn’t her birthday (and it really wasn’t her birthday!) It was at that moment that I realized the tattling had reached a new height and must come to a permanent halt! How I really wanted to respond whenever I was approached with that recognizable whiney tone calling out, “Miiiiiss Outdooooorsy Girl….” was, “Are you bleeding? Are you puking? Are you on fire? No? Then I don’t want to hear it!” However, I didn’t think that would be a very good idea to be so blunt with five year olds, so I had to become inventive. Then I introduced the Tattle Bear.
Tattle Bear is an old, brown shaggy friend of mine from my childhood days. Oh, how much fun he was to jump on the bed with! And boy did he love to sit in my lap while I would swing as high as my rusty old swing set would allow! Now, just like me, he’s all grown up and working for a living. His job is as counselor and informant…or so I told the kids.
“Boys and girls, I cannot listen to any more tattling. We have a new friend in the class who will take over that job. He will always listen to you…even if you’re crying because someone told you it’s not your birthday and it’s not really your birthday. And at the end of the day he will tell me all the things that you told him.”
Then I gave them a pop quiz on which circumstances they would be appropriate to tattle to me or to Tattle Bear…
Me: “Someone hits you?”
Kids: “We tell you!”
Me: “Someone calls you a cry baby?”
Kids: “We tell the bear!”
Me: “You see one of your friends breaking the magnet set at the science table?”
Kids: “You!”
Me: “Someone is quietly reading a book instead of writing in their journal?”
Kids: “The bear!”
Me: “Good! Sounds like you understand. Tattle Bear is now on duty!”
Now, can you believe that this is actually working? These little punks are constantly running up to the bear and filling his fuzzy little ear full on nonsense. They actually bend down and whisper to him and then point to the accused as they vividly describe the tattle-worthy deed committed against them.
It is absolutely hilarious! I cannot resist eavesdropping on their confessions. Here are some of the best stories I’ve caught:
“Tattle Bear, I saw B. wipe a booger on one of the paintings at the art easel. Then I looked and it was my painting!”
“E. said that my pants don’t match my shirt but they do! It looks sexy!”
“J. said that my handwriting is ugly because I wrote my “J” backwards and he don’t even know how to write his name because he’s dumb!”
“Hey Tattle Bear, T. just told on me to you!”
“D. said that you are just a dumb old stuffed animal and that you really can’t hear me!”
Apparently I am not exempt from being told on either. One of the boys, wearing quite a scowl upon his face leaned in to Tattle Bear and said, “Ms. OG said that I have to sit with her when we go out for recess for five whole minutes! And just because I threw my chair at T.! Well, I say T. should sit in his own seat but she’s still gonna make me sit with her!”
I know I am cruel. Maybe I should just let loose and let the chairs fly! It’s hard sometimes to have my actions reported to the big, scary bear. Still, I say that it’s a small price to pay to in exchange for a little peace of mind. Whenever I am approached by 20 small, complaining voices all at once, it’s refreshing to be able to say, “Don’t tell me about it. Talk to the bear.” It’s my own twisted version of “talk to the hand.”
Monday, February 12, 2007
Totally Tubular!
It's certainly not snow boarding, but it's the best winter sport within a 1 1/2 hour drive from my home--snow tubing! One of these days, I'm going to live where it actually snows and be hugely into winter sports like snow boarding, snow shoeing, cross country skiing, and I might even get the hang of downhill skiing. Until that I day, I have snow tubing in icy manmade snow in North Carolina.
I don't mean to downplay the adventure in snow tubing by comparing it to snow boarding in natural powder of the slopes of the wonderful West because snow tubing on the icy hills of fake snow is totally fun. Talk about fast! Weeeee!
I headed north on Saturday with some friends just over the state line near the town of Highlands, NC., for some tubing. Along for the ride were my friends Germaphobe, Red, Super Villain and his (much) better half and my oldest friend, La-La. It was a first time tubing experience for most of us. However, Germaphobe and I are professional tubers and we return annually to see if we can break the previous year's record of total number of kids taken out by our intertubes as we race down the slopes. I'm sad to report that I didn't take out even one person this year, but man, did I ever try! However, I'm very happy to report that I have returned once again with all my teeth.
Last year, Germaphobe and I had a pretty awesome collision at the end of one of our runs. Unfortunately, it was a collision into one another. Still, we counted this as a person-taken-down point since we managed to knock a man off his feet after our tubes bounced off one another. Score! This year we weren't able to tally up a big score, but we were able to set speed records since this year's winter was much colder and the slope was much steeper and had two big dips (or as I like to call them, "jumps").
All of our first timers had a blast, too. Red loved it. She had a blast zipping down the slope until she injured her knee. Truth be known, she had even more fun sitting at the bottom of the slope with her bum knee laughing and making fun of all the people crashing and being run over by other tubes because she's evil like that. (Not that I would enjoy anything of the sort!) La-La had fun and much like a cat wearing a bell on its collar, we never lost her as she cried Eeeeeeeeeee! the entire time traveling down the slope, reaching a slightly higher pitch as she cleared the tops of the dips. Super Villain was fun to have along as he, just as impatient as me, would walk with me up to the top rather than waiting in the long line for the lift. Now, if only he could keep up with me without hurting his back! (Don't worry SV, you'll be able to show me up at our rock climbing lessons next weekend ;)
We had a blast and I hope that next year we can all go again--and actually take out some kids next time.
Here's some of the gang: La-La is on the left making her debut on my blog. This is my oldest friend. (Not as in age, but in years of friendship--just to clarify!) Germaphobe who's made several appearances on this blog is in the middle. Red, who is pictured on the right, is my faithful partner in ghost hunting. I have mentioned her a few times on the blog, but this is her first photo.
Me and Super Villain looking like a cute couple. But let me set it straight...Boys, SV is NOT my boyfriend, so please still free to send me the chocolates we discussed! (Remember, dark chocolate is best.)
See...Here's Super Villain with La-La. They are really a couple, so just in case any of you boys are thinking she's cute and were thinking of sending her some Frerro Rocher, Lindt, Dove, or Ghirardelli, she's taken. Send them to me instead.
Here's our fake snow slope. It doesn't look it in this photo, but it was steep in real life.
And it doesn't appear so in this photo either, but Germaphobe was zipping by quite fast as she waved to me.
And again, it doesn't look like I'm moving, but here I am traveling at high speed at the end of slope. In a matter of seconds, I will barely clear a girl getting off her tube and rush head first into the muddy muck at the end of the snow.
Red took this pic of the Germ, La-La, SV, and me hooked together on our last run. Obviously, you cannot see the momentum we had going on in this one either, but we were airborne a couple of times. It's a good thing we saved the best for last because after the last jump, my tailbone rammed into the vertabrae above it. My butt is a sexy purplish tone now. Also, I wish the look of terror on the kid's face to the left of us were visible. He thought for a moment we were going to squish him into the snowbank.
I don't mean to downplay the adventure in snow tubing by comparing it to snow boarding in natural powder of the slopes of the wonderful West because snow tubing on the icy hills of fake snow is totally fun. Talk about fast! Weeeee!
I headed north on Saturday with some friends just over the state line near the town of Highlands, NC., for some tubing. Along for the ride were my friends Germaphobe, Red, Super Villain and his (much) better half and my oldest friend, La-La. It was a first time tubing experience for most of us. However, Germaphobe and I are professional tubers and we return annually to see if we can break the previous year's record of total number of kids taken out by our intertubes as we race down the slopes. I'm sad to report that I didn't take out even one person this year, but man, did I ever try! However, I'm very happy to report that I have returned once again with all my teeth.
Last year, Germaphobe and I had a pretty awesome collision at the end of one of our runs. Unfortunately, it was a collision into one another. Still, we counted this as a person-taken-down point since we managed to knock a man off his feet after our tubes bounced off one another. Score! This year we weren't able to tally up a big score, but we were able to set speed records since this year's winter was much colder and the slope was much steeper and had two big dips (or as I like to call them, "jumps").
All of our first timers had a blast, too. Red loved it. She had a blast zipping down the slope until she injured her knee. Truth be known, she had even more fun sitting at the bottom of the slope with her bum knee laughing and making fun of all the people crashing and being run over by other tubes because she's evil like that. (Not that I would enjoy anything of the sort!) La-La had fun and much like a cat wearing a bell on its collar, we never lost her as she cried Eeeeeeeeeee! the entire time traveling down the slope, reaching a slightly higher pitch as she cleared the tops of the dips. Super Villain was fun to have along as he, just as impatient as me, would walk with me up to the top rather than waiting in the long line for the lift. Now, if only he could keep up with me without hurting his back! (Don't worry SV, you'll be able to show me up at our rock climbing lessons next weekend ;)
We had a blast and I hope that next year we can all go again--and actually take out some kids next time.
Here's some of the gang: La-La is on the left making her debut on my blog. This is my oldest friend. (Not as in age, but in years of friendship--just to clarify!) Germaphobe who's made several appearances on this blog is in the middle. Red, who is pictured on the right, is my faithful partner in ghost hunting. I have mentioned her a few times on the blog, but this is her first photo.
Me and Super Villain looking like a cute couple. But let me set it straight...Boys, SV is NOT my boyfriend, so please still free to send me the chocolates we discussed! (Remember, dark chocolate is best.)
See...Here's Super Villain with La-La. They are really a couple, so just in case any of you boys are thinking she's cute and were thinking of sending her some Frerro Rocher, Lindt, Dove, or Ghirardelli, she's taken. Send them to me instead.
Here's our fake snow slope. It doesn't look it in this photo, but it was steep in real life.
And it doesn't appear so in this photo either, but Germaphobe was zipping by quite fast as she waved to me.
And again, it doesn't look like I'm moving, but here I am traveling at high speed at the end of slope. In a matter of seconds, I will barely clear a girl getting off her tube and rush head first into the muddy muck at the end of the snow.
Red took this pic of the Germ, La-La, SV, and me hooked together on our last run. Obviously, you cannot see the momentum we had going on in this one either, but we were airborne a couple of times. It's a good thing we saved the best for last because after the last jump, my tailbone rammed into the vertabrae above it. My butt is a sexy purplish tone now. Also, I wish the look of terror on the kid's face to the left of us were visible. He thought for a moment we were going to squish him into the snowbank.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The Month of Love
I have decided to call it off. Valentine’s Day, that is. Yes, I am well aware that I have not the power to cancel the holiday altogether, but I can say that despite my New Year’s goal of inviting a nice guy out to dinner in honor of this day of romance, it ain’t gonna happen. Now don’t y’all go all You’re breaking your resolution, already OG? on me! Because I’m not! See, the catch is I said I would invite a nice guy out to join me, and with nice guys being nonexistent where I live, I conclude this contract with myself null and void.
I honestly don’t know what it is about this area, but I truly believe that it’s some type of black hole that sucks all the good available men from here and whisks them away to some unknown place full of happy girls and leaves all us nice girls here stuck with the rednecks and jerks. It sounds strange, but is so true. It’s the only explanation I have.
I don’t want to make this sound like some whiney, crybaby post about wanting to find a man, because I have honestly given up on that. That’s not to say that I don’t hope I meet the man of my dreams one day and to start our own little family. I still would really like that. The difference is I have stopped trying to make that happen and frankly just don’t care enough to fret over this anymore. What happens will happen. In the meantime, I am just going to continue being Outdoorsy Girl and living my life to the fullest. And then blog about it.
In subject with Valentine’s Day, I have always been somewhat turned off by the idea of a day designated for proving your love to someone by buying them gifts. It could be that I have never really had a great or special Valentine’s Day, but I still think it is ridiculous to designate one day of the year to be more romantic than the other 364. I’d be more impressed with a man who surprised me with something special on March 14th than the expected February 14th. Still, even though this Valentine’s will mean no more to me than last year’s (or the year before that), it’s not a total waste for me. I have used this time as a self reflection and contemplation event. Now I feel as though I have discovered the real reasons behind my being single. This is what I’ve got:
1. Men in Georgia suck. (As explained above)
2. I am a jerk magnet (including but not limited to liars, cheaters, wishy-washies, promise breakers, and no-callers).
3. Something about my appearance attracts only men who are too young (like 21) or too old (like old enough to be my daddy).
4. I am too tomboyish. (So what! I still look like a girl and if a man is too intimidated by the fact that I can probably do some things better than he can, then he is a pansy and I’m not into pansies anyway.)
5. I am quite possibly a man hater, as noted by some of my friends. (Of course, exempting my male friends, brother, and dad, who are fine examples of good men.)
Next, I evaluated the reasons why relationships I actually did have, failed. This is what I came up with:
1. Discovered that my significant other was a jerk (a cheater, liar, or was too wishy-washy.) And that’s cool because I refuse to settle for someone who lies and cheats. And wishy-washy people are too irritating to me because I know what I want and people who are undecided about what they want out of life are incomprehensible to me. And I cannot stand it when anyone assumes things about me. Assuming things such as I want things to be more serious or less serious than they are or that I will do all the same things his ex-girlfriend did, really ticks me off. I have my own brain and I don't like anyone to think for me. Never assume anything. I no longer wear my feelings on my sleeve. If you want to know how I feel, ASK ME. Otherwise, you're a jerk!
And that’s pretty much the reason behind every failure. I would like to say that karma plays a hand in such things, but I no longer believe in karma.
Karma is something that somebody made up to make you feel better when someone screws you over. You know that lame story… “Don’t you worry, girl. He’ll get his one day.” Bah! Hogwash, I say! Is that really supposed to make me feel better? And isn’t karma supposed to reciprocate the way you treat others, including the good deeds? Karma is supposed to be the natural implementer of the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” You treat others good and good things happen to you. You treat others badly, expect bad things to come your way. Whatever!
If this were true, then half the people I know who are happily in a relationship wouldn’t be because they don’t appreciate their mate and either treat them terribly or do horrible things behind their back. Also, if this was true, I would be with a great guy because I have always treated anyone I was in a relationship with very well. Ummm, wait a minute…
Come to think of it, I wasn’t too nice to my boyfriend when I was 18 and broke up with him. True, he was stalker-ish, but maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh when I broke up with him. Give me a friggin’ break, karma! I was just a hormonal kid! And if this one incident so long ago is the reason I’m being crucified when it comes to relationships then I’ve learned my lesson. Can I come down off the cross now? After 14 years, these nails are starting to hurt.
Like I said, this has been a great discovery time for me. I have learned that karma is a sham and so is Valentine’s Day.
BUT if someone would like to convince me otherwise, I really like dark chocolate truffles. Ferrero Rocher is awesome and I really like Ghirardelli Chocolate, too. If anyone needs my address, email me. ;)
Otherwise, cupid is just stupid.
I honestly don’t know what it is about this area, but I truly believe that it’s some type of black hole that sucks all the good available men from here and whisks them away to some unknown place full of happy girls and leaves all us nice girls here stuck with the rednecks and jerks. It sounds strange, but is so true. It’s the only explanation I have.
I don’t want to make this sound like some whiney, crybaby post about wanting to find a man, because I have honestly given up on that. That’s not to say that I don’t hope I meet the man of my dreams one day and to start our own little family. I still would really like that. The difference is I have stopped trying to make that happen and frankly just don’t care enough to fret over this anymore. What happens will happen. In the meantime, I am just going to continue being Outdoorsy Girl and living my life to the fullest. And then blog about it.
In subject with Valentine’s Day, I have always been somewhat turned off by the idea of a day designated for proving your love to someone by buying them gifts. It could be that I have never really had a great or special Valentine’s Day, but I still think it is ridiculous to designate one day of the year to be more romantic than the other 364. I’d be more impressed with a man who surprised me with something special on March 14th than the expected February 14th. Still, even though this Valentine’s will mean no more to me than last year’s (or the year before that), it’s not a total waste for me. I have used this time as a self reflection and contemplation event. Now I feel as though I have discovered the real reasons behind my being single. This is what I’ve got:
1. Men in Georgia suck. (As explained above)
2. I am a jerk magnet (including but not limited to liars, cheaters, wishy-washies, promise breakers, and no-callers).
3. Something about my appearance attracts only men who are too young (like 21) or too old (like old enough to be my daddy).
4. I am too tomboyish. (So what! I still look like a girl and if a man is too intimidated by the fact that I can probably do some things better than he can, then he is a pansy and I’m not into pansies anyway.)
5. I am quite possibly a man hater, as noted by some of my friends. (Of course, exempting my male friends, brother, and dad, who are fine examples of good men.)
Next, I evaluated the reasons why relationships I actually did have, failed. This is what I came up with:
1. Discovered that my significant other was a jerk (a cheater, liar, or was too wishy-washy.) And that’s cool because I refuse to settle for someone who lies and cheats. And wishy-washy people are too irritating to me because I know what I want and people who are undecided about what they want out of life are incomprehensible to me. And I cannot stand it when anyone assumes things about me. Assuming things such as I want things to be more serious or less serious than they are or that I will do all the same things his ex-girlfriend did, really ticks me off. I have my own brain and I don't like anyone to think for me. Never assume anything. I no longer wear my feelings on my sleeve. If you want to know how I feel, ASK ME. Otherwise, you're a jerk!
And that’s pretty much the reason behind every failure. I would like to say that karma plays a hand in such things, but I no longer believe in karma.
Karma is something that somebody made up to make you feel better when someone screws you over. You know that lame story… “Don’t you worry, girl. He’ll get his one day.” Bah! Hogwash, I say! Is that really supposed to make me feel better? And isn’t karma supposed to reciprocate the way you treat others, including the good deeds? Karma is supposed to be the natural implementer of the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” You treat others good and good things happen to you. You treat others badly, expect bad things to come your way. Whatever!
If this were true, then half the people I know who are happily in a relationship wouldn’t be because they don’t appreciate their mate and either treat them terribly or do horrible things behind their back. Also, if this was true, I would be with a great guy because I have always treated anyone I was in a relationship with very well. Ummm, wait a minute…
Come to think of it, I wasn’t too nice to my boyfriend when I was 18 and broke up with him. True, he was stalker-ish, but maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh when I broke up with him. Give me a friggin’ break, karma! I was just a hormonal kid! And if this one incident so long ago is the reason I’m being crucified when it comes to relationships then I’ve learned my lesson. Can I come down off the cross now? After 14 years, these nails are starting to hurt.
Like I said, this has been a great discovery time for me. I have learned that karma is a sham and so is Valentine’s Day.
BUT if someone would like to convince me otherwise, I really like dark chocolate truffles. Ferrero Rocher is awesome and I really like Ghirardelli Chocolate, too. If anyone needs my address, email me. ;)
Otherwise, cupid is just stupid.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Life is a Highway
At least my life is a highway. I love to drive. Sometimes I actually prefer it over flying. I see and experience so much more on the road than in the air. Of course, fabulous weekend snowboarding trips to Utah aren’t feasible via automobile. Neither are day trips to Tucson.
I’ve driven cross-country without tiring of scenery or boredom. I found it very exciting to drive through the terrain, temperature, and climate changes on my way to California for the first time. I had never been anywhere outside of the southeast or northeast regions of the U.S. until this trip. I was mesmerized as my familiar rolling, green terrain became flatter and browner somewhere in Oklahoma and later began to see striated cliffs and buttes join the brown, flat landscape in New Mexico. Shortly after crossing into the Painted Desert in Arizona, I began to see why the desert came to be known as “painted” as bright red rocks replaced the muted brown colors. I saw a mountain range in the distance and Humphrey’s Peak (Arizona’s highest) and exited the interstate and began to wind up through the mountains and through the city of Flagstaff. I couldn’t understand how quickly the dry desert turned into lush green Ponderosa Pine and Aspen. It smelled like Christmas and looked like the Colorado Rockies. My senses were again shocked as I traveled above these mountains on a flatter plateau and came to the enormous, deep, gash in the earth that we have named Grand Canyon. Standing along the south rim of the Grand Canyon, I realized that my lips, which were used to the moist air I breathe everyday, were terribly cracked and my pores felt tight.
Finally, I crossed the California State Line into Needles. It was between 6 and 7 o’clock Pacific Time. I heard on the radio that it was a blistering 112 degrees still outside at this time. I rolled down the window and stuck my hand out into the Mojave Desert air. It was warm, but it didn’t feel that hot. This when I learned of the dry heat I had heard so much about. I learned even more as the friend I was traveling with and I stepped out the car in Barstow and filled up with gas and the wind burned my skin as I stood under the shaded cover of the gas pump.
The next morning I found myself standing in the green valley of Yosemite and in the snowy high Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
Three days later I walked in cool fog in San Francisco and finally understood Mark Twain’s statement, “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”
I wouldn’t say that it was the coldest winter I ever saw, but traveling down the winding Pacific Coast Highway, hugging cliffs, spying surfers and sunbathing seals, and seeing banks of fog roll over the lush green hills of Caramel was certainly the coolest summer I ever felt. I am used to my hot, foot-scorching sandy beaches, not rocky beaches that will spray me with chilly sea mist.
After hours of hugging the coast, I was in Los Angeles. The air was warm and smoggy and my lungs hacked miserably until I once again found myself in the unmerciful heat of the Mojave heading towards Las Vegas.
We made our journey from Las Vegas, Nevada back to Atlanta, Georgia non-stop except for the two hour nap we took in a rest stop outside of Oklahoma City.
That was the first long-distance trip I had ever taken. Since then, I’ve driven round trips to Colorado, Utah, and Canada.
I enjoy weekend drives through the mountains or along country roads just as much. It seems that every time I hit the road, I learn or experience something new.
For example, I have discovered that Boston drivers are the most aggressive drivers in possibly all the world. One weekend driving there and I, too, cut people off, honked my horn at red lights, sped around the 6 lane rotary, and yelled, “Hey! You can’t pahk ya cah here!”
Louisiana has the worst, bumpiest roads ever. Most all of the roads are bridges above the soggy ground.
Interstate 70 through Missouri is the most boring stretch in the world. There is nothing from St. Louis to Kansas City. I have dubbed that stretch of the state Misery, instead of Missouri.
Interstate 80 through Wyoming is the windiest, scariest drive. You think you may be blown over on your side. Or worse, the Mack truck in the lane beside you will be blown over on top of you. And the worst is that it actually does happen.
Trail Ridge Road through Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, is the highest continually paved road in the U.S. It’s beautiful.
Drivers from Gwinnett County, Georgia are the most dangerous in the nation. Trust me, I live among them. I blame it on the folks from Fulton County (Atlanta) moving in the area. Still, be alarmed and alert if you should ever spot a Gwinnician on the road. One time I was driving through Cincinnati, Ohio and a Gwinnician sped up beside me, cut me off, jumped over through 3 lanes of traffic and then slammed on brakes as they, the idiots they are, realized that the lane was closed for construction. And here is an even scarier example for those of you who live far away and think you’re safe: Driving just outside of Salt Lake City, Ut, a maniac driver cuts me off to exit abruptly. Before I can even yell, “Where did you get your driver’s license, Gwinnett County?” I notice an orangish round object in the middle of the tag. Is that a Florida tag? No. It’s not an orange, but a peach. A Georgian! And right under the peach I make out the letters G-W-I…Yep, it’s a Gwinnician. So be careful out there folks. No one is safe.
I’ve driven cross-country without tiring of scenery or boredom. I found it very exciting to drive through the terrain, temperature, and climate changes on my way to California for the first time. I had never been anywhere outside of the southeast or northeast regions of the U.S. until this trip. I was mesmerized as my familiar rolling, green terrain became flatter and browner somewhere in Oklahoma and later began to see striated cliffs and buttes join the brown, flat landscape in New Mexico. Shortly after crossing into the Painted Desert in Arizona, I began to see why the desert came to be known as “painted” as bright red rocks replaced the muted brown colors. I saw a mountain range in the distance and Humphrey’s Peak (Arizona’s highest) and exited the interstate and began to wind up through the mountains and through the city of Flagstaff. I couldn’t understand how quickly the dry desert turned into lush green Ponderosa Pine and Aspen. It smelled like Christmas and looked like the Colorado Rockies. My senses were again shocked as I traveled above these mountains on a flatter plateau and came to the enormous, deep, gash in the earth that we have named Grand Canyon. Standing along the south rim of the Grand Canyon, I realized that my lips, which were used to the moist air I breathe everyday, were terribly cracked and my pores felt tight.
Finally, I crossed the California State Line into Needles. It was between 6 and 7 o’clock Pacific Time. I heard on the radio that it was a blistering 112 degrees still outside at this time. I rolled down the window and stuck my hand out into the Mojave Desert air. It was warm, but it didn’t feel that hot. This when I learned of the dry heat I had heard so much about. I learned even more as the friend I was traveling with and I stepped out the car in Barstow and filled up with gas and the wind burned my skin as I stood under the shaded cover of the gas pump.
The next morning I found myself standing in the green valley of Yosemite and in the snowy high Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
Three days later I walked in cool fog in San Francisco and finally understood Mark Twain’s statement, “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”
I wouldn’t say that it was the coldest winter I ever saw, but traveling down the winding Pacific Coast Highway, hugging cliffs, spying surfers and sunbathing seals, and seeing banks of fog roll over the lush green hills of Caramel was certainly the coolest summer I ever felt. I am used to my hot, foot-scorching sandy beaches, not rocky beaches that will spray me with chilly sea mist.
After hours of hugging the coast, I was in Los Angeles. The air was warm and smoggy and my lungs hacked miserably until I once again found myself in the unmerciful heat of the Mojave heading towards Las Vegas.
We made our journey from Las Vegas, Nevada back to Atlanta, Georgia non-stop except for the two hour nap we took in a rest stop outside of Oklahoma City.
That was the first long-distance trip I had ever taken. Since then, I’ve driven round trips to Colorado, Utah, and Canada.
I enjoy weekend drives through the mountains or along country roads just as much. It seems that every time I hit the road, I learn or experience something new.
For example, I have discovered that Boston drivers are the most aggressive drivers in possibly all the world. One weekend driving there and I, too, cut people off, honked my horn at red lights, sped around the 6 lane rotary, and yelled, “Hey! You can’t pahk ya cah here!”
Louisiana has the worst, bumpiest roads ever. Most all of the roads are bridges above the soggy ground.
Interstate 70 through Missouri is the most boring stretch in the world. There is nothing from St. Louis to Kansas City. I have dubbed that stretch of the state Misery, instead of Missouri.
Interstate 80 through Wyoming is the windiest, scariest drive. You think you may be blown over on your side. Or worse, the Mack truck in the lane beside you will be blown over on top of you. And the worst is that it actually does happen.
Trail Ridge Road through Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, is the highest continually paved road in the U.S. It’s beautiful.
Drivers from Gwinnett County, Georgia are the most dangerous in the nation. Trust me, I live among them. I blame it on the folks from Fulton County (Atlanta) moving in the area. Still, be alarmed and alert if you should ever spot a Gwinnician on the road. One time I was driving through Cincinnati, Ohio and a Gwinnician sped up beside me, cut me off, jumped over through 3 lanes of traffic and then slammed on brakes as they, the idiots they are, realized that the lane was closed for construction. And here is an even scarier example for those of you who live far away and think you’re safe: Driving just outside of Salt Lake City, Ut, a maniac driver cuts me off to exit abruptly. Before I can even yell, “Where did you get your driver’s license, Gwinnett County?” I notice an orangish round object in the middle of the tag. Is that a Florida tag? No. It’s not an orange, but a peach. A Georgian! And right under the peach I make out the letters G-W-I…Yep, it’s a Gwinnician. So be careful out there folks. No one is safe.
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