Taking the Plunge... then the bike... then the run

Well I did it! I said I would and I did. So that in an of itself is cause to celebrate. So in addition to the applause for my follow-through, I signed up for the San Rafael Sprint Triathlon. Below I have illustrated the process I went through to finally commit to this goal. You may have to use your imagination a little bit and for that I apologize. I know we're not used to having to employ our own creative devices to stories that could easily be turned into a big screen, special-effected, blockbuster. Thus, I ask you to bear with me.

Or cat with me...

For I am the cat in this scenario.

That's a pretty decent representation of the face I made. Slightly freaked out though pleased with myself.

Then as it inevitably does, reality started to set in this week. I run. I mean, I run for exercise and have done some small races and one big race (Wasatch Back Relay) and generally feel more than comfortable facing a 5k as part of the Sprint Triathlon. In fact, I even glanced at the Olympic Triathlon simply because I run a 5K every time I go to the gym. I wanted to push myself and a 10K seemed more to the task. Then, of course, there's the biking which I also feel very equipped to handle. I've biked significant distances and don't feel the biking, with a little greasing of the old joints and a new road bike vs. my heavy mountain bike, would be a big barrier for me. I could easily truck out 15 miles. Again, considering the Olympic distance of 30 miles, I thought hmmmm - I bet I could do that - even with the promise of a 10k promptly following - I bet I could do it. Perhaps I should push myself and just plunge into the full out Olympic Triathlon! I HAVE SUPER POWERS! I COMMAND THE UNIVERSE! BOW TO ME ELEMENTS!!!

It's the swim, folks. It's the swim that crushed my delusions of grandure. Naturally I took swimming lessons for several years, but now as I look back... they were more like "not drowning" lessons and I'm happy to say, I've not ever drowned! I think that flawless record can speak for itself. Well... I THOUGHT it could speak for itself. The sprint distance is a 1/2 mile swim. As I measure distances purely in football fields and track laps, I thought, "Oh yeah, I could swim two laps around a track. Hell! I could swim freaking 4 track laps!" So this week my roomie, an avid Triathlon participant, introduced me to swimming... as in not the opposite of drowning. 

The below illustration indicates my experience... after swimming.... oh... 200 yards (like... barely 1 lap... with vast breaks in between... in a calm, serene pool).

THUS, I exercised my common sense and signed up for the Sprint Triathlon after being significantly humbled by my swimming experience. I will tell you, I look like a legitimate swimmer with my TYR swim suit, goggles, and cap. Next on the list, fins. For the love of all that is holy FINS! I went again last night... and lets just say... its a good thing the Triathlon is in July. There are 3 lanes at my gym swim hole and naturally, there was some punk-ass hot shot swimmer next to me lapping me like he was Michael Phelps swimming for his 10th gold medal! Loser. But I will do it! So help me, the swim will not  hold me back from being a Sprint Triathlete come July! I am also very happy that this Triathlon is in my hometown because you best believe I will be going down there in June and practicing in THEE official lake. It's all about connections.

It Ain’t No Stuart Little

Mouse! In the house! More like mice… but that didn’t rhyme so I had to stick with the singular there. Never the less; we have mice!  In our HOUSE! Pretty gross, right? Only gross because they are diseased ridden little varmints that scurry and scratch and dart and poop. Other than that, I find them kinda cute. What? How many movies/TV shows/literary characters can you name off the top of your head that showcases an adorable wee mouse and his or her mousey adventures?

• Stuart Little – Duh
•   Fievel Mousekewitz
• Mickey Mouse – duh
• Minnie Mouse – naturally
• Mrs. Brisbee
• Mighty Mouse! 
•   Basil of Baker Street aka the Great Mouse Detective
• Benjy Mouse and Frankie Mouse from a Hitch hikers Guide to the Galaxy
• Bernard and Miss Bianca – the Rescuers!
•  Chuck E Cheese
• Itchy – Itchy and Scratchy Show
•  Jerry – of Tom and Jerry
• Mr. Jingles – the Green Mile
• Pinky and the Brain
• The Three Blind Mice

Am I right? So though I understand people’s dislike of mice because of their carrying such diseases as the Hanta virus… which I just looked up and am now sufficiently freaked out!  Sometimes WEBMD is a blessing and a curse, am I right? But just in case I do contract the Hanta and effectually DIE like 60% OF THOSE WHO CONTRACT IT THROUGH MOUSE EXCREMENT…. I bequeath my book collection to Jaime, my clothes to Camille, and the $170 I have in my checking account to brother Nick. He’s a poor student and could use the help. The rest of my goods I expect to be sold at auction and the moneys given to the Fight Against Hanta Virus Non Profit Organization. I’m sure it exists somewhere. 

Anyway… what was I saying before crafting my living Will? Ah yes, how diseased rodents are kinda cute.

I first discovered our little mouse problem while watching an X-Files (Season 7!!) at home one night. I caught the varmint out of the corner of my eye as it skittered out of the fireplace and under our wood pile thing (scientific term). At first I thought, “If that was a huge spider, I’m moving out tonight!” And I rightly would have until the rodent made an attempt for the bookcase and I could see it was a little gray mouse instead of the eight legged creatures of my nightmares. Phew! Relief! I really hate moving.

Which brings me to another tangent…

On top of MICE problems we’ve also been combating a “spider in the tub” issue and I tell you I am an exhausted wreck because of it! I can’t take it! I have a very bad case of Arachnophobia and having to face some disgusting scurrying eight legged nasty first thing in the morning is not the “wake me up” I prefer. Oh gag. Oh loathing. I freaking hate spiders. FREAKING! In fact, my attempts to work out in the morning have been very successful with the promise of a spider free facility shower. This is me being more optimistic. Seeing the silver lining in my NIGHTMARES! How’d I do?

So now with both a spider and mouse problem – we decided it was time to kill the suckers. Kill ‘em real good. We called an exterminator who scheduled an appointment for Monday morning.Little did we know we were about to face the longest weekend of our lives. 

My poor roomie Alex made the decision to call the exterminator when she discovered that the mice had been having a Fiesta in her bedroom closet. She keeps protein and energy bars in a basket on the floor. Energy bars! And the FLOOR! So not only had these sneaky mice found the foody jackpot, they were all hopped up on complex carbs! “Hey fella’s! Look what I can do!” as he propels his fur-ball body from clothes hanger to clothes hanger, shitting as he goes. And boy to mice shit!! EVERYWHERE! Always! What’s more, do you know mice can procreate at 6-8 weeks old? Slut-mice! AND! AND! They can dump a 10-20 (TWENTY!) varmint liter in as little as 4-6 DAYS! What the hell?!?! So we could have great, great, great, Granny  Mouse leaping around hopped up on energy bars in as little as 2 weeks! This could only spell one thing, major anxiety and gross infestation.

Still, with images of Stuart Little and Mrs. Brisbee in my head, I convinced Alex to try the “humane” little traps first. Ya know, those little boxes you can catch them in and then take them to a field where they may roam free as wild mice! When those proved a complete failure, she opted for the glue sheets.  No mercy. Upon laying down glue sheets in her now completely cleaned out closet (full of gaps and holes by the way – yep – we were just asking for it! Come on in mouse! The front door is wide wide open… so is the back door and side door and a couple of windows… oh… and here’s some food within reach too). This was at about 5pm Saturday afternoon. I came home from a baby shower at 6:30pm and found a squeaky mouse struggling on a glue sheet. It was kinda sad and also kinda an internal vindication. I picked up the glue sheet (that’s right! I’m bad-ass) and walked Granny Mouse out to the garbage. Don’t worry, I prayed later that her death would be quick… she would fall asleep in the winter night and freeze. That was my hope. 

Alex came home and I told her of the adventure. She promptly went to lay down another sheet and just as she was placing it on the floor… FLYING MOUSE!!! It leaped out of a hole and face planted onto the glue sheet. Mouse #2’s attempt to flee was easily thwarted and leaving Alex to her panic attack, I walked  Papa Mouse out to join his hooker mother in the garbage can… a brief prayer to usher him in. Two mice in 3 hours! Didn’t bode well. The next day, Sunday, when we came home from church… Alex came running out of her bedroom because one of the sticky papers was gone. GONE? How could it be gone?

Here’s how…

TWO MICE! TWO MICE had fallen onto the glue trap and one of them had only stuck by its hind legs. With his front legs, he was attempting to drag them both to safety, “I can’t carry it for you! But I can carry you!” A fool’s errand! And as a picked up glue sheet three, he knew his struggles were in vain. I plopped these next two in with the others before them, making note that the other two from the night before were definitely dead. This made me feel a little better though at this point I was considering putting their heads on pikes and sticking them in front of crevices and holes around the house as a warning to other mice. Keep away! 

Instead, we opted to hold out for the exterminator and come Monday morning, he came galloping up on his white horse and placed “poison blocks” strategically around the house. He guaranteed us that if we saw a single mouse within 10 days they’d come back and dispose of them again. They ALSO said if we saw more than 6 (SIX?!?) spiders within 10 days they’d come back. They sprayed all around the house AND extra in the bathroom. I asked Alex if she gave him a big hug and slobbery kiss from both of us. She said she seriously thought about it – then felt weird. I said he probably gets a lot of love from a lot of ladies ALL THE TIME. That sly dog. 

So we shall see if the pests are good and taken care of. We shall also see if we start manifesting flu like symptoms centralized in the lungs in the next 2-3 weeks. If that happens, I bid you all a fond adieu with this advice: Screw Stuart Little! Just kill the bastards.

On becoming an old bag...

 October is a great month. There are a lot of reasons why this is true and we could spend a great deal of time (not to mention the lists I could create!) going through all the reasons why October is probably the best month out of the year. However, today I'd like to focus on one reason: my Birthday.

Yes, I'm aware this reason tops a lot of "Why October is the Best Month Ever" lists out there, and to be certain that reason holding at least one of the top 3 spots of that list only makes sense. This year, however, my list was not like most of yours. This year, I was somewhat (or A LOT) dreading my Birthday.

I've always felt that people hating their Birthday was not only a super old person thing, but TERRIBLY cliche. In fact, I think the "hating of my birthday" was something Hollywood implanted into our minds as something everyone hates and everyone discusses hating and everyone can make jokes about hating or mock other people for or create some sort of standard accessible social cue. I think some of those cliches are just throwing the many "unfunny" or un-opinioned or generally socially awkward people out there a bone. "Here ya go generally socially awkward unfunny indifferent person... here is a standard joke or piece of cynicism or commonly shared experience you can always use because we've made it so EVERYONE can hate their birthdays. It will never fail!" It's like reverting to the weather to avoid discussing the elephant in the room "Oh Aunt Jane, let us discuss how beautiful this weekend was rather than how your two-bit hooker of a daughter went and got herself knocked up again!" Thank you Hollywood for providing such fodder for the inept. We've all had to resort to such outs in our lives and I for one, am not above the occasional "cliched" bit of cynicism.

Well come to find, this month I would find this socially inexperienced person commenting on the dreaded "birthday" as incredibly insightful and wise. "Why yes! I TOO hate my Birthday! For I am growing older." Ironically, that may be the measure of age is when you stop crossing off days until your Pretty Princess Birthday Party and instead think up ways to avoid said occurrence altogether; like straddling international date lines. Which as we know, only gets us a few days if we're lucky.  There's always cryogenic freezing I suppose - but I feel I missed my time to do that. 24 was my peak. If I were going to freeze my bodily time - that was the year. Hindsight is always 20/20 I suppose.

This year I turned 28. Here is where my crisis comes in. When I was a wee 19 year old first moving to SLC and attending my bran new Singles Ward, everyone I met was 28. I kid you not. Inevitably conversations would lead to those around me pronouncing their age and it would always be... 28. Once in awhile a 26... but mostly... 28. The stranger thing is - even as the years passed - every new person I met in my various Singles Wards or standing in line at grocery stores was always 28.

(That's actually not true -  not everyone being 28 part but the meeting people in a grocery line part. I mean - have you really actually ever MET someone in a grocery store line? Me neither... Hollywood cliche suckers us again!).

And usually, they were 28, single, somewhat resentful, and of course, haters of Birthdays. They also always seemed to have just a tinge of desperation... as if they were running out of time. Time to get married? Time for children? Well, maybe. I'm not sure as each case was likely different - but I always got the distinct feeling of anxiousness from these groups of 28's... and particularly the women. As if they felt they were walking the final mile and it was all downhill from here. 28 became a symbol to me. Anyone who was single was old at 28 (thanks a bunch Utah). Anyone who was on the cusp of inevitable spinsterhood... well... they were 28. Any 20 something Peter Pans were never going to grow up if they hadn't by now... at 28. The hopeless? 28. The angry? 28. The basement dwelling video game playing part-time jobbers? 28. The pickins were slim... the chances were minute. 28 is the end of happiness and the acceptance of a lack luster existence!

I never thought I'd be 28.

Even when I turned 27 - a fantastic year - I never thought I'd be 28.

So in about August - it finally started to sink in. Whether I liked it or not - I was becoming a 28. And I felt that anxiety that I had seen in all the eyes of the many many 28's in my life. I felt like I was running out of time... that I was at a crucial tipping point and if that thing that I wasn't sure of didn't happen soon, well you can forget it sister because it likely won't now that you're 28. I admit, I'd never taken the idea of "biological clock" seriously either. I guess at 28 the ticking is turned up exponentially.  I never thought I would have to start considering the idea of not being physically able to produce children. Yes, a little dramatic seeing as Hollywood has proven that women can bear children into their 40's, and Sariah in the Bible had a baby WELL into her 90's, but NEVER THE LESS! That's Hollywood and that's ONE person... in the HISTORY of the WORLD! I felt a squeeze on my soul... and perhaps a little proverbial nudge in my ovaries. Was I becoming one of those 28's? I'd heard of mid-life crisis - but quarter life and some change crisis? No one ever talks about those. But they're real my friends. Stop ignoring them.

August and September were hit and miss. I reflected on my existence - the possibilities that lay before me - and the sheer frustration that I was becoming one of those people that dreaded their Birthday! I didn't want to be one of those people and surely turning 28 wasn't the horror I had always witnessed, right?

Well, 28 came and here's the secret - I've never felt better!

 Mostly because I received this pop-up Birthday card bearing a chef-cat. How great is that?

But also, instead of dreading what I always thought a 28 year old single LDS female was, I decided to make sure I wasn't that person by simply choosing not to be. Why should I let a silly number effect my outlook and hopes about life? Why should I let a number ruin one of the greatest reasons I love October? Why should 28 suddenly make me into some baby-hungry psycho maniac?? Cause really, those will come in good time anyway.... and I have a Zooey to boot!

I decided instead of dreading my birthday, which would inevitably lead to more dread, to love my Birthday just like I did before I turned 28. I planned myself a little intimate soup party with close friends. I wanted to celebrate another year of health and happiness and living in America and freedom and the fact I had made it to 28 smiling and intact. In fact, I had made it to 28 still looking like a 20 year old and THAT my friends is indeed something to celebrate! Celebrate good genes! Celebrate being a wee person! I always knew this 5 foot 1 business would come in handy.

I've had to vocalize my age a few times since my Birthday and actually, I feel really great about it. I'm a 28. I've had some significant experiences, learned a lot of valuable lessons, and have had discussions with 23 year olds with 3 years of their freaking undergrad left and still subsisting on Mac&Cheese and am incredibly grateful I never EVER have to do that again. If you really think you want to be 23 or 21 again - go ahead and interact with a gaggle of them. I guarantee you will find a greater appreciation for where you are now and shudder at how far they have yet to go.

My goal as a 28 year old is to always be happy on my Happy Birthdays and never lie about my age. You heard me! Ask this woman her age! And she will tell you happily! "Why yes sir, no offense taken. For I am 28! And I am very happy to be right where I am doing what I'm doing and pressing forward for another year! So let them eat cake!" (Especially if its Grandma's recipe for chocolate rum cake.... nothing like a drop of rum to take the edge off).

 And in the spirit of my delusions - lets go ahead and not mention 30 okay? Baby steps.

Empty Rooms

I started this post several weekends ago... but couldn't quite find the "right enough" words to express my thoughts. Over my almost 28 years of life, I've learned a  few small things about myself, and I am sure of approximately 4 of them. 

Item #1 - I prefer punctual people.
Item #2 - I will not give up... ever.... on anything... even when it's definitely time to give up
Item #3 - I'll never look good in bright orange - no big loss
Item #4 - Emotions for me take awhile to settle in; particularly the heavy sort.

Let us discuss Item #4 (apologies for those of you hoping for a dramatic epilogue on how I discovered I'd never look good in bright orange.... there's a time and a season my friends... a time and a season). We all go through experiences in life that cause us some deep stirrings within. Some of these stirrings can start out feeling very negative; much like when your first pet dies or your heart is broken by some estranged love. These things can seem very negative, but I am of the belief that even our most trying of times are meant for our good.. I believe God does not allow us to suffer through our own Gethsemene's for His own sport. The storm always comes to an end, the sun always shines again, and a million other allusions that there is an end to all things hurtful. There is a greater purpose to all things; and that purpose is always bigger than the hurt we had to experience to bring it about.

That said, when these things happen to me, I'm not an immediate reactor. I internalize it for awhile... mull it over... pick at it sometimes... and let it settle. It takes me time to wrap myself around these deep emotional stirrings.

Thus, I think I've mulled enough upon this particular emotional stirring.

There's the paradoxical truth that the only constant thing in this world is change. Change takes on many forms and in some instances it's welcomed, in others it's a refiners fire that stings as it goes, and almost always, change is the constant companion of that steady plodder, Time. Change is inevitable. Time is inevitable. And together they give us everything from the history of nations, to the memory of our first football game. Time plods forward with change ever in its wake. And it turns out, none of us are immune to their devices.

For almost 28 years there's been one place that's always been called "Home." And it's this place:

Maybe it's not too much to look at; but I didn't want to digitally doctor it up to produce some sort of eery "days gone by" feel. I wanted it to be seen as it actually is... with the door open and Grandpa's dog out front. So though it may not look like much, six lives were lived within this comparatively inconsequential edifice and six lives were for 28 years, forming and being and growing within these walls. Several weekends ago, that changed.

It's been said that in America, we have this unusual desire to remove the shekels of our homesteads and strike out on our own - seeking our own plod of land to cultivate our lives how we've always dreamed they should be. Independence is the American dream and in this quest, I believe, we also must accept the fact we've inevitably become the most nostalgic people in the world. As we continually search for that next great thing: the better job, the higher pay, the degrees, the family of our own, we tend to forget to consider what brought us there. What is responsible for the way we are and what we will be. The little things we kept with us despite the ebb and flow of our very important lives. The times when we realized "oh my gosh I sound just like my mother!"

It seems the only thing that can hold our attention long enough to force us to consider what once was usually comes in the form of some if those poignant moments that cause deep stirrings within us. Many times this is a death of someone we assumed would live forever. And then they're not there and we must pause in our continual quest for the next thing and realize, we are but pawns being herded within the boundaries of time and change. Death makes us self-reflect: is this the best thing I could be doing?

And then comes one memory and then another and another until there are hundreds of memories begging for remembrance... asking us to consider the past so we can better shape our future. So we can take advantage of what little Time actually gives us.

These may seem like empty rooms. Maybe that's because literally, they are empty rooms. My brothers and I, several weekends ago, helped empty the rooms of the place we'd called home all of our lives. We had experienced over the last decade, a refining of our characters, a testing of our faith and patience, and a cultivation of hope for better things. As we emptied this house of our earthly effects, the memories began to swirl in the air and stick to the walls. It was like going through a deceased loved ones things; now realizing that the life had gone out of them too. Somehow, these things didn't belong anywhere new. It only ever belonged here, with this house, and it was almost blaspheme to take them away. They'll never really be empty rooms to us.

Here's where Seth and I had our bunkbeds. We were jumping off the top bunk onto a magnificent pile of blankets when I slipped sidewards to the ground and broke my leg. I was barely in Pre-school and our littlest edition, Nick, and just come home from the hospital.  Taylor wasn't even a twinkle in our mother's eye then.

I remember another time in this room when Seth and I had a stack of books between us as we sat Indian style on the floor. We would take a book, usually a Bernstein Bears or Dr. Seuss, read/glance through it's pages, and put it in a discard pile to each side of us. We'd been doing this quietly for sometime when I felt the rumble begin. I glanced up to see the diaper changing station wobble precariously in front of us and when I turned to see Seth's take on the happenings, he had bolted from the room. It was then I learned the concept of "every man for himself!" It was the first time I felt an earthquake... and the first time I realized my ability to keep calm in a crisis. It was only later in bed, that the fear in my heart was allowed to roam free and I cried myself to sleep.

We had family home evenings in this room. My dad built it himself. Our family had grown and we needed more space to stretch our legs.

In this room was our upright piano where we each were chained for hours practicing our cords.We also weren't allowed to eat in this room. At least one room was to remain respectable. Somehow though, mom was still vacuuming bits of this or that from between the couch cushions.

In this room dinner was always promptly at 5:00pm and we'd gather around a home cooked meal and enjoy each others company. I will always have family dinners. Family dinners is the reason I graduated high school, went on to college, and am a (mostly) well-adjusted self-sustaining adult.

Being the only girl of four children, this room was my very own. Except there were stenciled sunflowers on the walls then and I was always very proud of the fact my room was shaped like Utah. I think having this geographically structured room ignited my love of maps and I'd spend hours pouring over our Atlas, tracing the routes I would one day take to different lands. I was already plotting my independence. Of course when I moved out it became Seth's room then Taylor's room then Nick's room. Or something like that.

We built grand cities with couch cushions and blankets in these empty rooms. We rode mattresses down the stairs. We watched thousands of movies, cleaned up dog poop, hid stray kittens under the back stairs, jumped out of windows and balcony's onto trampolines, swung on tree branches, broke arms, bruised legs, got stitches, burned popcorn, stained walls, celebrated birthdays, Christmas's, new years, baked, laughed, cried, fought, prayed, kissed, hugged, played video games, and slept. We lived real lives within these walls.

And now these walls are no longer ours.

And Time trudges on... hand in hand with change... but we keep the memories with us. The deep stirrings within remind us that even though there are empty rooms  where there was once living and being and loving; we can still keep on living, and loving, and changing, and being no matter what walls surround us. We create homes within ourselves; building up walls with the people we love most. Our house may not be "our house" anymore, but the rooms of our memories are forever ours. They are forever full.

Things will turn up… except when they don’t

INSERT PICTURE HERE

I’ve lost my camera battery charger. I don’t know where and I don’t know how, but never the less, lost it is. I remember having it on the boat during the great Christmas Cruise of 2010. I remember putting it in a little baggy with other electronic odds and ends I wanted to keep together.  What’s more, is all those other little electronic devices, my IPod Charger, USB cable for attaching my camera to a computer, AA batteries, they’re all accounted for. Housed in the same little blue cloth bag I kept my camera battery charger – but WHERE is the CAMERA battery charger? Nowhere. That is my last memory of seeing it alive, officer, I swear to you.


It will turn up.



That’s what I thought when I first noticed it missing. It will turn up and I will once again be able to NOT take pictures of things because I keep forgetting to pack my camera around like “legit” bloggers, eager to capture moments on digital film. Usually when I lose little things like that; my red stone ring from Cambodia (which I FOUND this morning in my pants pocket! Huzah!), a semi-important piece of mail, chapstick (always chapstick), my IPod (happens), etc, they tend to eventually turn up. Ah HA! I exclaim! There you are! Turned up as I expected! I've learned to trust in the concept of "turn-up" - it's a little like karma I guess. It will come back around - just be patience little one.

BUT!

My camera battery charger? Nuthin doin. End of March and my beautiful red Canon camera I bought this time last year for the Great Thailand Adventure, has been sitting there useless for months! MONTHS! And recently I’ve felt compelled to take pictures. For example: when that Dim Bulb of a girl ran her car through the Firestone window. THAT would’ve been a GREAT time for a picture. Eh? A great time! A time now NOT captured with a picture. Or perhaps the high volume of hipsters at the gallery stroll I went to last Friday. Another great photo moment – mustaches, skinny pants, and beat poetry galore! But did I have a camera? No I did not; for it is dead and useless at home without its battery.

Then I got to thinking today, I’m planning various trips this summer and I’d really like to make sure I have a working camera to capture said moments and wield them as proof of my coolness on the Facebook. What are my adventures without FB documentation? Shadows and dust. Shadows and DUST! (e-high five for whoever knows the movie!)

So, I gave in today, got on Amazon, and bought another camera battery charger. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? The SAME thing that happened when I thought I’d lost my red IPod and waited for it to turn up for 2 MONTHS before finally purchasing another one and THEN having the red one turn up inside the “black-purse-of-black holes-that-has-pockets-to-a-parallel-universe-I-swear-to-you!” when I was rummaging for gum during intermission at La Boehme. Grrrr. So that's what will happen with this - though significanly cheaper which is nice. I will find my camera battery charger a week after ordering the new one  and then have two. One doesn’t really need two battery chargers (or maybe they do if they keep losing one - cough cough - me me). Irony: one of life’s real cruelties.


In other news...

I’m planning trips this Summer! Take a Look-see!

Trip #1 – Graduation March – May 6th. Hurah! Best trip ever.

Trip #2 – Charleston, South Carolina – 1 full week in May.

Trip #3 – Moab, Utah – Going with the Wardys (i.e. Church Group)

Trip #4 – Portland/Seattle – which WILL include the following… ahem hem… Portland, Astoria (Goonies Never Say DIE!), Forks and La Push (Forks for the ironic photo op, La Push for the beachfront Northwest style), Port Angeles (on the 4th of July – so cool), Leavenworth, and Seattle.

…

And that’s where I’m at! I love summer. I really do. And I’m so excited for this summer. I even revved up Holly (the Scooter) a few days ago and have been trying to locate her proof of sale/registration form (it will turn up) so when the first signs of 70+ weather and sunshine break through the grayness, Holly and I will be there, cruising around the streets of SLC! You know what would be really great for cruising around SLC on a scooter? A working camera. Sigh. 5-7 business days and I’ll have that too.

E-surprise

For a class assignment, a classmate and I had to interview an undergraduate about her "college experience." It was an interesting opportunity to reflect - now being old and graduated from all things "undergrad" and having to compare and contrast the similarities and differences between my life, schooling, and outlooks now to what they were "then". There were such dreams! Such hopes! I was so young once! Full of life! Now I'm just an old bag dwindling away at a career and graduate school trying to fill my life with meaningless drivel until I DIE!

Just kidding.

It's not meaningless and only sometimes drivel. I'm also not an old bag - but a "seasoned" 20 something on the up and up! Look out world! Soon, you will refer to me as Master Cox!

But this post isn't about life or goals or futures or even cats. Naw... this post is about discovering little hidden gems that were once tucked away and forgotten until a school assignment or  perhaps a desire to wear that army green jacket you keep forgetting about strikes you and what ho? you find a tube of Beeswax Chapstick in your pocket! It's times like these when you remember that karma works the other way too! The good way. Or on the other hand, causes you to  reflect on the fact that finding chapstick in your pocket being the highlight of your day is perhaps an indicator to shake things up a bit. I'm always losing chapstick though so finding a random usable tube (i.e. non-melted, non-washing machined) is cause for celebration in my world.

Anyway...

I recorded the above referred to interview on my IPod. Yes, my Ipod does that. Fancy pants. Then, while trying to extricate said video from my Ipod, I found this long forgotten video covered in e-dust just awaitin e-discovery. I present to you a walk down memory lane.

Lets watch:

That's the streets of Vietnam! I'd like it noted that after this happy bicycle ride to find an ATM, we were merely an HOUR away from what would become the most torturously long and soul sucking 6 hours of our lives. Shudder. From the happiness on our faces and joy in our voices you'd never know we were about to experience such mind-numbing horror. I know there's a metaphor in there somewhere about "just when you think you've got it made, you're stuffed into the backseat of an overcrowded van in Vietnam with a puking woman in front of you, porn playing on the screen above your head, a stinky European armpit in your face, and 6 hours of bumping, winding, hellish roads to try and muscle through all the while WILLING your Ipod to maintain battery life as your only tool of maintaining your sanity; "Please Lord let it play... please let it play." A very common life metaphor I'd say - and one we all must learn. I also recall getting fiendishly sick a day after that. I blame the puking woman, the porn, the van, and a large Banana smoothie consumed at the shadiest Cambodian restaurant ever constructed, the day before. So listen up. If you've got a hankering for a Banana smoothie in Cambodia, RESIST! Avoiding water apparently means avoiding ice. Turns out they use ice in smoothies. Ice and kamakazi intestinal parasites. Gives it a little kick.

Well, that's all I wanted to show you. This little gem of a video I found while trying to pull a student interview from my Ipod. I'd say that's the "e" equivalent of finding $10 in your pocket! and a tube of Beeswax chapstick. Mmm... or maybe just the chapstick. Mostly the chapstick. Ahem.

To Resolute

I know you're all anxiously waiting for days (googling spelling of Spanish numbers... hold please...) cinco and seis of the cruise, and they will be along shortly. But! Today! I've finally accepted it's 2011 and you know what that means!

Time to Resolute!
1. to firmly resolved or determined; set in purpose or opinion

OR!

Resolution
1. the act of resolving or determining upon an action or course of action, method, procedure, etc
2. the mental state or quality of being resolved or resolute; firmness of purpose

Much like drugs, drinking, and pre-marital sex, everyone's doing it! Resolving that is. So who am I to NOT jump on the old bandwagon and resolute as well? Nobody that's who! Bah! Bah! (that's a sheep noise... er... yes). First though, it behooves me (big girl word!) to examine what I failed to accomplish in 2010 to know what goals to set up for failure in 2011. Keeps me unmotivated you see... and steeped in tradition. I've always failed - so why succeed now? I'm cross-stitching that mantra on something.

Here's a brief recap of some of the more drastic failures of 2010:

1. I resoluted...resolved to go to Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia. And guess what? I totally did. So we'll count that as a success rather than a fail. Though the "Cambodian intestinal bacteria of DEATH" and I still have unresolved matters! Stupid bacteria.

2. I said I'd be writing my resolutions from Australia the "next year" which is this year. Currently I am in SLC trying to ignore the bite of freezing weather and NOT talk about my New Years which consisted of Wal Mart and a crippled cat named Ludo. Okay okay... it was fun because fun to me is NOT staying up all night. Which is what I did.... or didn't do, rather. I really don't see how staying up all night is appealing to anyone. "Hey guys! Lets stay up all night!!" Ick... why? How does that sound fun and awesome? Sleep is good. No sleep is bad. So that's a fail on the Australia bit, BUT, I went on a Cruise for Christmas which means I'm still awesome. So I get awesome points and therefore - that fail evens out to a shrug and an eye roll. Even Stevens.

3. Run a half marathon. Basically didn't do that. Sooo... yeah.

4. Learn to sew things. Didn't do that either. Well, I did sew a button back on a dress once this year. OH! And my brother Seth, when I told him I didn't sew things, exclaimed "Really? For some reason I thought you sewed!" Aw. I like it when people think I'm more skilled then I am. What a sucker. So sewing a button and someone THINKING I'm a sewer evens out to not a fail or success... but the shrug and eye roll again. I'm feeling more and more encouraged!

5. Another mentionable is/was/could be my goal to get married. Well, I did! Surprise! Oh... oh no I didn't. Nope. Big OLD HUGE F.A.I.L there! FAIL FAIL FAIL! LIFE FAIL! But my BROTHER did and I'm going to go ahead and give me some points for that too. Why not? Whhhhhy not!!! Him getting married seemed like a small success for me too. I mean, I raised three brothers and without my sisterly guidance, they'd probably be drugged out losers (no offense to you drugged out losers... ) and therefore married only to their addictions. Seth was, because of me, not married to addictions and therefore, married Emily... who is also NOT a drugged out loser. Woo! Success! This year I'm making no such marriage goal because I'm more or less indifferent and far too busy for such things. Maybe I'll make a dating goal "go on one." Ta dah!

Alright, enough looking back! Let's press forward! You've gotta put your behind in the past ;) (an e-high five for whomever knows that movie reference)

I've formulated the following resolutions as being no less than 99% sure to be a success. That's how firmly and determinedly resolved I am to accomplish these actions.

1. Graduate - Summer 2011. You will then refer to me as Master Cox.
2. Travel - anything that takes me outside the state of Utah... or inside the state really so's long as I haven't been there before - like the Harmons on Highland Drive or... Enterprise, Utah.
3. Eat less, exercise more. There's that sheep again! Back on your bandwagon sheep!
4. Make more money - legally
5. Turn 28
6. Alright... run a half marathon. Let's give it another go. Why not?
7. Go to movies sometimes
8. Wear skirts
9. Chew gum
10. Go on one date in 2011. Now if that one fails I really will be a pathetic loser. I sure hope I'm not setting myself up for failure. Gulp.

Okay!! And that should do it. You see how I like to keep things simple and strait forward. I feel like a success already. How about you? What were your biggest failures of 2010 and how are you going to resolve to do the same or a little worse this year? Tell me and I'll send you a t-shirt that says 'Watered Down Resolutions are the Key to 98% Success!" Naw, I won't... but maybe you could make one and wear it. There's a goal!

Days 10-13: The Venturous Vietnamese Finale of the Incredible Indonesian Excursion

It’s about time! I know… I know… I don't know who I am thinking "like, oh my gosh I'm so busy so like I can’t blog because my life is busy and awesome and busy.” Naw. Okay, well it is busy, but not because it’s awesome, but because I thought I could handle three graduate level classes in the summer, one of which being held over 3 weekends, half the day Friday and all day Saturday, in ADDITION to a Constitutional Law class and Research Design. Now “like super awesome busy life” does that sound? Exactly.

Also, as previously mentioned I grew a tail and that’s taken some time to truly cope with. “Has it come to this?” I’d ask myself every evening as I lay pathetically on my tummy, willing my tail to heal and not become a permanent fixture on yon derriere. Well the tail is no more… and I am sitting for long periods of time again (see: working day, evening classes) without having to shift awkwardly to even out the backside pressure. Now that you feel sufficient sympathy for my plight… I should like to tell you of my last few days in Indonesia; Vietnam respectively, and if you think you have ample sympathy for me now, just wait…

Let’s start by mentioning that my camera battery died in Cambodia (with my large intestine) and thus my Vietnam photo-documentation is courtesy of Ms. Terilyn. Thanks T!

We left the adventure at Ho An; where I spent the entire two days battling sickness in my hotel room (which was lovely so that helped) but was somewhat saved by the good Doctor of Ho An who made house calls and brought the pills with him (hear that America? HOUSE-CALLS! Where’s THAT clause in Health Care Reform, eh?). After not seeing Ho An, Terilyn and I boarded another plane to our final destination, Hanoi, Vietnam. We arrived at night and thus, found our hotel and decidedly went immediately to bed. It’s clear both of our bodies were giving us veritable red flags that they were running out of stamina. The next day, I was woozy but capable. Capable of browsing around the city and enjoying the sights of Hanoi, Vietnam. I’d like you to know, Internet, that Hanoi, Vietnam was my favorite city of all the Indonesian cities I'd experienced. Now this is saying something since almost my entire stay in Vietnam was plagued by a super-parasite my body did not have the weaponry to fully combat - I've only got American materials to work with! We took it easy, we took it slow, and really enjoyed a day out and about. We witnessed Catholic Cathedrals (St. Joseph's Cathedral particularly) in the middle of a very Asian City, which was a site in and of itself, and strangely, gave me a sense of familiarity and comfort. Isn’t that strange? I’m from Utah; and though I see the Cathedral of the Madeline almost every day, it’s nothing like the old French Gothic Cathedrals of the 17th century. Envision mini-Notre Dame’s. I think it was this site of Westernized architecture that made me feel not so far away… and when you’re sick… it helps not to feel so far away.

We also saw a traditional Vietnamese Water Show which was very entertaining for me. I’m easily entertained by very simple things – so long as they're genuine. I find a lot of depth in simplicity, and these little water puppets telling a story in a language I didn’t understand with music I don’t listen to, was really fantastic. Myths, stories, folklore, fairy tales, I don’t feel America has enough of these. Perhaps America is too young to have a lot of these; and thus I appreciate ancient cultures and their connection with the past, the ancient, their pagan Gods, and their desire for understanding of the natural things of the world. They don't allow the ancient to die, and that's how it should be.

This is the exact theater I sat in and watched the puppet show (curtosy of Wikipedia)

We naturally toured the city center and visited Hoan Kim Lake, meaning “Lake of the Returned Sword.” If I recall the legend correctly (noting that my mind wasn’t as absorbent as it otherwise might have been), the ancient emperor Lei Loi, returned a sword called Heaven’s Will, back to the Golden Turtle God and by doing this, confirmed his victory over the Chinese Ming Dynasty. I imagine something like karma, good luck, or ethereal help was granted to Lei Loi for returning the sword to the Golden Turtle God. In the center of the Lake, there is a temple erected that smells of incense and is surrounded by lake vines and beautiful foliage. It was a very calming place to visit, and an incredibly beautiful edifice that helps maintain the mythical quality of Hanoi, Vietnam.

Some fantastic images of the temple on the lake, and ME on THE Red Bridge leading to the Temple.

                       

Look at that attitude! Even as a sickly cat I strike fear in your heart, right? Roooowww!

Moving right along...

We then made a very Westernized decision that perhaps was one of the most self-reflective decisions I’ve ever made – we decided to go to a movie. No… we didn’t want to see Vietnamese movies (espcially considering previous experience... see bus ride from hell), we wanted to see Ironman 2. Right??? We went to an American movie in Hanoi Vietnam, and I am not ashamed. I think seeing the Cathedral had given me such a smidgen of familiarity in my heart that I really wanted to take myself out of the foreign, exotic, and unfamiliar, for a few hours and find a comfort zone. Now, how’s that for self-reflection? Turns out, I’m attached to Western civilization. I'm a Westerner. I will never be truly exotic!!! What a tragedy... D'oh well.

Terilyn and I both agreed that after eating at Pizza Hut (yep! Again, NOT ASHAMED!) and seeing Ironman 2 was probably the best thing we ever did to recharge the old batteries for the remaining two days of our trip. The next day, we left for Halong Bay.

I was nervous about getting on a bus for 3 hours to travel to Halong Bay. I was nervous because I was still woozy, still sickly, and my intestines were most particularly done with moving vehicles and intense traveling from A to B to C to E,F,G… you get it. Oh, and the memory of the bus ride from HELL was still very fresh in both of our minds. This bus ride… well this bus ride TO Halong Bay… not bad. What was most enjoyable was listening to about the funniest, quirkiest, 60 year old British man chit chat with everyone on the bus, introducing us to his buddy, his 20 something daughter, and his 20 something son, who were traveling with him. This guy was a gem… and had I not been utilizing all my energy in basic functioning (blinking, breathing, etc), I would’ve become friends with this guy. Very good friends I expect. Alas… the opportunities lost. Our British friends were with us the entire two days in Halong Bay and for that, I was happy. I dig British folks. I have a strongly held belief I should've been British - of which I will address at a later time. We also traveled with two Australian women, a mother and her daughter, two French girls a la Paris, and a middle aged French couple; "Moi? Je parle francais un peu. Le petite poisson, oui? Tres bien". I practiced a little French. Happily, there were no Russians. You know how I've now become biased against Russians. Snort. Russians. A tender mercy, that. We traveled on a traditional Vietnamese boat, referred to as a “Junk.” We ate on the boat (great food… which I could thankfully nibble), chatted on the boat, and slept on the boat. We explored the bay and I was in awe of the hundreds of tiny islands throughout Halong Bay. It would be incredibly easy for an inexperienced, or even a somewhat experienced, sailor to get lost forever among the islands for a very long time. I’m always in awe of the natural beauty of this world and as incredible as our snorkeling experiences on the paradisical Phi Phi Island was, Halong Bay was almost equal to that. Many people have asked me if it’d be worth going back, given how far away it truly is, and I’ve told them, I’d do Vietnam again… I’d do Halong Bay for 7 days… and then Phi Phi Island for my last 7 days… and come back a more relaxed, self-reflective, humbled person than I’d ever been and likely ever would be. The good Earth provides us with everything we have, food, water, beauty, and in Vietnam I realized, it brings us peace, humility, and gratitude as well. Truly, this Earth has everything we’d ever want. The gift that keeps on giving

Here’s a sampling...

And also...

Now enters the second bus ride from hell. In fact, I would’ve taken the Blood-Spattering pornographic vomit bus ride again. Why? Let me tell you why. I felt I was going to explode. My body had lost. Completely. We returned on the Junk from sailing around Halong Bay and my body was simply done moving. Finished. It begged me for a bed… always for a toilet… and a vaut of super strength Pepto Bismol. Longest 3 hours of my life. Luckily, like the good Vietnamese Doctor, there were other Good Samaritans on the bus ride from Halong Bay. They took the form of two older Australian couples who made my eyes tear with longing for home when I caught them watching my scrunched face and doubled up body with incredible sympathy. It makes you want your Mommy. And I did! I did! Some people are just kind; they exude safety and goodness, and these Australians were that. We FINALLY, got back to our hotel where we were going to crash for 5 hours before starting the long journey home, and the Australian man, calling me ‘sweet’hat’ and ‘dahlin’ told me his hotel was literally 20 steps from ours and he had some extra strength Imodium AD that would ‘cure what’s ailin ya sweet-hat… fix ya right up.’ Terilyn, bless her, left me in the hotel room to shower and… er… pay homage to the porcelain gods, and retrieved the blessed Imodium. I took it with relish. Willing it to work. While I laid down, awaiting my Imodium to kick in, I wanted nothing more than to call my Mom. Right? Yet another reflective moment. In a time of extremity, all I wanted was Gatorade, chicken soup, and Mom. I had tried to call and or text her from Ho An… and naturally… my phone would not allow it. But, I thought I’d try it again… just… just for the sake of trying. It was 5am in America, it was likely even if I could get a text through, my Mom would be in bed. But I had to try it. The comfortable memories of Ironman 2 and the Cathedral were long filed away. I sent the text. It said it was sent. And I waited. “Ding..dong…” WHA?!??! It worked! Mom was responding! Oh tender mercy I’ve not had a better one! She was awake! She was texting! I was comforted… We texted for about 45 minutes and each minute gave me more strength to push on through. That, and the Imodium was truly kicking in. Naturally, for two weeks after that dark night I prayed that the Australian couple would be blessed with everything possible there is to bless Australian couples with. I also blessed Verizon for my 1 hour (I kid you not… 1 hour… and then it was gone) I was able to text my mom and get some motherly concern and comfort. These are the things that keep us going. People.
We left Hanoi at 11:00pm and landed in South Korea about 5 hours later (i.e. about 6:00am). You recall what I said about the ridiculous awesomeness of Korean Air… well might I tell you that that awesomeness is also reflected in their airport? IT IS! They had a lovely area meant for weary travelers to just pull up a reclining chair or cushioned bench and snooze. In fact, for a price you could rent a room and shower for several hours (not in my budget… but it was available!). They provided FREE (FREE) Internet and a lovely little Café for chillaxin. We didn’t leave South Korea until around 4:00pm… but I can tell you it was the easiest layover of the whole trip. We slept and slept and slept, ate, read, and before we knew it… were on our final International flight headed toward America.
I was so happy to enter America. And though LAX is a complete mad-house, we were home. And being home felt good. Another 2 hours and we dropped into Salt Lake City. If I hadn’t been in a sleep-coma I probably would’ve teard at the sight of downtown SLC as we approached the run way. As it was, I didn’t wake up until the wheels touched ground and I was jolted out of my sleepy darkness: "Who? What? No tuk-tuk!". Home. Home. Home. Enter Michael BUble: "Another sunny day.. has come and gone away.. .in Paris and Rome and I wanna go home..." (Mmm... Paris and Rome... anybody?)

It’s been over a month since I’ve been home. The souvenirs are handed out and I'm easily back in the swing of ordinary life. I only spent 2 weeks in the most foreign place I’d ever been, and may ever be, but it truly changed me. Perhaps nothing incredibly life-altering, but definitely some life-shifting. What I find amazing about traveling to any place, is how much you can learn about yourself; patience, appreciation, basic needs, comforts, and even love. I wouldn’t change anything about my trip, even the sickness and stress, because that was when I learned the most about myself and what really is important to me: the kindness of strangers, the comfort of home, the luxury of safety, and the connection of families in our very souls.

Plus, now I can enter social conversations with “Well… when I was in Bangkok…” which let’s face it, makes me a LITTLE bit cooler right? A tad. A tad cooler. Enlightenment and raised coolness... now that's a sweet souvenir!

Every now and again, I'm reminded there's still good in this world...

(The final chapter of the Great Indonesian Adventures forthcoming... hang in there!)

I am the oldest and only girl of 4 kids. This means that I not only have a propensity to boss people about (I like to call it being a “natural” leader), but that I also have 3 little brothers for the bossing: Seth, 24; Nick, 21: and baby Taylor, 17. And they are good boys.

Sometimes, I contemplate this world and I contemplate its people, and can’t help but be discouraged from time to time. I tend to believe there are forces of good and forces of evil consistently in contest for dominant influence over cities, nations, and most importantly, individuals. It seems each respective side is at the height of recruitment, trying to get just one more person to ‘join their team’ in preparation for some grand ultimate battle, Armageddon, the greatest of all “Good vs. Evil” plights prophesied for mankind. In a world of relative morals, it’s difficult at time to point at something and say “this is good” or “this is evil.” We’ve become a community of “gray areas” where people live in fear of drawing a line. Society’s standards are a slippery slope and cannot be relied on as a consistent guide for discovering truth, goodness, and virtue. Many would say these virtues have died, or rather, perhaps the definition of virtue itself has changed over the centuries and is now muddled and clouded into something near unrecognizable by our grandparents, even our parents, as anything resembling what was once thought of as honorable, worthy, and even good.

These are, it would seem, confusing times. Times when we want to create individual bubbles for those most dear to us and protect them from those negative influences that would muddle their standards and cloud their well-intentioned choices. There are influences for good, and there are influences for evil, and many times, I feel the influence for evil is so pervasive, so overwhelming, I experience acute fear for those children I’ve yet to bear. I fear for those I love most now. I want to protect them all. Yes, we live in confusing times, and it all seems downhill from here.

And then, a ray of hope.

Yesterday, my mom calls me and tells me that my little brother, Taylor, snuck something home. Immediately I’m worried. What has he brought home? What do teenage boys in their angsty, self-defining, self-discovering, years of teenagedom SNEAK home. My little ‘bubble for Taylor” yearns to be stretched over him and shield out all the influence that being a teenager today brings. Protect him from the evil.

“Taylor snuck home a little orange stripped kitty…”

What? He snuck home a kitty? Yes, my tough little teenage brother, with who knows what sort of opportunities to accept drugs, alcohol, sex, and general teenage ballyhoo before him, and HE sneaks home a little kitty.

“He kept it in his room for a week,” my mom goes on to explain, “I noticed he snuck in a litter box and bought food for it. I don’t know how long he thought he could possibly hide a kitty in his room!”

By now I’m laughing in disbelief and overwhelming relief. We’re a family of animal lovers I’d say; and over the many years and 4 rowdy growing kids, have gone through kittens, dogs, ginny pigs, lizards, frogs, fish, you name it! Currently we have a stout little beagle called, Snoopy. But for Taylor, I guess he needed himself another little fuzz ball for companionship. I understand the fuzzball need as well.

“He’s named it Ludo” (from the Labyrinth… ya know… David Bowie… awesome).

Now, all I can think is this is about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. A teenager sneaking home a kitty. Amongst news headlines of teenagers involved in texting and beating other teenagers, mean girls making fun of someone so badly they commit suicide, crime, graffiti, drugs, gangs… and my sweet little brother sneaks home a kitten. A little kitten. Names it Ludo.

I found myself contemplating the significance of this event the rest of the day. It gave me hope. It made me confident in the future. It made me realize I don’t need little bubbles of protection wrapped tightly around those I care about most – because they have a little safe bubble inside themselves full of goodness. Taylor’s a good boy. Taylor will become a good man. Just like his brothers before him, he’s going to be one of the ones who chooses good instead of evil. Who has courage and does not fear. He’ll be on the right side, and there will be others there too. Some still do choose the fight for good. If there’s any gift we can give to those around us it’s not protective bubbles, it’s hope. And my little brothers give me hope for the goodness that still is.

(Taylor, Seth, Nick, and Me)

The Great Indonesian Adventure and one expensive Suckering (Days 1-2, respectively)

So, turns out that when you leave for two weeks, a lot of things can pile up! Like, a lot of things! So, bloggy buddys, you may have to wait for the intricate details of what I've now begun to refer to as "The Great Indonesian Adventure!" to come in daily increments.  I also realize that's not an original title at all, but I'm going to blame jet-lag (still suffering from... phew... it's like 4am in Bangkok right now and I FEEL like it's 4am... soooo tipsy) for my lack of creativity. Give me a few days and perhaps the "The Great Indonesian Adventure" will morph into something more clever... then again... maybe not.

First, I WILL tell you this. 24 hours on a plane is sorta intense. I guess we weren't on a plane for 24 hours strait - but we were in the air for that long at various points; broken up by a lay-over here and there. Announcement: Thailand's far away everyone! Very far away. We began "The Fantastical Foreign Fiasco" (better? mmmm... noooo), in Salt Lake City airpot (naturally) catching our first flight to Seattle. We were bright eyed and bushy tailed! Ready and willing to begin what we KNEW would be a fantastic 2 weeks!We had a 3 hour lay-over in Seattle in which I tried to take some good mental pictures of this city I've never visited and have always wanted to. Someday Seattle. Someday. But as for today, you are merely a means to an end. Alas. We boarded our international flight via Korean Air (of which I will sing praises throughout the remainder of my descriptions of the "Incredible Indonesian Adventure") for an 11 hour ride to South Korea. Honestly, long plane rides SEEM like they might suck out your soul and very well COULD suck out your soul IF you are not prepared. I, my friends, was prepared. I had two books ready for the reading; Anthem by Ayn Rand ( My first Ayn Rand and it was brilliant I tell you! I finished it the first handful of hours and subsequently LONGED to find someone to discuss it with, "Excuse me sir? Yes, will you read this and then let me know when you are done so we can discuss it? Thanks... ... ... what part are you on now? Now?") and The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. MaartenTroost (which I rather identified with as I continued to read it throughout the trip... and I highly recommend it. Hilarious.), a fully charged I-pod for the listening, a newly acquired sleep mask and Advil PM for the snoozing, and of course, a line-up of movies awaiting me on the plane via a little screen on the back of the seat in front of me (of which I watched Lovely Bones (fail), The Fantastic Mr. Fox (success!) and half of New Moon (shut up)). That flight wasn't not only 'not bad' but almost good! Here enters my first praises of Korean Air. What service! What food! What hot towels! What bean buns! What nice big individual blankets and personal pillows! Truly, this airline KNOWS how to fly internationally. I felt they did everything in their power to make what could've been a life-sucking plane ride for 11 hours, something almost pleasent! Oh and the meal? Excellent! Yes, you are thinking "she must be a little jet-lag loopy if she just called airplane food excellent" and though you may be right about the loopy, I am serious about the food. I had myself a little Korean dish of something or other and was quite impressed with the enjoyable flavors. Flavors! It had flavors! Go ahead, call me a liar to my face... I know the truth. And the truth lies with the excellence of Korean Air (you better believe I'm writing them a letter... Dear Korean Air, Come to America and teach us the right things. Sincerely Yours, Andrea).

Anyway....

We landed in South Korea and had to make a run for it to catch our 5 hour flight (this was soul-sucking) to Bangkok. We had been delayed about an hour in Seattle, and thus making our connection to Bangkok hang precariously on the line. We made it though (rounding the corner at the final boarding call) and since the flight was fairly vacant, I proceeded to stretch out across a couple seats and snooze the whole time; once again, avoiding the soul-sucking effects of long international plane rides. Plus, it was Korean Air again, which is an excellent airline! Have I mentioned that yet? Well, if not, might I recommend Korean Air should you ever be in a "Korean Air" part of the world? Excellent airline. Here we are with our souls in tact after landing in Bangkok... finally...

(Maybe we do look a little "soul-sucked")

Landing in Bangkok, we disembarked and were immediatly struck with swaths of moist air. They call it "humidity" in them parts and it made the Aveeno moisturizer I'd totted along from the US obsolete for the rest of the trip. Naturally, because of the 'civil unrest' issue Bangkok had been experiencing not 2 weeks prior to our departure, we booked a hotel about 30 minutes from the city center just to be on the safe side. How smart of us. I was a little nervous about 'blind-booking' a cheap hotel in Bangkok, not knowing what exactly we could expect for $20 a night (in the end being the most expensive place we stayed... wha?!?!). Well the Silver Gold hotel did not disappoint (see below), and I felt we got our trip off to a nice start with a decent hotel (encompassing both the silver and gold) and hitting the sack at midnight; a tummy full of Korean Air food (which is really good by the way...). Not bad at all I'd say. Newope.

The next morning we planned to spend in Bangkok. One day in Bangkok ("One night in Bangkok!") having heard from several Bangkok visited veterans that one day was PLENTY of time to visit this exotic Indonesian Captiol of Thailand. Turns out... they were plenty right. We got a lot done, but didn't feel rushed or that we "squeezed" anything in. It was the perfect amount of time.... one day.  See picture documentation below:

Behold! The Silver Gold Hotel, Bangkok Thailand. Not bad, right? Not bad at all. Though, it was our first experience with the tubless, curtainless, pretty much you just spray down the whole room while you're at it, shower. It's just you, the shower head, and a drain in the floor. May or may not have soaked our toilet paper... but only once. We adapted quickly.

That sweaty little river bug is me! Let me tell you about those sunglasses, they lasted the ENTIRE two weeks (see: Andrea notoriously loses and or breaks sunglasses frequently... vacation increasing that likelihood immensely). Well, they lasted until our Halong Bay trip in Vietnam when not a day before we were supposed to fly home they may have slipped from my head right into the ocean, sinking into the void. Ahem. Anyway! This is me on our river boat tour of Bangkok Thailand! The only way to tour Bangkok, Thailand.

The Goldon Buddah. Hey you! Turn this way! Look over here! He's shy...

Approaching the floating market in our boat. Easily my favorite part of our day in Bangkok. They cook the food on their boats and then hand it up to the servers on the pier. It's pretty awesome. Oh and the smells! Delicious smells! Kinda how Korean Air smelled when they were preparing good food.

Me and the Floating Market. Still a sweatball but no longer a bug!

Our first $3 Pad Thai meal in Bangkok at the floating market. Excellent!

Namiste. The Temple of Dawn. The details on this temple are incredible. What a beautiful edifice right in Bangkok! Simply perfect! (Also, do you like how my dress kinda matches the etched flowers around me? Totally planned that (not)).

Up Up Up we go, precious! My legs were shaking the whole time. Turns out, I'm a little adverse to heights. And this thing had some serious height. Phew. Gave me the jimmy legs!

Can't get enough of the Temple of Dawn. Just lovely.

Temples make one pensive, right? On the Roof-tops of Bangkok. What a sight!

The Hall of Buddahs in a Buddhist temple. That's not an official name or anything, but it makes sense. It's a hall, and there are many Buddahs. THUS!

One of many Buddist Temples.

Of course there are many tales to tell of our first day in Bangkok and mucho more pictures that were taken. I tired to summarize as best I could. The river tour was fantastic and the food even better! It rained a bit while we were there which kept the temperature very moderate and rather refreshing. There are plenty of temples to see and a plethora of outdoor markets to weave through. They have anything and everything at the outdoor markets, from food to jewlery, "wooden" elephants, clothes, dresses, shoes, trincets and trappings... everything. And all "fo special price, lady! I make special price fo you! You want Tuk-Tuk, lady?"

However, we actually did get completely suckered once our first day at a seafood restaurant our very obliging Tuk-Tuk (this is a Tuk Tuk) driver recommended. We quickly learned that most Tuk-Tuk drivers have deals with particular establishments. If they bring tourists to their establishment and the tourist buys something, then the Tuk-Tuk gets a cut. Well, one particularly smooth Tuk-Tuk driver took us two an-hungerd Americans to this seafood restaurant that seemed just bells and whistles initially. We picked out our own fish (note... us thinking the price as 300 baht total (about $10US) NOT 300 baht/gram... yeeeeah, our eye for detail greatly increased after that), and then asked if we wanted our salad, soup, and rice served before the fish? Well here in America, a lot of these little 'side items' COME with the entry, right? Most of them. So here we are, enjoying our delicious meal and recounting the happy events of the day, congratulating ourselves on navigating this extremely foreign bit of the world with savvy and smarts, when our check arrives. And wow... super check it is. Our mental conversion calculators still a little rusty, Terilyn gave the dude her credit card to pay for the food before we fully computed what the cost actually was... oh ya know... 2800baht (read $100 US!)

"Wait wait wait!" I said, when the dude returned with the receipt, "You tricked us! This wasn't listed! There was no menu! You totally suckered us into paying these ridiculous prices we wouldn't even pay in AMERICA!" (The Thai people (vendors mainly) are very smart in figuring out "American prices" and inflating their prices to match... very clever) Well, dude acted like he didn't know what I was saying, which I knew FULL WELL he understood EVERY word I was saying. But alas, the damage was done. The card was run. And we were suckers for the day. Luckily, all OTHER meals we had were about $4-$5 apiece and we consoled ourselves with the knowledge that if we had been in Italy (which by the way, will be my next vacation spot), we couldn't get away with paying less than $10 per meal most likley - thus our 'sucker money' would be made up throughout the trip. I guess you have to suffer at least one 'suckering' on your trip to an extremely remote foreign country or your basically... well... un-American, right? And who are we to be un-American? No one. As further revenge, I didn't tell the Tuk Tuk driver how much we paid, because then he'd know what percentage to expect and not get suckered himself. I said "We paid too much and YOU suckered us into coming here so I'll be damned if I'm going to let you get a reward from it!" Well... I thought that... what I really said is "We paid enough, my friend, and we're not happy. Not happy at all." I definitely didn't tell him the amount. He should suffer too! Vengence was mine!!.. ... ish.

To further assuage our pride, we did end up purchasing tailor made suits for a STEAL of a deal (thank you Thailand for finally living up to the dream) which helped make up for the Great Tuk-Tuk Suckering, amongst many other super bargains and general cheapery of travel. I only got suckered once more after that... ;) And it wasn't as pricey... more lame. But that story for another day!

I took a picture of the million dollar meal. See what getting swindled in Bangkok for $100/meal will get you!

And that was Days 1-2 of our great adventure. It seems like we did alot because we did ALOT! Which ended up being the theme through the entire trip. Turns out there are a lot of hours in a day and a lot can be done within one day with those hours. Makes you reflect on how much time you really do waste watching LOST each week. Alright, not true. LOST isn't a waste of time.

Stay tuned for more "Excursions of the Orient" (getting better!) in the following days. We've got Phi Phi Island to explore, a monkey to taunt, a bus ride from hell to muddle through, intestinal bacteria to battle, and Australians to love. A lot happens in 2 weeks...