Have you ever made up words or phrases? Of course you have. If not, perhaps you skipped childhood.
I started making a list of all of the words and phrases that have been invented by all of us over the past several months. Below is a small preview of that list, created not just by myself, Greg and Keith, but also many of you: our friends and family. I'm not going to list "credits" on many of these, simply because I'm not sure if you want the credit. The last thing I want to do is out someone who wishes to remain anonymous. But if you see one of yours listed below and you're the proud author, feel free to claim your place in this edition of "Webster's Rejects" by posting a comment below.
Black Bean Salute
More than just a mere emission of digestive gases, the Black Bean Salute pays homage to both foods and activities that reward the soul. But yeah, it's a fart.
Dirt Squirrel
A mustache styled like that of Wyatt Earp, a guy who lifts weights on the beach, or the Pringles guy.
Dumpling
One who is short and dumpy. Cited in Wiktionary - something or someone shaped roundish, like a dumpling, especially a fatso.
Earn the Beard
Term used to convey living your life to the fullest.
Fart Stallion
An especially loud motorcycle, probably a cruiser. A Fart Stallion must be driven by someone who is proud and unapologetic of the loud noise their bike is making, otherwise it's just a motorcycle.
Fecal Transplant
While still open to debate, this has been previously debunked by Keith as a false procedure whereby doctors would transplant feces from one like species to another for the purpose of providing nutrients to the deficient recipient.
Rapey
Term used to describe anything or anyone that looks potentially dangerous or capable of holding you captive. Examples include box vans, monster trucks, and guys with Dirt Squirrels.
Super-fun-bus-times
Anything related to having fun in a VW bus. Examples include camping with other VW buses, music festivals, road trips, and synchronized swerving.
Trail Tooter
Any off-road vehicle, such as a 4-wheeler, that can be heard by others for miles around.
Veggie Viking
Term used specifically to refer to Keith Earickson, but can be used to describe any Norseman who rarely or never eats meat, yet still consumes large, hearty quantities of beans, cheeses, and breads.
Turd Token
Junk food. Examples include Combos, Hot Pockets, and hot dogs from the gas station. The Chinese buffet is also a turd token.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Of Blogs and Dogs
I know that I've allowed quite an inexcusable lapse since I last posted an update.
Shhh, I know.
All I can say is this: my mind has been otherwise distracted by impending doom stemming from other people's drama. Which, somehow, has now become my own.
I'll try to make this quick.
When we decided Flagstaff would be our home for the summer, we (read: ME) foolishly believed it would be nothing short of a mythical and majestic journey, on which all of life's roadblocks would finally be detoured to a land of our favor. I thought we were embarking on an all frills-no spills, highly enjoyable and extended camping trip where new friends would be wise and welcoming; their words and actions always kind and compassionate. A place where any conflict could be resolved with a warm hug and a cold beer.
Of course, I hear you shaking your head and telling me how this is no one's fault but my own, that, at nearly 34 years old, I should not still hold onto such naive impressions of people in this world. It's like someone implanted a children's book in my head to tell me how people are supposed to be, what's right and wrong, and I just never downloaded any updates, so I still think that way. Or, I did download the updates, but I never performed the requisite shut down and reboot that’s required of any and all periodic software updates!
However it happens, it is with a heavy heart that I regretfully report that, I have in fact, found more assholes who are affecting my mojo. I have confirmed their activity and tested their fibers. They have been identified as the highly potent and infectious Assholis Camouflagutaunt (irregular), known also by their common name, Succubus (plural Succubi
To be honest, I already had a feeling that these little succubi sweethearts I'm referring to weren't my biggest fans. I've been dealing with this, to some degree, nearly my entire life. Girls not liking me. Boo-hoo & rat-farts, you say. Yes yes. So you would think by now I'd have a better handle on, well, how to handle it. But in all my years of living I've never figured out how to grow a thicker skin when idiots are harshing my mellow. It cuts me to the bone, and often leaves me feeling sure that I am broken.
Have you ever seen the movie 9 to 5? Dolly Parton's character, Doralee, says, "I'm as nice as I know how to be to everyone in that office. Everyone there treats ME like a....BASTARD at a family reunion!"
Well, it certainly isn't everyone in the office, but that's basically how I feel. To be fair, most people here "get it" and do their job with a smile, getting along with everyone and doing their best to deal with the occasional unhappy camper so they can do what they really want to do: love life and ditch the strife.
I'm very rhyme-y today!
I used to work for a rental car company. One of their founding principles was "Under Promise, then Over Deliver". Lame? Oh certainly. But it worked like a charm.
So, for my next experiment in social diffusion, I've decided: I've got to start under-promising myself that people (myself included) are capable of nothing above being selfish and sophomoric 99% of the time. I figure that setting the bar so low will surely set me up for a heaping helping of being pleasantly surprised when someone isn't an asshole. I'm not talking about everyone I come into contact with. Just a treasured few. And what's that saying? It only takes a few bad apples to spoil the whole bunch and give you diarrhea? Something like that.
Now that I've promised to start under-promising myself, I'm now trying to train my brain to execute. I'm rebooting. The program is in the system.
You might wonder why I’m analyzing all of this, and basically, why I give a toot. I don’t know what to tell you other than, I just do. I’m extremely nice, albeit very sassy I'll admit, and initially I give most peoples the benefit of the doubt. It usually works out and I go on to have some level of a rewarding friendship or mutual respect with another human female. But other times, I seem to just piss other chicks off effortlessly. And try as I try, they just aren’t going to like me. I would love to be able to profile them all as under-educated, over-confident and yet completely insecure, but sometimes they’re quite intelligent and incredibly secure with their unfortunate suckiness. One trait I can confirm to the profile is their unrelenting need to cause drama only so they can appear to solve said drama. This cycle only permits them to constantly HATE in order that they might then feel LOVE and SYMPATHY from others. This cycle, when I see it churning, I try to keep my hands and feet inside the cart at all times. Have you ever known this person? Their sky is always falling. Not the sky, their sky. I mean, it is the same sky you use for your kites and allotments of sunshine and other weather, but it belongs to them. You’ll have thank them later for sharing with you, because you’re going to be pretty occupied keeping them fully complimented when they need reassurance, and taking their side in every argument they start. Oh, you don’t want to take sides? But…they’re right! It doesn’t really involve you? Well then hows about we gets you involved, traitor. And so it begins...with a hiss.
I’ll wrap this portion up as I realize it’s probably not fun to read. And yes, I do see the irony in that I’m complaining about people who always complain. I’m not seeking your reassurance, I just need to document my research and subsequent experimental findings, because I am a Drama Scientist. I'm doing it for Science.
Many incidents of cattiness and Facebooking and public outbursts have led to what recently took place. I was really upset the other night. As in, I was crying so hard I felt like I had to keep crying or I would stop breathing. I had overheard some new "friends" talking about me, and it was pretty obvious that for some reason they hated my guts. I immediately recognized the two voices as they hissed, "Does she have to tell every person from Oklahoma that SHE'S from Oklahoma too? Who really gives a f*ck, b*tch. "Really, and like we give a sh*t what she did this weekend." So, nothing terribly bad, and all very classy, but still mean and all I could think at the time was, Why?
I knew they didn’t like me, for whatever reason, but I always put on a smile and made a point to never involve myself in any of the office gossip. In the past at other jobs, I’ve admittedly gotten involved, and it didn’t work out so well for me. But this time I kept my distance, offering only a neutral but genuinely sympathetic shoulder if confronted directly.
But now, here it was. After all of my effort to be a grown-up, I overheard jealousy and self-loathing manifest itself into childish insults hurled behind my back. Well, it hurt. It’s always hurt. I had given them no reason to hate me, other than I refused to play catch with their big ball of drama. Yet there they were, hating me. More important would be to ask why I care. Do I respect them? Absolutely not. Then why do you care what they think? I guess I don’t, it just sucks. Greg had some good advice. He said, "You're a better thinker than you are a fighter. So don't fight them." He's right. Some people just suck. You can't let it steal your life.
I’m a little embarrassed to even be writing about this. I haven’t written anything on here in 20 days and this is how I finally breach re-entry. Oh well, forgive me or don’t. I just needed to get it off of my chest.
Moving on!
Oh how I wish I could keep each of you in a cozy little shoebox! Or in my pockets, so you would always be with me to talk to and see the things I’m seeing. You’d still be you, but tiny, see, so you wouldn’t take up a lot of room or be too heavy to transport.
As usual, we’ve all been earning it on a daily basis. I feel like I've been sleeping for the past thirty years. I can’t speak for Keith and Greg, but I'm finding our alternative lifestyle increasingly rewarding. My beetle Gypsy is officially a runner now, so I’ve been having a great time learning how to drive a standard. It’s so fun, and that’s all I got to say about that.
This past weekend we all went to the Blueridge Resevoir. We left Friday around 6 pm and drove about 2 hours to get there, armed with a busload of us and our stuff: kayak, canoe, dog 1 and dog 2, three coolers, one tent, three sleeping bags, three mp3 players, two cameras, two journals and zero worries. Well…that was the plan, but I couldn’t help worrying.
The river was dark and foggy when we arrived, and we had to boat to where we were camping, which, was also dark and foggy. I guess I’ve seen too many spooky-creature-in-the-river-gonna-eatcha movies, as I was in the front of the canoe with Casper, then Willie, with Keith in the rear. Like I said, dark and foggy, so turning on my headlamp only helped me see the blinding fog more clearly. Luckily, Keith had some flashlight that could see the future, which he shot with ease far into the rocks and woods on both sides of the canyon.
I was scared to death that the boat was going to flip us, our dogs, and all of our stuff into the cold river at night. But Keith and Greg, as if guided by some bearded, woodland angel, found our home for the next two nights: a giant cave overlooking the canyon. It even had a rocked fire-pit built by previous tenants and was stocked with a good amount of firewood to get us started. We secured both boats, unpacked, and hauled everything up to the Cave.
Greg and I set up our tent and chairs near the fire-pit while Keith set up his quarters on a lofted slab of rock that ran from one end of the cave opening to the other. Then we made a fire and talked for some time before heading off to bed. The next morning, I could hardly believe how breathtaking the view was from our location. Keith immediately took off in the kayak for some exploring while Greg slept in (it was much needed after a very long week curing ailing VWs). I took some alone time to write in my journal, read, and lie in the sun.
Shhh, I know.
All I can say is this: my mind has been otherwise distracted by impending doom stemming from other people's drama. Which, somehow, has now become my own.
When we decided Flagstaff would be our home for the summer, we (read: ME) foolishly believed it would be nothing short of a mythical and majestic journey, on which all of life's roadblocks would finally be detoured to a land of our favor. I thought we were embarking on an all frills-no spills, highly enjoyable and extended camping trip where new friends would be wise and welcoming; their words and actions always kind and compassionate. A place where any conflict could be resolved with a warm hug and a cold beer.
Of course, I hear you shaking your head and telling me how this is no one's fault but my own, that, at nearly 34 years old, I should not still hold onto such naive impressions of people in this world. It's like someone implanted a children's book in my head to tell me how people are supposed to be, what's right and wrong, and I just never downloaded any updates, so I still think that way. Or, I did download the updates, but I never performed the requisite shut down and reboot that’s required of any and all periodic software updates!
However it happens, it is with a heavy heart that I regretfully report that, I have in fact, found more assholes who are affecting my mojo. I have confirmed their activity and tested their fibers. They have been identified as the highly potent and infectious Assholis Camouflagutaunt (irregular), known also by their common name, Succubus
To be honest, I already had a feeling that these little succubi sweethearts I'm referring to weren't my biggest fans. I've been dealing with this, to some degree, nearly my entire life. Girls not liking me. Boo-hoo & rat-farts, you say. Yes yes. So you would think by now I'd have a better handle on, well, how to handle it. But in all my years of living I've never figured out how to grow a thicker skin when idiots are harshing my mellow. It cuts me to the bone, and often leaves me feeling sure that I am broken.
Have you ever seen the movie 9 to 5? Dolly Parton's character, Doralee, says, "I'm as nice as I know how to be to everyone in that office. Everyone there treats ME like a....BASTARD at a family reunion!"
Well, it certainly isn't everyone in the office, but that's basically how I feel. To be fair, most people here "get it" and do their job with a smile, getting along with everyone and doing their best to deal with the occasional unhappy camper so they can do what they really want to do: love life and ditch the strife.
I'm very rhyme-y today!
I used to work for a rental car company. One of their founding principles was "Under Promise, then Over Deliver". Lame? Oh certainly. But it worked like a charm.
So, for my next experiment in social diffusion, I've decided: I've got to start under-promising myself that people (myself included) are capable of nothing above being selfish and sophomoric 99% of the time. I figure that setting the bar so low will surely set me up for a heaping helping of being pleasantly surprised when someone isn't an asshole. I'm not talking about everyone I come into contact with. Just a treasured few. And what's that saying? It only takes a few bad apples to spoil the whole bunch and give you diarrhea? Something like that.
Now that I've promised to start under-promising myself, I'm now trying to train my brain to execute. I'm rebooting. The program is in the system.
You might wonder why I’m analyzing all of this, and basically, why I give a toot. I don’t know what to tell you other than, I just do. I’m extremely nice, albeit very sassy I'll admit, and initially I give most peoples the benefit of the doubt. It usually works out and I go on to have some level of a rewarding friendship or mutual respect with another human female. But other times, I seem to just piss other chicks off effortlessly. And try as I try, they just aren’t going to like me. I would love to be able to profile them all as under-educated, over-confident and yet completely insecure, but sometimes they’re quite intelligent and incredibly secure with their unfortunate suckiness. One trait I can confirm to the profile is their unrelenting need to cause drama only so they can appear to solve said drama. This cycle only permits them to constantly HATE in order that they might then feel LOVE and SYMPATHY from others. This cycle, when I see it churning, I try to keep my hands and feet inside the cart at all times. Have you ever known this person? Their sky is always falling. Not the sky, their sky. I mean, it is the same sky you use for your kites and allotments of sunshine and other weather, but it belongs to them. You’ll have thank them later for sharing with you, because you’re going to be pretty occupied keeping them fully complimented when they need reassurance, and taking their side in every argument they start. Oh, you don’t want to take sides? But…they’re right! It doesn’t really involve you? Well then hows about we gets you involved, traitor. And so it begins...with a hiss.
I’ll wrap this portion up as I realize it’s probably not fun to read. And yes, I do see the irony in that I’m complaining about people who always complain. I’m not seeking your reassurance, I just need to document my research and subsequent experimental findings, because I am a Drama Scientist. I'm doing it for Science.
Many incidents of cattiness and Facebooking and public outbursts have led to what recently took place. I was really upset the other night. As in, I was crying so hard I felt like I had to keep crying or I would stop breathing. I had overheard some new "friends" talking about me, and it was pretty obvious that for some reason they hated my guts. I immediately recognized the two voices as they hissed, "Does she have to tell every person from Oklahoma that SHE'S from Oklahoma too? Who really gives a f*ck, b*tch. "Really, and like we give a sh*t what she did this weekend." So, nothing terribly bad, and all very classy, but still mean and all I could think at the time was, Why?
I knew they didn’t like me, for whatever reason, but I always put on a smile and made a point to never involve myself in any of the office gossip. In the past at other jobs, I’ve admittedly gotten involved, and it didn’t work out so well for me. But this time I kept my distance, offering only a neutral but genuinely sympathetic shoulder if confronted directly.
But now, here it was. After all of my effort to be a grown-up, I overheard jealousy and self-loathing manifest itself into childish insults hurled behind my back. Well, it hurt. It’s always hurt. I had given them no reason to hate me, other than I refused to play catch with their big ball of drama. Yet there they were, hating me. More important would be to ask why I care. Do I respect them? Absolutely not. Then why do you care what they think? I guess I don’t, it just sucks. Greg had some good advice. He said, "You're a better thinker than you are a fighter. So don't fight them." He's right. Some people just suck. You can't let it steal your life.
I’m a little embarrassed to even be writing about this. I haven’t written anything on here in 20 days and this is how I finally breach re-entry. Oh well, forgive me or don’t. I just needed to get it off of my chest.
Moving on!
Oh how I wish I could keep each of you in a cozy little shoebox! Or in my pockets, so you would always be with me to talk to and see the things I’m seeing. You’d still be you, but tiny, see, so you wouldn’t take up a lot of room or be too heavy to transport.
As usual, we’ve all been earning it on a daily basis. I feel like I've been sleeping for the past thirty years. I can’t speak for Keith and Greg, but I'm finding our alternative lifestyle increasingly rewarding. My beetle Gypsy is officially a runner now, so I’ve been having a great time learning how to drive a standard. It’s so fun, and that’s all I got to say about that.
This past weekend we all went to the Blueridge Resevoir. We left Friday around 6 pm and drove about 2 hours to get there, armed with a busload of us and our stuff: kayak, canoe, dog 1 and dog 2, three coolers, one tent, three sleeping bags, three mp3 players, two cameras, two journals and zero worries. Well…that was the plan, but I couldn’t help worrying.
The river was dark and foggy when we arrived, and we had to boat to where we were camping, which, was also dark and foggy. I guess I’ve seen too many spooky-creature-in-the-river-gonna-eatcha movies, as I was in the front of the canoe with Casper, then Willie, with Keith in the rear. Like I said, dark and foggy, so turning on my headlamp only helped me see the blinding fog more clearly. Luckily, Keith had some flashlight that could see the future, which he shot with ease far into the rocks and woods on both sides of the canyon.
I was scared to death that the boat was going to flip us, our dogs, and all of our stuff into the cold river at night. But Keith and Greg, as if guided by some bearded, woodland angel, found our home for the next two nights: a giant cave overlooking the canyon. It even had a rocked fire-pit built by previous tenants and was stocked with a good amount of firewood to get us started. We secured both boats, unpacked, and hauled everything up to the Cave.
Greg and I set up our tent and chairs near the fire-pit while Keith set up his quarters on a lofted slab of rock that ran from one end of the cave opening to the other. Then we made a fire and talked for some time before heading off to bed. The next morning, I could hardly believe how breathtaking the view was from our location. Keith immediately took off in the kayak for some exploring while Greg slept in (it was much needed after a very long week curing ailing VWs). I took some alone time to write in my journal, read, and lie in the sun.
Here's where Keith lived.
And we made improvements!
I present to you: The driftwood coat tree.
Sun bathing with Casper and Greg.
Maybe we should just move here.
In other good news updates...
The Bus Stop owner and our new pal Mickey finally hired himself!
Since the time when we got here back in May, extended long days have become the norm for him. He has been working his day job as an electrician at the local University (NAU), and then coming to the shop to work late into the evenings. He's often joined by his three little girls and his wife, if she isn't working. I'm sure it's been a tremendous physical and mental sacrifice for all of them, in addition to the obvious financial setback that comes from starting your own business. I have seen the ups and the downs that Greg has had, elations and frustrations in tandem, every time an engine roars or a bolt breaks in half. Not to mention his physical exhaustion after turning wrenches full time, week after week now. I can only imagine it's been even harder on Mickey.
But as of this past Friday, Mickey will now be at the shop full-time! It's so truly exciting to see someone living their own dream instead of chasing someone else's.
I wanted to make them some congratulations cookies and a homemade card, and take it to the shop to surprise them both on this huge step for The Bus Stop! So I got out my colored pencils and blank cards, and set out to draw a simple sketch of a cartoon Greg and a cartoon Mickey standing in front of a cartoon bus. Then I was going to write a note on the inside and be done with it. Well, that would've been fine except that this cute little green oven in Edwina takes at least 4 times as long to cook as a normal oven from this century would. So, I kept adding to the picture. I added some snow-capped mountains, a little bus driving away on a road over the mountains, and some grass and trees and flowers. And then I colored and shaded all of it. And then on the inside I drew a big fat crazy "CONGRATS!". Then I drew a cliff, more trees and grass, and wrote a little note for them. It was quite the masterpiece once I was finally done with the cookies. I had just finished scanning it into immortality with the Dell AIO912 when I noticed "it".
Here's the front.
And here's the inside.
Do you see it?
(This is your daily intelligence test.)
Anyway, if you didn't notice it, I suppose ignorance is bliss and I hope that you enjoyed the pretty pictures. If you did notice it, I hope my ignorance made you smile.
I worked really hard on that card!
:)
Have a great week!
Berls
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Boobs of Steel
A friend of mine recently revealed to me that she is, in fact, a total badass. Not in a black-belt or lunch-money-stealing sort of way. Just in a way that if something is on her mind, she’s going to get to the bottom of it. It’s just hilariously heartwarming to me, so I’ll try to explain: she’s this sweet, tiny-voiced, soft-spoken, highly-intelligent person with a great job and a great guy, but you better not rock her boat. Your subtle comments and actions are not subtle at all. So be warned!
I’m fairly certain that reading in between the lines is a second language to her, or a passionate hobby, or both. But women, by admission or not, are all like that. I know I’m guilty too. I try to act like little things don’t bother me. Comments, looks, “vibes”, whatever does it all mean?? Well, I don’t know. But I'll give it my best guess based on assumption and analysis and polling my friends, and then I’ll get back to you.
Is any of this making any sense? WE ARE WOMEN. WE ARE PRINCESSES BUILDING OUR CASTLES AND IF YOU STEAL OUR BRICKS, GOD HELP YOU.
Back to my friend: of all my over-analytical sistren, she is the true master. The silent, sweet swan wielding talons of destruction for anyone who threatens her nest!
So listen up guys and other gals who aren’t pals, we’ll do our best to pick our battles carefully and “let it roll off our backs”….but we are not ducks! We are chicks. Which means we are cute, and we analyze. C'apish?
I do love ya babe. You have Boobs of Steel.
I’m fairly certain that reading in between the lines is a second language to her, or a passionate hobby, or both. But women, by admission or not, are all like that. I know I’m guilty too. I try to act like little things don’t bother me. Comments, looks, “vibes”, whatever does it all mean?? Well, I don’t know. But I'll give it my best guess based on assumption and analysis and polling my friends, and then I’ll get back to you.
Is any of this making any sense? WE ARE WOMEN. WE ARE PRINCESSES BUILDING OUR CASTLES AND IF YOU STEAL OUR BRICKS, GOD HELP YOU.
Back to my friend: of all my over-analytical sistren, she is the true master. The silent, sweet swan wielding talons of destruction for anyone who threatens her nest!
So listen up guys and other gals who aren’t pals, we’ll do our best to pick our battles carefully and “let it roll off our backs”….but we are not ducks! We are chicks. Which means we are cute, and we analyze. C'apish?
I do love ya babe. You have Boobs of Steel.
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