This just in, I will be spending the entire month of March in Australia . . . FOR FREE!!!!!! That's right, I applied with the Rotary club for their annual cross-cultural business trip where they have an employee exchange program of sorts. Every year a country is chosen like Denmark, France, Australia, etc and a group comes from their country to ours and gives presentations and learns about us and then we send a group over to do the same. Well friends, I am in that group, along with one of my best friends, and we are going to rock Australia.
We will be based in Sydney and will get to go around all over the SE quadrant of the country. The only problem is that the Great Barrier Reef is in the NE quadrant. Our mission is to find time to sneak away and high-tail it up the coast, dive the reef and race back for our duties. I feel good about accomplishing this.
Also, we are getting matching Australian tattoos.
AUSTRALIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Apocalypse soon . . . a plan
For some reason I constantly feel the need to think about and plan for the (must be) coming apocalypse. I have no idea in what form it will take, nuclear, zombie, religious, global warming, something else even worse. Anyways, it will be bad and it will take a plan.
I recently watched Skyline and came to a conclusion for how to survive. I must find the most attractive brunette female with a moral compass, preferably with a love interest and then do whatever she wants and follow her wherever she goes. Most men, especially black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American should be avoided at all cost, unless they would like to come along and be killed before me by either saving me or by just being in the right place at the right time. I also need to avoid all bitchy, slutty blonde girls. They will last for a while, but won’t make it until the end.
Pretty much, if anything extreme begins to happen I will immediately default to believing I am in a movie and will begin to behave accordingly to be able to make it to the end and survive. I really see no other logical way to approach such a situation.
I recently watched Skyline and came to a conclusion for how to survive. I must find the most attractive brunette female with a moral compass, preferably with a love interest and then do whatever she wants and follow her wherever she goes. Most men, especially black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American should be avoided at all cost, unless they would like to come along and be killed before me by either saving me or by just being in the right place at the right time. I also need to avoid all bitchy, slutty blonde girls. They will last for a while, but won’t make it until the end.
Pretty much, if anything extreme begins to happen I will immediately default to believing I am in a movie and will begin to behave accordingly to be able to make it to the end and survive. I really see no other logical way to approach such a situation.
Fetus Cheek's first race
A couple weeks ago my dad and I ran in the Koman Run in OKC. It was mostly fun except for the fact that running kills my bladder these days and that the Koman Run has a lot of participants who aren't there to run. There was a lot of frustrating congestion throughout, but we were able to get through and have fun.
I felt it was important to run this race because I want to get Malcolm into the running circuit as quickly as possible. I think it's healthy for him and fun. He did really well in his first race. He was calm and determined. The only trouble was how he continually beat up my bladder which made the last mile and a half difficult. But I am sure he knows that mommy loves a challenge and he just wanted to make the unchallenging run a little more challenging. What a little go getter.
Honestly though, the only way I can get through this pregnancy is to do as many normal things as I can.
I felt it was important to run this race because I want to get Malcolm into the running circuit as quickly as possible. I think it's healthy for him and fun. He did really well in his first race. He was calm and determined. The only trouble was how he continually beat up my bladder which made the last mile and a half difficult. But I am sure he knows that mommy loves a challenge and he just wanted to make the unchallenging run a little more challenging. What a little go getter.
Honestly though, the only way I can get through this pregnancy is to do as many normal things as I can.
1st doc visit . . . a let down
Mr. Neruda and I went to our first doctor's appointment a few days ago.
Mostly it was a let down. They just re-tested me (because those test are SO difficult to operate) and then came in and said, yep, you're pregnant.
He then said, "Oh, lets see when the due date is. When was your last period."
I told him when and he proceeded to take out his iphone. I said something like, um, really, on your phone?
Mr. Neruda said, "Is there really an app for that?"
And the good doctor responded, "Damn right there's an app for that!" and then he guffawed.
Fascinating. Since I could have downloaded that very app myself and done the same thing at home I feel a little jipped. What a waste of a co-pay.
I am now currently in pursuit of every little girl's dream, a gyno!
Mostly it was a let down. They just re-tested me (because those test are SO difficult to operate) and then came in and said, yep, you're pregnant.
He then said, "Oh, lets see when the due date is. When was your last period."
I told him when and he proceeded to take out his iphone. I said something like, um, really, on your phone?
Mr. Neruda said, "Is there really an app for that?"
And the good doctor responded, "Damn right there's an app for that!" and then he guffawed.
Fascinating. Since I could have downloaded that very app myself and done the same thing at home I feel a little jipped. What a waste of a co-pay.
I am now currently in pursuit of every little girl's dream, a gyno!
Excellent customer service
Recently, Mr. Neruda and I went to the store to get a pregnancy test. We could not find the test so we stopped a nice worker and asked for directions. The nice worker (who had exceptionally friendly tones) said, "Go that way to that aisle, their by the rublas."
We nodded and walked away. As we walked in the direction indicated Mr. Neruda asked me what she said. I said that I thought she said "rubals" but I don't know what that means. He said, "I think she said rubbers." Then it hit me. That is exactly what she said.
We literally stopped in the aisle in fits of laughter, almost being plowed over by a cart behind us.
And in fact, they were by the rubbers. A whole wall of rubbers.
Ones we probably should have used before. I think it mean spirited to put the two together. It is like rubbing those who need the tests' faces in the birth control they should have been using.
We nodded and walked away. As we walked in the direction indicated Mr. Neruda asked me what she said. I said that I thought she said "rubals" but I don't know what that means. He said, "I think she said rubbers." Then it hit me. That is exactly what she said.
We literally stopped in the aisle in fits of laughter, almost being plowed over by a cart behind us.
And in fact, they were by the rubbers. A whole wall of rubbers.
Ones we probably should have used before. I think it mean spirited to put the two together. It is like rubbing those who need the tests' faces in the birth control they should have been using.
The fruit of our amorous entwine
I received some interesting news this past week.
Mind-numbing, blood-curdling, seizure-inducing news.
Mr. Neruda and I had a night of irresponsible sex. We are usually most careful, but after 5+ years of amorous entwines we are bound to become complacent occasionally.
There is currently an omelet the size of a sesame seed inside my belly at this very moment.
Um . . .
Mind-numbing, blood-curdling, seizure-inducing news.
Mr. Neruda and I had a night of irresponsible sex. We are usually most careful, but after 5+ years of amorous entwines we are bound to become complacent occasionally.
There is currently an omelet the size of a sesame seed inside my belly at this very moment.
Um . . .
I feel safe
I recently ventured to Portland, OR for a conference and some serious fun. I went via Will Roger's and an airport in Salt Lake City. I took the same route back only I started in Portland.
I breezed through security in Oklahoma City with my backpack. No problem with the x-ray machine or the metal detector. Zero problems.
On the way home, I ran into a bit of a speed bump. That bump was a pocket knife in my backpack. That is right, for those out there keeping track, a knife! Mr. Neruda and I had taken the pack camping quite a while ago and I apparently left the knife my grand-pa gave me when I was a little girl.
I got pulled aside in the line and my pack was searched. All of my associates passed through the security line before me with no trouble. They then all stood in a semi-circle just outside of the line watching me being searched. When they understood that I actually had something on me they left me standing there with my nice guard, saying they were sorry but felt unsafe going through an airport with me. It was awesome.
One upside to the whole experience was that Portland had a mail machine for such objects so that I didn't have to lose my grand-pa's knife. Unlike Oklahoma City, who made me through a cool U2 Zippo away that I had left in my purse on a trip I took years ago.
The odd part of this story is that I made it through Will Roger's Airport with a knife in my backpack. I am sure if my contraband had been tweezers or a fork I would have been nabbed immediately. But a silly weapon that I could do actual damage with, no problem. The whole event was a little exciting but mostly just frightening.
I breezed through security in Oklahoma City with my backpack. No problem with the x-ray machine or the metal detector. Zero problems.
On the way home, I ran into a bit of a speed bump. That bump was a pocket knife in my backpack. That is right, for those out there keeping track, a knife! Mr. Neruda and I had taken the pack camping quite a while ago and I apparently left the knife my grand-pa gave me when I was a little girl.
I got pulled aside in the line and my pack was searched. All of my associates passed through the security line before me with no trouble. They then all stood in a semi-circle just outside of the line watching me being searched. When they understood that I actually had something on me they left me standing there with my nice guard, saying they were sorry but felt unsafe going through an airport with me. It was awesome.
One upside to the whole experience was that Portland had a mail machine for such objects so that I didn't have to lose my grand-pa's knife. Unlike Oklahoma City, who made me through a cool U2 Zippo away that I had left in my purse on a trip I took years ago.
The odd part of this story is that I made it through Will Roger's Airport with a knife in my backpack. I am sure if my contraband had been tweezers or a fork I would have been nabbed immediately. But a silly weapon that I could do actual damage with, no problem. The whole event was a little exciting but mostly just frightening.
My first pageant!!!!
That's right, I have finally hit the pageant scene. I know many will think, "Why hasn't this happened before?" After actually being a part of one I now wonder the very same thing. I rocked the pageant scene. The only downside is that I placed 1st Runner Up because they allowed unlimited audience voting and one library brought A LOT of rich people.
The Oklahoma Library Association's Conference is this week and tonight was the Stacked Modelling Show where contestants had to make their outfits out of as much library materials as they could and then have a model parade up and down the runway. Since I was the only one who could fit in a library bag I was the chosen one for our branch.
There was some fierce competition. I actually went up against my most dreaded library professor (The only B I made was from HER!).
She is far scarier in real life.
My dress takes after the great Audrey Hepburn with a hat made of Hold Slips, the dress made of library bags with a zipper pocket to allow easy access to important librarian needs!
The good news is that I didn't fall at all! And my heels were high.
The winner did have an awesome outfit though mine was made entirely of library material (whatever).
Overall I had a blast. It helped that all the librarians around me turned into gigantic lushes. There were many who were having problems walking and a few men who became a little hands-y with me. Humorous to watch. I abstained because I felt I would be having enough problems walking without throwing in a liquid hazard.
The Oklahoma Library Association's Conference is this week and tonight was the Stacked Modelling Show where contestants had to make their outfits out of as much library materials as they could and then have a model parade up and down the runway. Since I was the only one who could fit in a library bag I was the chosen one for our branch.
There was some fierce competition. I actually went up against my most dreaded library professor (The only B I made was from HER!).
She is far scarier in real life.
My dress takes after the great Audrey Hepburn with a hat made of Hold Slips, the dress made of library bags with a zipper pocket to allow easy access to important librarian needs!
The good news is that I didn't fall at all! And my heels were high.
The winner did have an awesome outfit though mine was made entirely of library material (whatever).
Overall I had a blast. It helped that all the librarians around me turned into gigantic lushes. There were many who were having problems walking and a few men who became a little hands-y with me. Humorous to watch. I abstained because I felt I would be having enough problems walking without throwing in a liquid hazard.
Clubbing
I am on a kick to try things I have never tried and live life to the fullest (carpe diem and the like). One of the more recent installments of this mind-set included clubbing. I have never really been clubbing before. I sort of went to a club in Edinburgh a few summers ago when I backpacked across the UK, but it was more of a karaoke bar with dancing so I feel it doesn't count much. I wanted the real deal.
Last summer at the library we had a line dancing program where a lady came in and taught the participants a few moves. Some co-workers and I had a blast line dancing and felt we needed more (that alone shocked the crap out of me because who thinks they will enjoy line dancing?). We looked around for a fun dance place that offered line dancing and found Club Rodeo.
Club Rodeo is the greatest thing ever! Half the place is a dance floor and the other half is a dirt pen where cowboys (and cowboy wannabes) ride bulls. That's right, we came in and danced for about an hour or so and then waltz over to watch about 6 guys ride their bulls. Everyone was thrown pretty cleanly except for one guy. He got his arm stuck in the harness and was thrown like a rag doll. The "clown" came in to distract the bull, but he was one nasty beast. He ran the "clown" down and headbutted him to the ground and then kicked and stomped on him a few times. It turned my stomach. He lay on the ground for a long time with medics seeing to him. Then they were able to walk him off. About 3 minutes into the whole exchange the club made a tactless but genius move, they played Cotton Eyed Joe. All the concerned clubbers were at once drawn away from the carnage to go dance one of the most beloved Western Club songs ever. We abstained out of shear horror at what had happened. However, once he walked away and nothing seemed to be broken we went back to dancing as well.
One thing we noticed about the place is that there is more to Western dancing than line dancing, there is the two step! It sounds boring but that is a false impression. The guys there are master twirlers. They take a cowgirl and start spinning and twirling her ever which way. We immediately wanted in on that action. However, we felt insecure about asking guys to dance with us. It was two parts: we were all in relationships and we didn't want to be rejected. So, we passed a table that had three older guys at it. They were all friends, all laughing and all about 60. They were perfect. We asked them if they would like to teach us how to do that most magical kind of dancing and they were thrilled with the opportunity.
After a few tutorials, they took us out on the floor and rotated us between themselves through a few songs. All were nice, but one could really teach and we all became master twirlers (mostly because girls just have to be ready to hold onto the right hand and go the right direction, everything else is up to the guy).
After our lessons we were all asked to dance throughout the night and twirled, stomped and skipped to our hearts content. I am officially a believer in Western themed clubs!
Last summer at the library we had a line dancing program where a lady came in and taught the participants a few moves. Some co-workers and I had a blast line dancing and felt we needed more (that alone shocked the crap out of me because who thinks they will enjoy line dancing?). We looked around for a fun dance place that offered line dancing and found Club Rodeo.
Club Rodeo is the greatest thing ever! Half the place is a dance floor and the other half is a dirt pen where cowboys (and cowboy wannabes) ride bulls. That's right, we came in and danced for about an hour or so and then waltz over to watch about 6 guys ride their bulls. Everyone was thrown pretty cleanly except for one guy. He got his arm stuck in the harness and was thrown like a rag doll. The "clown" came in to distract the bull, but he was one nasty beast. He ran the "clown" down and headbutted him to the ground and then kicked and stomped on him a few times. It turned my stomach. He lay on the ground for a long time with medics seeing to him. Then they were able to walk him off. About 3 minutes into the whole exchange the club made a tactless but genius move, they played Cotton Eyed Joe. All the concerned clubbers were at once drawn away from the carnage to go dance one of the most beloved Western Club songs ever. We abstained out of shear horror at what had happened. However, once he walked away and nothing seemed to be broken we went back to dancing as well.
One thing we noticed about the place is that there is more to Western dancing than line dancing, there is the two step! It sounds boring but that is a false impression. The guys there are master twirlers. They take a cowgirl and start spinning and twirling her ever which way. We immediately wanted in on that action. However, we felt insecure about asking guys to dance with us. It was two parts: we were all in relationships and we didn't want to be rejected. So, we passed a table that had three older guys at it. They were all friends, all laughing and all about 60. They were perfect. We asked them if they would like to teach us how to do that most magical kind of dancing and they were thrilled with the opportunity.
After a few tutorials, they took us out on the floor and rotated us between themselves through a few songs. All were nice, but one could really teach and we all became master twirlers (mostly because girls just have to be ready to hold onto the right hand and go the right direction, everything else is up to the guy).
After our lessons we were all asked to dance throughout the night and twirled, stomped and skipped to our hearts content. I am officially a believer in Western themed clubs!
That's no lady!
I recently ventured to Portland, OR for a librarian conference. And we got crazy! Crazy enough anyways.
Every night as we ventured through the town I kept passing this sign:
It intrigued me for obvious reasons. Our last night in Portland I finally talked three other gals into going with me. And it left me wide-eyed.
For one thing, these were not dainty men . . . women . . . whatever.
Some were also not young.
They sang, they danced.
Liza was there,
as was Whitney.
And can I just say that Whitney makes a better woman than I.
For their final act, they flashed their little guys at us, or at least a close copy that took liberties.
Afterwards we were ambushed by strippers. The sign said that the drag show was at 8:30 and 10:30 with stripping at midnight. They ushered all the 8:30 people out to let us 10:30 people come in. We figured the same would happen with the midnight show. However, that did not happen. All of a sudden men in ridiculous costumes came out. Their hips began swivelling. They got this glint in their eyes.
Since we were there we thought we might stay for at least one guy. However, once the cowboy was down to a g-string (is that what they're called for guys?) he came down into the audience to begin humping random people. It was at that point that we fled. I really only appreciate the humping of one fella.
Anywho, the whole thing definitely felt like a fun symptom of a quarter-life crisis!
Every night as we ventured through the town I kept passing this sign:
It intrigued me for obvious reasons. Our last night in Portland I finally talked three other gals into going with me. And it left me wide-eyed.
For one thing, these were not dainty men . . . women . . . whatever.
Some were also not young.
They sang, they danced.
Liza was there,
as was Whitney.
And can I just say that Whitney makes a better woman than I.
For their final act, they flashed their little guys at us, or at least a close copy that took liberties.
Afterwards we were ambushed by strippers. The sign said that the drag show was at 8:30 and 10:30 with stripping at midnight. They ushered all the 8:30 people out to let us 10:30 people come in. We figured the same would happen with the midnight show. However, that did not happen. All of a sudden men in ridiculous costumes came out. Their hips began swivelling. They got this glint in their eyes.
Since we were there we thought we might stay for at least one guy. However, once the cowboy was down to a g-string (is that what they're called for guys?) he came down into the audience to begin humping random people. It was at that point that we fled. I really only appreciate the humping of one fella.
Anywho, the whole thing definitely felt like a fun symptom of a quarter-life crisis!
Is it worse to do a bad thing and love it?
A few weekends ago Mr. Neruda and I went to a wedding for one of his high school friends. That friend has a younger brother who performed the role of best man. He also thought it was a good idea to bring a large bottle of Jack.
This is a friend I don't much like and it was a wedding I didn't much want to attend. It actually fell on my fifth anniversary, which SUCKED!
When I arrived later than the wedding party (one Mr. Neruda was a member of) he informed me of the bottle of Jack. I felt that partaking of the Jack would make the whole evening so much better, something Mr. Neruda foresaw. He introduced me to the best man and had him take me to the car with the Jack in it.
Since the boy thought to bring a bottle of Jack I thought he was an experienced drinker. When we arrived at the car he asked for my cup to mix the drink in. I looked at him very confusedly and thought he was being a little sexist. I assured him that I had no cup and needed none. He then said that he would get me a can of coke to chase the drink down with. I again said no, that was weird, let's just hit it and go. He then gave me an odd look and said, "REALLY??!"
It was at that point that I thought, hmm. But didn't really care because I really wanted some booze to make the night less horrible. He gave me the bottle first and I took a generous swig. He then took a sip and began to cough, a lot. At that point I thought that he was probably a bit of a lite-weight drinker, but oh well. I had no idea he had been drinking before and needed to make a speech later that evening.
I took a few more swigs and he tried to match me drink for drink. We then returned to the hall. I had a laugh with Mr. Neruda and got in the food line. Very shortly afterwards he began to laugh hysterically and curse like a bloody sailor in a pirate attack. He then took Mr. Neruda aside and said that I was an intimidating person and forced him to drink a lot because a girl shouldn't be able to drink like that.
He was almost falling down drunk. I wasn't really feeling anything. We then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening trying to sober him up by drinking water and eating and to get him to write his speech down and let someone proof it. Neither happened.
The speech wasn't all that bad. It didn't exactly focus on the groom and it rambled a lot, but it was light years away from the speech in The Wedding Singer so we were pleased.
And I frankly have to say that I loved that night. I loved being intimidating. I loved drinking a guy under the proverbial table. And I loved dancing with my honey of five years.
Thank you Jack!
This is a friend I don't much like and it was a wedding I didn't much want to attend. It actually fell on my fifth anniversary, which SUCKED!
When I arrived later than the wedding party (one Mr. Neruda was a member of) he informed me of the bottle of Jack. I felt that partaking of the Jack would make the whole evening so much better, something Mr. Neruda foresaw. He introduced me to the best man and had him take me to the car with the Jack in it.
Since the boy thought to bring a bottle of Jack I thought he was an experienced drinker. When we arrived at the car he asked for my cup to mix the drink in. I looked at him very confusedly and thought he was being a little sexist. I assured him that I had no cup and needed none. He then said that he would get me a can of coke to chase the drink down with. I again said no, that was weird, let's just hit it and go. He then gave me an odd look and said, "REALLY??!"
It was at that point that I thought, hmm. But didn't really care because I really wanted some booze to make the night less horrible. He gave me the bottle first and I took a generous swig. He then took a sip and began to cough, a lot. At that point I thought that he was probably a bit of a lite-weight drinker, but oh well. I had no idea he had been drinking before and needed to make a speech later that evening.
I took a few more swigs and he tried to match me drink for drink. We then returned to the hall. I had a laugh with Mr. Neruda and got in the food line. Very shortly afterwards he began to laugh hysterically and curse like a bloody sailor in a pirate attack. He then took Mr. Neruda aside and said that I was an intimidating person and forced him to drink a lot because a girl shouldn't be able to drink like that.
He was almost falling down drunk. I wasn't really feeling anything. We then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening trying to sober him up by drinking water and eating and to get him to write his speech down and let someone proof it. Neither happened.
The speech wasn't all that bad. It didn't exactly focus on the groom and it rambled a lot, but it was light years away from the speech in The Wedding Singer so we were pleased.
And I frankly have to say that I loved that night. I loved being intimidating. I loved drinking a guy under the proverbial table. And I loved dancing with my honey of five years.
Thank you Jack!
I flew through the air with the GREATEST of ease!
It was the most exhilarating thing I have done in a long time. I felt something very akin to fear as I climbed the steep, narrow, wobbly ladder to stand on a tiny, shiny platform with another person. And then I felt uncomfortable as I hung off the edge of that ledge with only a tiny woman keeping me from toppling over.
OK, I am in-love. Which is an excellent way to be after an anniversary vacation. However, I am not referring to my love for Mr. Neruda, I am referring to my new love for trapeze-ing! I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!! We are talking serious addiction.
I will not lie, there were a few moments that I really took a step back from the situation and questioned what the shit I was doing up there. But then I jumped off the ledge just like I was told to do, and it was thrilling. It was one of the best feelings I have ever had. I can't think of another way to say it, but it is true. I was actually annoyed when they kept telling me it was time to do my back flip and fall down. I just wanted to keep swinging. Even when my hands were screaming with the pain of fresh blisters, I just wanted to continue holding on and swinging.
We had a great group of people with us and the instructors were a wonderful combination of confident, friendly and joke-y. Our overall group did so well, that they taught us a second trick just for the fun of it and I am so thankful they did. Otherwise I would have never known the wonder of swinging upside-down while doing the splits. The group and leaders were a huge part in making the experience so wonderful.
I have truly not come across many experiences that have held up to expectations. However, this flew past my expectations, and let me say that I had two months to build up those expectations. I was not let down once. In fact, I was surprised by how much I loved everything about it.
If I go missing for a few weeks and you need me, just check the circus because I will hopefully be there! This is probably the best random adventure I have taken yet.
For those who care, below are three videos of my flight.
OK, I am in-love. Which is an excellent way to be after an anniversary vacation. However, I am not referring to my love for Mr. Neruda, I am referring to my new love for trapeze-ing! I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!! We are talking serious addiction.
I will not lie, there were a few moments that I really took a step back from the situation and questioned what the shit I was doing up there. But then I jumped off the ledge just like I was told to do, and it was thrilling. It was one of the best feelings I have ever had. I can't think of another way to say it, but it is true. I was actually annoyed when they kept telling me it was time to do my back flip and fall down. I just wanted to keep swinging. Even when my hands were screaming with the pain of fresh blisters, I just wanted to continue holding on and swinging.
We had a great group of people with us and the instructors were a wonderful combination of confident, friendly and joke-y. Our overall group did so well, that they taught us a second trick just for the fun of it and I am so thankful they did. Otherwise I would have never known the wonder of swinging upside-down while doing the splits. The group and leaders were a huge part in making the experience so wonderful.
I have truly not come across many experiences that have held up to expectations. However, this flew past my expectations, and let me say that I had two months to build up those expectations. I was not let down once. In fact, I was surprised by how much I loved everything about it.
If I go missing for a few weeks and you need me, just check the circus because I will hopefully be there! This is probably the best random adventure I have taken yet.
For those who care, below are three videos of my flight.
Terrifying and Exhilarating
It is both terrifying and exhilerating that Katheryn Bigelow won for best director tonight.
It is terrifying that a woman has still not accomplished some things in 2010. How appalling that there are so many things that women, blacks, hispanics, homosexuals, etc. have not done or been kept from doing.
However, it is so exhilerating that there are still untried waters for women. I could accomplish something and be know as the first woman to do it. I could be like Amelia Earhart, Victoria Woodhull, or Sally Ride. Sometimes I get depressed and bogged down with the fact that there is no more adventure in the world.
When I was a child, my dream was to be the first pirate to sail across the Bermuda Triangle. When I found out that was done everyday, I decided to be the first pirate to sail up the Mississippe River. It was quite the blow when I discovered that was done all the time by casino boats. It became difficult to dream of new things in the 2oth century. So much has been done, which is amazing and wonderful. So wonderful that women and minorities have so many rights.
However, there is still an exhileration in knowing that there are things that women have never done. We need a president, we need to be able to go into combat and submarines, etc. The world is full of firsts and we can all be involved.
It is terrifying that a woman has still not accomplished some things in 2010. How appalling that there are so many things that women, blacks, hispanics, homosexuals, etc. have not done or been kept from doing.
However, it is so exhilerating that there are still untried waters for women. I could accomplish something and be know as the first woman to do it. I could be like Amelia Earhart, Victoria Woodhull, or Sally Ride. Sometimes I get depressed and bogged down with the fact that there is no more adventure in the world.
When I was a child, my dream was to be the first pirate to sail across the Bermuda Triangle. When I found out that was done everyday, I decided to be the first pirate to sail up the Mississippe River. It was quite the blow when I discovered that was done all the time by casino boats. It became difficult to dream of new things in the 2oth century. So much has been done, which is amazing and wonderful. So wonderful that women and minorities have so many rights.
However, there is still an exhileration in knowing that there are things that women have never done. We need a president, we need to be able to go into combat and submarines, etc. The world is full of firsts and we can all be involved.
Fear
I feel that it is important to have fear in ones life.
In order for me to stay young at heart I feel the need to do things that require me to screw my courage to the sticking place. I am afraid that if all I do are a series of things that take place within my complacent sphere of life I will shrivel up and become a big, dull dud. I need to pop out of my little adult bubble and do things that require me to breathe deeply, second guess my actions, and possibly cause my palms to sweat.
I love it. I loved the fear and anticipation I felt on the starting line of my marathon. I loved the nervous feeling of being lost and unprepared for my first graduate class. And now for my next harrowing feat:
I shall take trapeze lessons next weekend! I am so excited. I know that I will be terrified when I am up there, looking down. But I think I will be thrilled with the speed of whooshing back and forth. The awe at being plucked out of the air by a guy flying by on another trapeze. I absolutely can't wait. I hope to have the moment captured on film to share with whomever is willing to look.
In order for me to stay young at heart I feel the need to do things that require me to screw my courage to the sticking place. I am afraid that if all I do are a series of things that take place within my complacent sphere of life I will shrivel up and become a big, dull dud. I need to pop out of my little adult bubble and do things that require me to breathe deeply, second guess my actions, and possibly cause my palms to sweat.
I love it. I loved the fear and anticipation I felt on the starting line of my marathon. I loved the nervous feeling of being lost and unprepared for my first graduate class. And now for my next harrowing feat:
I shall take trapeze lessons next weekend! I am so excited. I know that I will be terrified when I am up there, looking down. But I think I will be thrilled with the speed of whooshing back and forth. The awe at being plucked out of the air by a guy flying by on another trapeze. I absolutely can't wait. I hope to have the moment captured on film to share with whomever is willing to look.
Drowning . . . every bit as bad as advertised
So, my family and I recently took a little trip down a river. The river roared with rapids and white water galore. It has always been a dream of mine to white water raft, so I was incredibly excited about it. And I will say, it was fun. Really fun. Pretty much the entire trip was a blast, except for the quasi-drowning part. I would recommend that anyone who takes a trip down the river do so in a raft, not sans raft like my father, husband and I did.
The lower picture is of Mr. Neruda being thrown from the boat. The top picture is of me experiencing drowning first hand. I have to say, it would not be a pleasurable way to die. At all. Really, it sucked. The best part was when I finally surfaced in less rough water, finding myself right by the exact "wall" the guide said to not be anywhere near if you wind up in the water. It was a little something called a swimmers' trap.
There were frankly a whole lot of "Oh Craps!" spoken on that trip. But man was it a hoot.
The lower picture is of Mr. Neruda being thrown from the boat. The top picture is of me experiencing drowning first hand. I have to say, it would not be a pleasurable way to die. At all. Really, it sucked. The best part was when I finally surfaced in less rough water, finding myself right by the exact "wall" the guide said to not be anywhere near if you wind up in the water. It was a little something called a swimmers' trap.
There were frankly a whole lot of "Oh Craps!" spoken on that trip. But man was it a hoot.
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