To Camp or Not to Camp...

My sisters and I have begun an annual summer tradition we call 'Sister's Weekend'. They come to Colorado and we do something fun and different for a few days.

The first year we went to the JazzAspen Music Festival, where it rained sideways and we drank our soggy sorrows away while watching an amazing performance by Grace Potter.

The second year we went to Steamboat Springs to tube on the Yampa and soak in the hot springs. We laughed. We drank. We made fun of each other.

This year, we went to the Telluride Bluegrass Music Festival, and the brothers-in-law (BroILs) came along.

And we camped.

For those that don't know me - I don't camp. Staying in a 3 star hotel is 'roughing it'. So this was completely outside of my comfort zone. But I was game to give it a shot. How bad could it be?

The answer is: Not Bad. As long as you didn't have to go to the bathroom.

I've been in a Porta Potty before and lived to tell the tale (though I almost died in one after I shit my pants - that's a funny story, remind me to tell you later).

But I will NEVER be the same after what I experienced at the camp ground. Oh. My. Urf.

Even the BroILs were grossed out a few times. I realize people have to shit, but why do I have to go in to a dark box that's been baking in the wicked hot sun all day after a complete stranger has just unleashed the demons of hell?!?! Absolutely not ok.

And the worst part is that, during the day, it's light enough in the Stank Box to see things one should never have to see. Never, ever, ever, ever, EVER!

In the future, if there is ever a need to camp again, I will be 'glamping' in an upscale RV.

At least the music was great and the scenery was beautiful.

p.s. Dude Wipes

We the People...

Are screwed. 

Donald Drumpf, Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders.  

Come November, one of these 5 will be the new leader of the Free World. Sweet baby Jesus...

What gets me is there are still people who think that whatever their candidate is campaigning for/about actually matters. I've said it before and I'll say it again - their agenda doesn't matter. Once they get to the White House, they become a pawn in Congress' centuries-long chess game. They just happen to have the title of Executive Pawn. Oh, you fancy. 

Yes, the President has the Veto - an extremely powerful tool, among others. But unless Congress is proposing mass genocide, a new President will not rock the boat too much because they're already laying the groundwork for re-election in 2020. 

Except for Donald Drumpf. That oxygen thief will do anything - he truly doesn't give a fuck. 

We the People are SCREWED. 

When Mitt Romney was running in 2012, I semi-jokingly said that if he won, I was moving to Mexico. Now that Drumpf is the Republican front-runner, I hear that Canada is offering to help any Americans who want to move North. If the Canadian dollar can make a come back by November, I might actually consider it. 

The moral of the story is this - EVERYONE in Washington is bought. Sure, we can choose to believe that our votes matter. We can choose to believe that it matters whether we're Republican, Democrat, Independent, Conservative, Liberal, yadda, yadda, yadda. At the end of the day, it's The Money that decides our fate. 

And that is why this skeptical, realistic American will likely opt to go with the opposite of the old white dudes who have brought us to this point. Because I'm not sure it can get any worse. 

 

Lube - It's Quickly Climbing the Charts

'Moist' is definitely still my least favorite word. Ever. 

As it turns out, 'lube' has quickly surpassed 'sleeve' for the Number Two spot. 

The Miseducation of My Mom

In the eyes of a child, Mothers are innocent, omniscient, and angelic(ish). When the child becomes an adult, those views change slightly as their relationship with her evolves into one of friendship. As with every friendship, there are bound to be uncomfortable conversations from time to time. And by 'uncomfortable' I mean 'horrifyingly embarrassing'...


When I was in college, my parents lived in Europe for several years. When my Dad wasn't working, they would travel to explore every nook and cranny they could find. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and they weren't going to waste it! Because of the 7 hour time difference, they would usually call us every two weeks to say hi and see how we were (though we all knew they also wanted to make sure the house was still standing and that no one was in jail). Since they were traveling, they would often call from their cell phone - a GSM. Every time they called, she told us where they were and that they were calling from the GSM (this was the 90s when cell phones were still a novelty). But she didn't say the letters G.S.M. She said 'Jizzm'. As in Jizz. With an M. Thankfully, one of my sisters eventually had the balls (pardon the pun) to tell her what jizz is.

Soon after that, they gave us a trip to Egypt for Christmas. Sound decadent? It was. We started in Cairo and toured the Sphinx and the Pyramids of Giza (even went inside the Second Great Pyramid), and then boarded a boat for a few days' cruise along the Nile. Our guide told us one of the greatest dangers for the villagers, who would come to the river bank for any number of daily tasks, was crocodiles. When we were talking about that later, my mom said "Can you imagine having to beat off crocodiles all the time?" After we regained our composure, we explained to her what "beating off" meant.

Another one happened at a most unexpected time. One of the party favors at my sister's bridal shower was a small bottle of champagne with a bow tied around it. The bow was made from a crinoline-type material which got slightly crushed in transit. As we were setting up the tables, my mom was taking each bottle of champagne and re-working the smashed bows. When I asked what she was doing she very proudly said, "I'm just fluffing up the bows so they look nice. I guess you could say I'm the 'Head Fluffer'!" In a split-second that seemed to last a lifetime, I quickly assessed who else had heard what she said and if they were likely to know and/or be offended. I looked at her pointedly and asked quietly if she knew what a Fluffer was. By the look on her face, she had no idea. Thankfully, the only other person who had heard was my youngest cousin. When I asked her if she knew what it was, she laughed and said "Yes". At this point I wasn't sure which was more horrifying - that my barely-old-enough-to-drink cousin actually knew what it was, or that I had to explain it to my mom. There was no turning back so I said, "Mom, a Fluffer is someone on the set of a porn movie who keeps the actors 'ready'." Cue mortification. 

I'm exceedingly grateful the next one happened in the privacy of my parent's basement, where she and I were making boutonnieres for another wedding. I was responsible for wrapping the stems together in floral tape and then she would put the pin in the back. It would have been a very effective two-person assembly line had she not said, "We'll just double team them and get it done fast." She instantly knew the look on my face and asked what she had said wrong. As I deliberated about how to explain it to her, she told me I HAD to tell her so she wouldn't unknowingly/accidentally/embarrassingly use it in public. Realizing I had to do it quick like a band-aid, I shook my head and said, "It's when two guys have sex with one woman at the same time." There was a slight pause as I prayed for instantaneous death. We both turned bright red and started laughing hysterically, and I immediately went upstairs to get another drink. 

And finally, one rainy afternoon in Mexico we were playing cards and my sister asked her something. Mom replied, "T'aint a problem!" My sisters and I instantly started howling with laughter, which made my dad laugh uncontrollably, too. Since I was a few drinks in and sensed that neither of my sisters was going to cough it up, I explained it's the part of a man between the balls and the asshole. I laughed so hard I went in to the Ugly Cry. 

While my mom is still all the things she was to me as a child, it's been funny as hell to reverse roles and teach her a thing or two. Looking forward to the next one Mom! 

*** I have to give props to my dad who, having fathered three girls, has maintained his sense of humor and learned to laugh with us ***

Leave Your Livestock Alone

I love September. The cool morning breezes feel lighter and carry a faint scent that unstoppable change is on the way. 

It's also the time of year when everyone is heading back to school with backpacks full of crisp new notebooks, sharpened pencils, and Trapper Keepers (I wish!). And I am reminded that my 20th High School Reunion is just a few weeks away. 

Though I've never really been bothered by getting older, this realization hit me a bit more succinctly. Where did 20 years just go?!?! And then my Dad told me he recently had his 50th reunion. And I felt better, if only a little. 

While news of the reunion spread over social media, several friends from all over the country started discussing the possibility of attending. After deliberately not attending our 10 year reunion, my curiosity was piqued enough that I actually considered going this time. 

Until I imagined how the very first exchange would go: 

Me: Hey Chris (guy I was majorly obsessed with Senior year). How are you? Can you believe it's been 20 years?! Tell me what's happened to you over the last two decades.

Chris: Wow, where to start... After graduation, I went to Princeton for my undergrad and then to Harvard Medical School. As a Pediatrician, I joined Doctors Without Borders and traveled the world to help sick kids. While I was in Nigeria, I met an amazing woman who had just joined DWB and several years later we got married. We now have 3 amazing children - Michael, Robert, and little Emma. Michael is a musical prodigy and has performed in concert with Yo-Yo Ma, Itzhak Perlman, and John Legend. Robert is the world's youngest Presidential expert and has been on The Tonight Show, The Ellen DeGeneres Show, and is scheduled to sit down with Oprah next month. And little Emma was in a Baby Gap commercial! How about you? 

Me: (slight pause while I rejoin my lower jaw with the upper) I'm not married. I don't have kids - I have cats. I don't have a fancy job title or my dream job. I'm not at my ideal weight and would rather go out for dinner and drinks than go to the gym. So I'm going to finish this drink in my hand and go see if the bartender has anything available in a Big Gulp size. 

And that is why I will not be going to my 20th Reunion. To quote Minnie Driver from Grosse Pointe Blank, "Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone."

Fun With Mary and Jane

I'm relatively high strung and I have trouble sleeping. I'm sure this is shocking news to most of you. 

So now that marijuana is legal in Colorado, I've been curious to see if edibles would help me (I've never smoked weed - can't stand the smell). 

My mother also suffers from a few similar ailments so, when my parents came to visit a few weeks ago, I convinced them that we should check out a retail dispensary. I was pleasantly surprised that it didn't really take much convincing. 

On our way into the city one night, we stopped at the Evergreen Apothecary - one of the first retail dispensaries to open in Denver. And so began the adventure.  

Our Bud-tender (not even making that up) got us cookies, brownies, some gummy watermelon candies, and a candy bar. She patiently explained everything and convinced us we'd soon be sitting on the couch, watching tv, laughing our asses off. I think she might have already been stoned...

We went to dinner, ate way too much, and didn't get home until about 9:30. We agreed we were too tired to really delve into our tasty treats, but wanted to at least try something, so we all had a watermelon candy and then went to bed. 

Slept like a rock. One problem solved!  

The next evening, we decided to try the candy bar. After we each ate a square (which is supposed to contain approximately 10 mg), it took about 45 minutes before I started to feel anything. My mom felt nothing. My dad was in the garage, on a ladder, rearranging power tools, and said he felt fine. Overachiever. 

Needless to say, I did not enjoy the experience. I couldn't eat my dinner, and I had to go to bed to get rid of the swimmy feeling. I'm wicked bummed that I was the first one to tap out, because I really wanted to see my parents stoned (especially since they were ballsy enough to have beer with dinner!). 

At least now I know that I should stick with my gin and juice. 

Am I the Only One?

Sometimes I walk through the office, so preoccupied with my thoughts that I have to stop and think, "I have pants on, right?!"

I also often sit down to pee and after a few seconds I'll think, "I really hope I'm in the bathroom right now". 

Um..not good. Not good at all. 

Shine Up that 'Gine!

Who doesn't love going to the spa? After a few minutes in the steam room you wrap yourself in a luxuriously soft robe, sip on turmeric infused green tea while soft lights accent bubbling water features, and drink in the scent of eucalyptus and bergamot essential oils. You eagerly anticipate the immense relaxation you're sure to enjoy while the esthetician rejuvenates your face and neck with freshening cleansers, exfoliants, and moisturizers.

Now imagine a trip to the spa to get a facial...for your vagina. Technically, it's called a Vagacial. And apparently, it's sweeping the nation. 

To say that I'm horrified is an understatement. I can barely handle getting waxed, so death would be imminent if someone tried to give the little lady a Vagacial. 

Not only that, imagine the poor people who have to perform this service. Talk about drawing the short straw!

I think it's safe to say that I'll be triple checking the service I select when booking my next spa or wax appointment. 

Wanted: Cabana Boy

Must be able to fix cars, computers, and anything in the house that breaks. 

Must not be afraid of yard work. 

Must love animals. 

Must know how to make the perfect gin & tonic. 

Must insist on being the breadwinner. 

Must not judge when I binge watch Netflix occasionally. 

Must love rubbing my shoulders, neck, and feet. 

Must put the trash and recycling out every Wednesday morning. 

Must buy me sparkly things. 

Must be willing to relocate any animal that doesn't belong in the house. 

Must look awesome in a baseball cap or cowboy hat. 

Must be able to pay someone to handle any of the above if he is unwilling or unable. 



(a girl can dream, right?) 

Second Floor: Hardware, Children's Wear, Ladies Lingerie

Every day, millions of people across the globe step in to an elevator. If I had to guess, I'd say less than half know what to do after stepping in. The pressure of locating the correct button for the floor you want is overwhelming to most and it instantly creates an awkwardness that is felt by everyone. 

Don't get me wrong, I realize how unnerving it is to step in to an elevator with which you're unfamiliar. First you have to decide how you're going to react if the doors open and there are people already there (smile? grimace? completely ignore them?). Then you quickly profile to see who is the least offensive to stand next to for the duration of your ride. But you also have to factor in where the buttons are - and this is where it starts to get tricky. If they are only on one side of the door, and someone is already standing in front of them, you have to somehow gain access and then make your selection while everyone looks on. But then you also have to make a split second decision about where to stand after you select your floor. And most people screw this up. It's eerily similar to the concept of urinal/stall separation in that there are social protocols to be followed. 

For example, if someone is standing in the SE corner of the elevator, you should choose the SW or the NW corner, never the NE. The same side should only be chosen if all other corners are already taken. And if all corners are already taken, then remain in the middle until someone gets on after you. Only at that point should you move to the middle spot along an outside edge. And the process should continue in this logical fashion until the elevator is full. 

The second half to this equation is movement as people reach their destination. For years, I've tried to understand why people don't spread back out as the elevator empties. If there is a vacated corner, don't be afraid to move if you're now on a first name basis with your neighbor's dandruff. Trust me, you won't personally offend them by moving away because they're probably going to think you're creepy if you don't. 

Respect everyone's personal space. 

Speaking of respect, if I happen to be standing in front of the panel of buttons don't just stand there with the expectation that I am going to hit the button for the floor you need. I am not a mind reader nor your personal elevator attendant. I will only help old people or someone whose hands are full. Everyone else is on their own. 

A few other protocols to always follow in an elevator:

- DO NOT FART because either your fellow passengers will choke to death or the person who gets in as you leave will not only have to endure the stench but will have to suffer through the embarrassment that everyone else after that will think it was them. 

- Avoid using your phone. Most likely the call will be cut off anyway, and your fellow passengers don't want/need to hear both sides of your conversation. 

- Be a covert spectator.

- Only going to/coming from the 2nd or 3rd floor? Take the stairs. Seriously.