Voice Mail Blues

I remember when I got my first cell phone I was so excited that people could call me that for the first week it was plugged into the charger every time one of the bars in the battery went away. The little voice mail man would glow in happiness that someone had left a message. I would check it right away.

This didn't last for long. My first cell phone was a virgin mobile piece of crap. The first real cell phone I got was a red juke from Verizon. I felt so cool flipping the phone up to answer it or read my text messages. The voice mail man was my new friend, my first job had a way to get in touch with me, and I could text anybody I wanted without any limits. I was a bad ass.

I know a few things about the person who had the number before me. Firstly, he was male. Second, he had a lot of debt. Third, or rather three times a day, or week if I was lucky, I would get a recorded message from a debt company asking the previous number owner to call them back and square away his debt. From November 2008 to May 2009 I would get messages for this unknown man, and to top it off I kept getting calls in the middle of my classes from my job.

Every time someone leaves me a voice mail I try to guess what they will say depending on who called me. If it's one of my jobs here in Moscow it goes something like this:

"Hi Melanee this is,_____ call me back when you get the chance."

It's a polite message. However, I have this problem where my imagination kicks in and I imagine worse case scenarios. Things like
"You're fired."
"You're client just died."
"You were supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago. Where are you?"
"You made a mistake on your time sheet. I need you to come fix it."
"Your insurance ran out today. I need you to come by and bring me an updated copy."

Just the thought of these problems happening to me makes my stomach act like it's a dryer on tumble dry. And the little man on the screen? The one I see in the middle of my classes looking at me with his smug little blue face and the two bars beside him as if he's telling me, "You're gonna get it." Each time a new taunt. I worry.

My favorite messages go like this:
"Hi Melanee this is ________ I need *insert reason for call* from you. Give me a call when you have a second." To tell me what you need is to save the remaining class time for learning rather than worrying.

It's almost that time of year

For some people, a holiday means another pain in the butt. Possibly torture as family members come over for a big meal where you may even be forced to sit for hours talking and repeating things over and over for old gramps and grammies. Yeah, there is lots of food, and yeah there is lots of drank, but what else really? People have seemed to throw aside the meaning of whatever holiday in particular it may be, thanksgiving, christmas, and instead enjoy recieving gifts and forgetting the meaning behind that holiday altogether. Then comes Valentine's day, which we all know is another reason to either appreicate your loved one, feel bad for yourself if you don't have someone, or maybe even celebrate being alone. Although my valentine's day consisted of getting wine drunk, falling in the mud, taking a $3.50 taxi ride home, and falling asleep eating a hot dog in my bed, it is definitely safe to say that the celebration of holidays is still on the rise.
What about the little holidays though? The ones we idahoans sometimes forget about, the ones like halloween that bear no meaning in particular but chaos or a little white lie. I guess what I'm getting at is did you forget the next holiday? For if you do, you will only be prone to lies beyond lies, tricks beyond tricks. They are coming for you no doubt. And if they aren't coming for you, you are coming for them. For April Fools is right around the corner and you have to be on your best game. We all have been fooled. It is the one holiday a year which we are allowed to lie, fib, make believe. It is the one holiday that is as meaningless to some as the rest; but that is the whole point. Make no sense, lie your heart out, get someone to believe some kind of fallacy. It's almost here...

The case of the disappearing 2nd vasectomy

We all have laughed at friends in hilarious situations that you would give your left pinkie to not be in yourself. This weekend I had a bunch of friends over for some dinner and fondue and just plain fun. In between funny memories that worked your abs and stretched your smiles with laughter, one of my friends asked another "Remember that time when your dad got a vasectomy?"


The inquirer was one of the strangest people I know. Tall and sporty, Andrew, or Fife as most call him, is a Mormon runner who is not afraid of what people think. He can ask any question and perform any task if he wants to. While he was working the A&W drive through, for example: he listened to an apparently very attractive voice ordering her fast-food and decided, presumably by the sultry way she said "mozzarella sticks" that she was pretty enough to be asked on a date. So when she drove up to the window, before he could even give it a second thought, they agreed on a date. Which I might add she had to cancel for an AA meeting.


Sean, the person whom Fife posed his question to proceeded to answer with a quizzical Wow Fife look saying "Yeah I remember... before we moved here." Fife was sure this was wrong. "No I remember he was walking funny with a limp and couldn't move very well."
"He pulled his hamstring bad but he didn't have a second vasectomy" Sean said laughing at the absurdity of the question. But Fife wouldn't believe it.

He was so set on proving his point that he decided to call Sean's dad and ask himself. So he proceeded to call Sean's house and went into the other room while we all strained to hear the conversation catching little snidbits: "I was just curious..." "Well we were talking and I was trying to remember..." When Fife came back in the room he said "Well, she said you were right but it took her a long time to remember..." We all burst into laughter realizing it was Sean's mom who had answered the phone and been put through this awkward conversation.

But it only got better. As we were just resuming normal conversation, Sean's phone rang. He answered and we listened to the side of the call we could hear. "Hi dad... Yeah sorry I tried to dissuade him... Well it just kinda came up... He remembered when you pulled your hamstring... Yeah I'm sorry I told him not to... No it just randomly came up..." By the end of the fiasco, Fife was still not convinced that Sean's dad had only one vasectomy.

Things To Do On Your Spring Break Vacation

Take your two daughters, ages twenty-four and ten and
your granddaughter, age four, on a girl trip.

Drive six hours to Seattle, get stuck in traffic for fifteen minutes while a parade goes by, find your hotel downtown after taking four wrong turns, re-routed by GPS (Global Tracking System).

Walk on the pier thinking “Pike Place has got to be here somewhere!” not realizing you had walked right past it. It begins to rain and everyone now has to pee, laugh a little – or you may cry. Stop to take photos of the kids holding the Space Needle in their hands. You see a statue of a naked man, try not to pee your pants laughing as you hold something else in your hands for a more adult photo. Walk five more blocks and up five flights of stairs and finally find Pike Place. Try to remember why you wanted to bring two small children to this place.

Return to fabulous hotel and walk to Irish restaurant T.S. McHugh’s and think, “How strange that people are wearing green t-shirts with Irish slogans!” Drink a Guinness beer and eat soda bread. Yum.

Go to the zoo in the morning passing runners with numbers pinned to their shirts. Runners in green and black striped long socks, green top hats and tails, green fuzzy big hair and giant glasses. Pass a sign that says its Irish Festival Weekend and think, “Ah, Ha.” See the zoo in speedy like fashion, taking photos of your daughter holding a Gorilla in her hand.

Drive three hours from Seattle to the cabin that you’ve rented by the ocean and pass through a town that looks like it has been destroyed. A town you later Google, nicknamed in the past as the “Hellhole of the Pacific” for its high murder rate. Try not to scream. Houses boarded up, with shingles missing and “For Sale” signs on each street, businesses with signs declaring empty, and see very few people. Blanch at the Tsunami warning signs that are posted every mile. Drive another thirty minutes along a sketchy road seeing the same scary looking houses that you think no one could live in, passing the occasional new gated beach home, between the thickest forest that you’ve ever seen as you think, “This is where murderers must hide their victims.” Get to the cabin and beach community as your GPS locator finally catches up with you because you now have service. Giant sigh of relief, thank God for GPS.

Eat out for lunch; you deserve it after that drive.

Walk the path to the beach and put your feet in the cold, freezing water as it travels to your heart and think, “Am I dying?”

Watch your two daughters and granddaughter play the “Hot Lava” game against the waves rolling in and capture their smiling faces on film. This photo alone is worth the trip.

Eat out for dinner, even though you brought a cooler full of food, again, you deserve it after that drive and the Café waiter and cook are the only other inhabitants of this area so it makes you feel less scared.

Stay for two days, hot tub in the back of the cabin and think about the cougars and bears that the cabin manual said to beware of and think, “Oh My God.” Don’t tell your daughter that you heard voices in the night and that you are a little freaked out that we don’t have cell service.

Eagerly drive home via Portland, stop and visit your daughter’s school friend. At Mother’s Bistro eat some of the best food, sample everyone else’s dishes. Eat a decadent dessert because it’s a twelve hour drive and you may as well as you think, “Who am I trying to impress?”

Stop at Multnomah Falls on the way home to see the big waterfall. Take photos of your ten year-old holding the bridge in her hand in front of what looks like a film crew. Realize that they ARE filming some guy on the bridge and that it is Nick Cannon from America’s Got Talent – whom your ten year-old LOVES. Get photo of her with him – wait until we get to the car to see her flip out.

Drive the rest of the way home feeling very giddy, wrestle tumbleweeds at the rest stop, take photos of birds, giant windmills, watch an episode of iCarly – the kids show on the iPhone and once again, thank God for GPS.

Mean Girls

I'm here to inform you lovely English classman of mine about the horrors and misery of bitchy roommates and their "BFF's." I have created a mission that I fondly refer to as 'Kitchen Impossible.' It will be epic! In order to help you understand the meaning of my mission, I will start at the beginning...

Let me take you back a few weeks to a time before the title ex-boyfriend ever existed. He was tall, built, handsome...and bald. It was my 21 run and I had been wasted for roughly an hour. While "dancing" at a club I call CJ's, as I was gracefully strutting my stuff, he appeared. The night lived strong as we rubbed our way to a telephone call two days later and a date for coffee. Of course the date went perfect! Duh, it was with me (joke)! Surprised by how well those two whole hours turned out I was asked later that evening for our little get together to expand...Margaritas at La Casa?

PAUSE!

Here's the first misguidance: When you ask your roommates politely "Should I or should I not say 'yes' to this boy who dated your bff (Code Name) Purple for five years and has been broken up with her for two, who, by the way, I have maybe spoken two sentences to in my entire life?" and what do they say . . . "Go for it, no, they're just good friends, go for it, he's a sweetie, a really nice guy." And I quote myself, Are you sure? I don't want to cause any DRAMA . . . woopsies?

NOW as I was saying, currently thanks to my two month long (now) ex-boyfriend, the title bitches does apply and the battle lines have been drawn. . . cue drama. As the dates kept coming and the nights got longer (and I mean longer), my roommates got meaner. Their meanness manifested itself in the housework. Who does that?

Not only am I no longer invited to small sit downs, girls' nights out, or any event that would acquire a run-in with the 'BFF,' but now I am the verbally, fix that, memo-ed live-in maid. I have been tortured with notes demanding 'kitchen attention' on days where nothing had my fingerprints. I have been kicked to the curb and ridiculed by their weapons of poor penmanship. Over what? A boy you swore was NOT off-limits?

SO...

I have finally decided to retaliate by creating mission 'Kitchen Impossible.'

Dear Abbey,

Do the dishes because beat up girl with my timid words!

Sincerely,
Captain Mean Girl

And I say to you....

Screw you! None of its mine because I'm a ball-a! Foo!

Now don't get me wrong, I love this school and I'm a Vandal Fan for life. But is it just me or are Idaho woman the only real woman on this planet? Face it. We're the real deal. None of that prissy I'm too good for you body language. I've never met a true Idaho girl who gives a cold shoulder and causes drama every waking moment of her life. We're simple, easy going and down to earth. Could this be the reason my roommates hate my guts? Because they're not from Idaho? Are they upset because I stole one of the many decent men Idaho has to offer? Are they jealous I'm not afraid to get a little dirty? If a mud fight is all it'll take for some type of RESPECT to start happening here then don't think I won't do it.

A bad roommate.

College means roommates. Sometimes these roommates aren't our first choices. Since my freshmen year I have learned this and have come up with slightly creative ways to deal with such people.

The rules are simple you have to be friends of some sort, meaning that you both chose to live with each other and thought it would be a good idea. You have to have mutual friends who come over to see both parties. You have to be of the opposite sex and not dating, hooking up, or whatever you want to title any sort of sexual encounter. Although I guess you could just alter the list to fit the gender. Lastly you have to like the person just not like living with them.

Now for the fun. All of the below "activities" have been done by me or done to me. It's all fun in games when you live together.
1. Not allow parties because you're tired when roommate and friends are talking about getting drunk.
2. Counter attack: throw the party anyways.
3. Counter attack 2: throw a party when roommate has a test to study for.
4. When throwing a party together hide the toilet paper in your room and tell only YOUR friends where it is. (this is really effective when the other bathroom is upstairs and makes great for awkward conversation of roommate's friends asking for squares of TP)
5. Make friends with roommate's friends.
6. Invite roommate's friends over.
7. On everything you buy write your name in all caps, just to show it's yours.
8. Hook up with roommate's friends.
9. Have sex with girlfriend so roommate and friends can hear.
10. Counter attack: make loud noises during their sexy time. Very funny.
11. Take lots of funny pictures of drunken roommate and post them on Facebook.
12. Turn music on really loud early in the morning when roommate is hungover.
13. Party with roommate's friends when roommate is studying.
14. When watching TV with friends turn on TV in your room loud.
15. Counter attack: say I love that show and all go up to room to watch show together. VERY funny.
16. Talk about what a "tool" your roommate was last night to your friends and roommate.
17. Put all your movies, Cd's, and anything else that could be shared in your room and always close the door.
18. Counter attack: Bring the apartment football to your fraternity.
19. Come home late at night and be really loud and talk for as long as you can (This keeps roommate and girlfriend up wondering where you were and angry the next day they didn't go.)
20. Together drink anything in the beer fridge left by friends for longer than two days and talk about all the funny stuff you pull on each other. THE BEST.

I LOVE my roommate and love that we can do these things to each other and still be civil. Note: Before you pull any of our stunts make sure your roommate has a sense of humor. I recommend putting clear cling wrap on their toilet... You will find out real fast what type of a person they are.

My Quarter LIfe Crisis

Like David, I used spring break as a time for reflection. It is very interesting where the mind goes when it is not bombarded by the obligations of school. Instead of constantly trying to keep up with my work, I had time to simply do whatever materialized in my idle mind. What emerged on the cognitive surface, I have to admit, surprised me. As a teenager, my days usually consisted of arguing with my mom and skating. School was obsolete. Who needs academics when there are cement waves to ride and goggling teenybopper babes to impress? My dresser was filled with the customary garb. I had skate shirts galore, tight, black jeans, and my Emerica skate shoes. Andrew Reynolds was my hero at the time. My taste in music conformed to the non-conforming punk of the day. Anti-Flag, Rancid, and whatever else was popular provided sustenance for my angst-ridden soul. With earphones in and music turned all the way up, I would ride around town without a single care. All that really mattered was maintaining some semblance of political radicalism, but now, as a busy college student bustling around, the list of cares and concerns has tripled in size. Spring break was a nostalgic break. I couldn’t shake thoughts of my pubescent past. I dedicated all of my Pandora radio stations to punk and stole my roommate’s skateboard. The Moscow Skate Park is located right next to the high school. This provides the perfect opportunity for me to re-experience the tempestuous years of adolescence. Seeing those little kids ride around is like living in a flash back. It feels good. It’s what I need. My quarter life crisis deserves a little attention.                                                              

            

Double LIfe

In the spirit of Spring Break, I have been thinking about where I am going and where I have gone and the things that I want to do and the things that I have done. I like to travel and explore other places and weekends are the chance that I get to do those things. For Spring Break I will be in Utah exploring the canyonlands. Spring Break is a very long weekend in which I will forget everything about my actual life except for who I am. I will forget that a I am college student in his senior year. I will be living in the moment, taking in what is there as if this is my actual life instead of that other one that has homework to do and tests to study for and bills to pay and jobs to apply for. This is how it is most of the weekends I have when I go somewhere else, which is quite often. I totally forget about reality and live in a fantacy world for just two days out of every week., sometimes, If I am lucky, more. Without those two days or so of unreality, I think that I would go insane and there would really not be much of a reason for me to live. Weekends were I think built for escape from the drag of our daily lives; a chance to live how we want to instead of how we have to. For me, it is like living a double life. During weekends, my life is like I wish it was all of the time, and during the week, my life is like it actually is most of the time. Sometimes it is like I am two different people, depending on the day of the week. I have a much different attitude on a Saturday than I do on a Tuesday. A few weeks ago I went to Missoula, Montana for a big dance called the Foresters Ball. I had so much fun and the weekend seemed so long. During this time, life was good. On the way back to Moscow I stopped at my parents house in Coeur d' Alene for dinner. One of their typical questions was: Do you have a lot of homework this week? (They think that I think my life is about school and that I care a lot about it). This question actually took me by surprise and caught me off guard. What? I thought for a brief second, I have homework in this wonderful life I am living? It is still Sunday right? I replied to them: "Umm, I honestly haven't looked into it, maybe, I don't know, I forgot about that whole school thing on Friday." It was like they were asking me a question about someone elses life, not my own. I told them that I live like I want to live during weekends, and live like I have to live during the week. I told them that right now, I am living like I want to live, and I don't really want to think about school, so I won't. This is my double life. I am, what they call, a Weekend Warrior.

A Cup of Joe (and Bill and Hank and Ted)

It’s Friday morning in Moscow, and as always, I’m having an Americano, two sugars. In the dim cavern of One World, my favorite— and undoubtedly Moscow’s finest—coffee shop, I select a wooden table that insists I slip folded paper under the base for stability. Today, I’m here to write.

The Mystery of the Siriously Strong Neighbor

Does anyone have neighbors; rude neighbors? Or, if you somehow manage a lonely commute between Moscow, Idaho and the Moon these days, have you had disagreeable people-next-door in the past? I have neighbors. And I'm not talking about the nice family in their blue Buick; they smile and wave as they pass my house on their way to the next furry convention (day care and hopefully a petting zoo will be provided); different, yes, but at least they're decent people and throw one hell of a barbeque.

No, I'm talking about the other guy; the hardcore body builder, head shaved so that everyone will recognize his ass-kickery, holed-away with his exotic wife, imported all the way from Minnesota. Sometimes it sounds like they're building an amusement park over there, other times it's more of a kittens through a paper shredder sound. Together though, they have experienced the tragedy of lifting weights without electrolytes, the horrors of pick-your-own fruit farms, and a regular following of Minnesota Public Radio (and to think, for all these years, Garrison Keillor has led me to believe Minnesotans are friendly people). Neighbors whom appear mid-twenties and worldly in the ways of protein shakes and spreadable butter, why are you so distant and reserved? Are you so much hipper than me because your ex-governor helped Schwarzenegger defeat the Predator? Is it because my ex-senator was caught toe-tapping in your airport bathroom; is that why when i say "Hello", you glare at me like I'm suggesting a three-way, and then walk off without so much as a handie?

Here's a new exercise to throw into your glamour-muscle work-out calendar: Smile. Smile and say hello to me, your neighbor. Be more like the imaginary Furries next door, and strike up conversation, about anything. Hey, maybe I've got a calf muscle that I'm particularly proud of and we could compare lifting schedules. Are you going out to get a sandwich? And I'm just smoking on the porch? Invite me; I eat too, especially sandwiches. Are you doing anything tonight? Lets watch a movie; you have a t.v. I have the Rambo box-set!

... I'm getting all together too imaginative with the severe situation of the seriously strong stranger, who is at this moment, breaking kittens. Christ, can he hear me typing this right now? what if he finds this post on the internet? He'd probably post a comment, on my face, with his frightening fists! Help! Someone call the vet; this guy's pythons are syck!

Over the river and through the woods....

I still get excited about visiting my grandma. She's my favorite person in the world, my 79-year old grandma. 'Over the river and through the woods' pretty much explains where she lives - Stites, ID...around Grangeville, past Kamiah, literally on the side of a mountain and down into a gulch. My pop was raised in the little brown house my grandma and her husband, Doug still live in tucked back off the tight corner of Luke's Gulch. That house is still the same brown color its always been, with the same fence around the outskirts of the yard it's always had, the same carport filled with three Toyota trucks just off the kitchen, the same thin windows by the front door looking into the dining room, and the same front door that sticks just so.

When I was a kid grandma had a few horses in the barn around the back of the house, a chicken coop full of chickens and an annoying rooster, and a garden about 10' x 20' in the front yard. Unfortunately the wandering deer overtook the garden enough times to make grandma throw her hands up and throw in the gardening gloves on that idea (now there are hanging tomato plants by the carport). There has always been a big dog roaming around the property. There have been at least two or three hounds, back to back in my lifetime (all with the same name, of course).

25 years later, there aren't any horses in the barn, the chicken coop has long since been replaced by a food storage shed and there is a fat, round black lab mix named Digger - definitely not a hound. The area is still as secluded and beautiful as ever. I couldn't ask for a more serene drive from Moscow to anywhere but grandma's house to clear my head and rejuvenate my mind. I wonder, though, if it's the tantalizing scenery filled with excited anticipation of going to grandma's house or the thought of grandma's homemade pies, warm cookies and endless hugs and kisses that get me there today.

The Bright Lights of... Moscow?

The other night while driving home from my girlfriend's house outside of Viola, Idaho I went over a ridge on the foothills of Moscow Mountain and saw the lights of Moscow. Now for many people they would look at this and say "Isn't it beautiful?" But for me was something a little different. The town was so bright with lights even though it was one o'clock in the morning. Our country says we have an energy demand and need more power, and yet our towns have every street lit, every store sign lit up in bright neon colors and lights on practically lights on in every business even though the store closed at nine or maybe even six. Then I thought "are all the lights necessary? Do we really need a street light every hundred feet in town even though our cars were built with these funny contraptions called headlights? And how would our lives be different if electric lights were turned off at eleven or twelve o'clock? Or what if electric lights didn't exist at all?" After some pretty extensive pondering (it is one in the morning), I began to wonder, if we lived without electric lights would our eyes be better adapted to the dark? Every time we turn a light on or off our eyes have to adjust to the difference in lighting. So if we don't use electric lights our eyes would not have to adjust so dramatically and so frequently. Then maybe our eyes could fully adjust to compensate with either the complete darkness of night or the relative brightness of day.
So how would we function without electric lights? Would we be able to use our instincts that God provided us with? We seem to have manipulated our lives so that we can be ultimately lazy and not even use the full extent of our natural senses. I decided to experiment. I turned off the headlights of my Jeep and drove the twelve more miles of country roads home with my lights off...
Within a minute I could see perfectly fine! It wasn't bad at all, of course some moonlight helped out a little bit. But this experiment convinced me that if we were willing to give up a few lights we could get by comfortably with half or even fewer lights, and then just maybe everyone will get a better look at the stars that the city lights seem to blot out.

Whiskey: A Girl's Best Friend

Whiskey: warm and comforting, a safety net helps me to never be alone. I can always rely on Whiskey. Without a doubt Whiskey will always be there. Relaxing me when I need it, and comes with a bite to keep me safe. My 3 year old Skye Terrier Whiskey Lullaby is my best friend. Whiskey, with his white and grey long hair coat and signature large ears, is always able to make me laugh. With his warm, brown, eyes he is capable of making me feel as if someone actual gets what is going on in my life. Curling up with me when I am sad or sick lets me know that he really does love me. Whiskey was given to me after a tragedy in my life and he was been with me through several more. He is someone that I can count on to always be there when I need, and always listen without judgment (and that's not only because he can't talk back). Last year (my freshman year) I lived on campus and had to leave him at home. It was difficult for both of us. I was born and raised on a ranch, so I have always had animals with me basically at all times. Occasionally when I called home last year, my mom would put him the phone next to his ear while I talked to him. She said that he would immediatly roll over on to his back. This is something he has done since I got him. He rolls onto his back and looks at you like come on you know what I want. And we do. What he wants is a belly rub. It is his weakness. If I playing tug-a-war with him and feel like cheating all I have to do is start to pet his stomach and he stops what he is doing and rolls over. That is also one of the first things he will do when I get home from class. It's like he is saying, you left me alone all day, you owe me. I was grateful to be able to have him with me this year. It has made things better for both of us. Last year, he lost weight (making him underweight) and sulked around. This year my mom says that when I come home with him with me, he seems happier and so do I. I've spent a lot of time alone this year with living off campus that I don't know how things would have gone without him being here. I love my Whiskey; he really is a girl's best friend.

The Befuddlement of a 20-something Gal

It may or may not be that I am indeed a 20 something befuddled gal, or that this is merely Idaho, or that they are merely boys, or maybe it's all three, who knows? It would appear that said girl above seems to only know guys who will either fall in love upon first sight or despise upon first sight as well. The middle group of "I might like her" seems to be completely overlooked. And while I am indeed speaking for myself I know a plethora of other 20 somethings that are befuddled right there alongside with me. To compensate for this lack of middle ground that I have above stated, I will now recount a tale of a girl, a bed,a cabin in the woods, and a boy whose love turned to hatred upon rejection,a night that should have been fun, a night the ended up bad, and all in all a really great story for anyone who has ever had or is a stalker.
For the sake of the stalkers morale we shall call him Tina. Tina is a man-bitch. Upon ones meeting of this Tina one realizes that the definition of man-bitch in regards to Tina is quite accurate. (For the sake of those who can't read between the lines, Tina is indeed a male). A man-bitch is a man who acts like a pregnant women right before they are about to go into labor.Hormonal. A man bitch is like your fat cousin who cried when they dropped their cupcake; your fat cousin is 16. A man-bitch is that person at the party who doesn't quite make it to the garbage can and pukes on your fake Ugg boots.
This story takes place on a complex of cabins on Hayden Lake, in Coure d' Alene Idaho. They are my friends family's cabins and she had invited my friends and all of her friends to stay for the weekend. Her friends include the lovely Tina. Lovely Tina has been telling me ever since freshman year of college that she is in love with me, I keep telling Tina that I don't reciprocate that emotion towards her, (not even as a friend), but I spare Tina's delicate emotional soul and leave that part out. Tina followed me home once, Tina waited outside my bedroom for an hour once, drunk, Tina bruised my wrist once, Tina is kind of creepy.
After hours of drinking at my friends cabin everyone is starting to pass out. I go to cabin next door and crash on the fold-able couch, four people are in the bedroom next door and that includes Tina and her other friend Sally(also a male), my friend who owns the cabin, and my one of my best girlfriends. As I start to doze off into drunken slumber land I hear the creak of door, I look around, the front door hasn't moved at all. I lie back down, and there is an even larger creak that comes from down the hall, something was stirring. I shoot up in bed and stare at the dark figure that had come wafting down the plank. As I squint in the shadows I notice who the intruder upon my sleep is, it is Tina. Tina is staring down at me from where she stood,
" Sleeping were we?" she says slyly.
" Yeah Tina, go away."
"I just want to talk, Liz, is that ok? Can a friend not talk to a friend."
"No Tina, its 3am in the morning, we aren't friends, and this is defiantly not the time to talk."
"But Liz can't i just hop in bed with you for a minute?"
"No TINA! Go away!" Tina hops in anyways and stares at me from across the bed. My heart is racing and just as I am about to get up and run to another cabin...
STAY TUNED TO HEAR MORE OF THE CHRONICLES OF LIZ AND THE VILLAINOUS MAN-BITCH TINA.

One Team

It comes around once a year. It's not Christmas, New Years, Easter, St. Patrick's Day, birthdays, Valentine's Day, or any other holiday that we like to use as an excuse to get together with family (or dread because you have to). To me this time of year is much more than that. It's the Western Athletic Conference Swimming and Diving Championships. The third week of February each year we lay it all on the line. All the work we put in since the first day we step onto the University of Idaho Swim Center deck, all the miles we put in following a black line, all the tears we shed over devastating loses and outstanding triumphs. All the Friday nights we as collegiate athletes give up so as to rise much too early on a Saturday morning and throw ourselves into the always ice cold water. All the hours of sleep we lose trying to balance swimming and school. All of our excuses have lost all meaning because when we get off that plane in San Antonio, Texas it all comes down to one thing: who can get their hand on the wall first.
This year was no different than any other year. We trained for twenty-six weeks starting back in August, knowing that this is what it would come down to. The meet goes from Wednesday night to Saturday night. For me this was an interesting year. I managed to place ninth in all my individual preliminary swims, which in swimming is the worst place you can be. From prelims to finals one cannot move above or below the bracket of eight that they placed in the morning swim. Ninth place means you can place no higher than ninth no matter how fast you swim, and you can drop as low as sixteenth. I personally have had the ninth to sixteenth thing happen before, thankfully not this year though.
Each day we compete in one relay, and to me the most memorable of this year was the 4x50 yard freestyle relay. Idaho is loaded with sprinters which puts this relay as our highest placing one. I am one of the ones lucky enough to earn a spot on it, which makes me overcome with pride and nerves. Each stroke on this relay matters, each breath, each turn, each start, each finish. There are no mistakes in this relay.
We start in the back room, lined up with five other teams, my iPod headphones are shoved deep into my ears so as to block out every other thing going on around me. I'm focused, excited, nervous, slightly nauseous, really needing to pee (which somehow is the case before every figgin race!). I'm cold, I'm shaking, I'm blocking out the world. Tick-Tok (which was my pump-up song of choice for the duration of the meet) blasts through my headphones into my brain taking over everything that I know. I'm have conscious when they signal for us that it's time to walk out onto deck and do exactly what we're here to do. My head down, my eyes trying to block out all the screaming teammates, (ours and others), I walk numbly through the crowd to behind the blocks. Each team is given a brief introduction and I'm dully aware of us being announced. I focus on nothing but myself now, our first swimmer steps up on the starting blocks, I still feel like I'm going to throw up, the buzzer goes off and the race begins. Six girls sprinting their hearts out. Twenty three seconds later our second girl is flying through the air the crowd is screaming and I'm in my own little world. I've removed myself from where I am and I'm in my "zone". In no time our third swimmer steps up behind the block and gets ready to go. I force myself back to earth, back to this pool deck and the task at hand. I take my headphones off doing my best to continue to keep everything else out. I step up on the blocks. Everything comes down to this, all the hours we've spent doing everything, all the relay exchanges we've practice for this moment. I'm ready, toes curled over the edge of the blocks ready to spring through the air. I'm ready, my arms swing in perfect timing for when I dive in. I begin my wind up, I'm leaning, she's touching the wall...she's not touching the wall. I'm in mid air and I can think only one word, "shit". My world comes crashing down on me with the realization that I may have just disqualified this relay, this one relay that is so important to this whole weekend. My body goes on autopilot as my mind reels. "I know I did it, I know I did it, I know I did it" is all I can think as I pound through the water, breathing exactly where I need to, feeling the burn of every single muscle in my body. This is what I've done not only for the past 144 days, but the past ten years. It has all lead me to this, I push past my fear and through the water. I slam my hand into the wall.
Cheering. Tears.
I look over to my team, who with a third place finish should have been ecstatic. They saw it too.
Silence.
I numbly crawl from the water and can't stop the tears that begin streaming down my face. I nearly collapse into a worthless heap on the side of the pool but my teammates come over and pull me towards my coach.
No disqualification.
The officials didn't see it. Maybe it just seemed that way to me. Maybe we just got lucky.
I process this, trying to turn my terror into joy.
One race, one breath, one stroke, one start, one turn, one finish, one relay. But most importantly, together through the tears, the triumphs, the successes, the failures we will always be one team.


GO VANDALS! :)

funny, depressing things that are real

In Saudi Arabia, the country we send probably more American dollars to than any other, women do not have the right to vote, drive a car, seek employment, testify in court, or even leave the house (unless a male accompanies them). Also, sorcery is a crime punishable by death (magic is legally REAL) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women's_rights_in_Saudi_Arabia

Much of the world still believes marijuana is the key to failure in life, even after the leader of the free world admitted to using it, as well as 14-gold-medal winner and 37-world-records swimmer Michael Phelps. Meanwhile, tobacco continues to slaughter 400,000 Americans each year (http://drugwarfacts.org/cms/?q=node/30).

We are destined to end up a cold and lonely galaxy, ignorant of the fact that there once was a whole universe out there to explore...but that's a hundred billion years away, so smile in the meantime =) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ImvlS8PLIo skip to 51 minutes in)

The ichneumon wasp has adapted it's evolution to the point where it exists solely to inject mind-control fluid directly into cockroach brains and turn them into zombies. They then lead the roaches down to a burrow and plant an egg inside of them that hatches and eats the paralyzed zombie-roach alive over the next seven days. If a God designed this, it had to of been the Old Testament version. This was the bug that shook Darwin's faith, hah. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qN2XMyxAs5o)

The top 1% of Americans have more financial wealth than the bottom 95% combined. Capitalism dropped the ball, not as hard as communism, but the numbers don't look good. (http://sociology.ucsc.edu/whorulesamerica/power/wealth.html)

It is physically impossible to care for more than 150 people in the world. Your brain literally does not have room for any more sympathy than that. Another tragic design flaw you'd think God would seen coming, but he also overlooked that whole appendix thing so I don't know how much credit we can reasonably give anyways. (http://www.cracked.com/article_14990_what-monkeysphere.html)

There are people in the world who think President Bush was like Xanatos from Gargoyles, meticulously planning to have the WTC bombed with retarded amounts of hidden explosives that he'd smuggled in over a period of months past the bomb dogs and cameras, paying off thousands of witnesses and controlling everything behind the scenes, completing his gambit by manipulating American fears into Operation Iraqi Freedom. Yet somehow he couldn't smuggle one.little.WMD into Iraq to make it look like he hadn't wasted 4 years, a trillion dollars, and 4000 American lives. Also, there is no such thing as an eclipse. The sun only gets blocked because Stephen Colbert swings his testicles in the way. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa-4E8ZDj9s)

There are more Komodo dragons in Indonesia than everywhere else in the known universe combined! Kinda makes you proud, doesn't it?

Drunken Sobriety

The mess of two worlds collide when arriving to a college party completely sober. Ever done that? Although this has slowly become my routine as of late it has also slowly become a reality to the truths of college. The sex driven world of fraternities, the sex driven world of football parties, the sex driven world of university; they are all the same. Parties remind me of a loss of self control, a loss of control at all, chaos that can be beautiful with your beer goggles on or all too ugly without them. It doesn't matter which party you go to. University of Idaho can often resemble something close to Lord of the Flies. The children that have been tightly bound in younger years of adolescence have suddenly been released into the wild air of Moscow, realizing the lengths of freedom they are so willfully given. Perhaps some of us have always had that freedom, perhaps some of us have never dreamt of it, while others like me are already bored of it. These drunken walls of peope, the slur of words, the beautiful messes of sorostitutes and frabots.
The lingo of Greek life was like another language to me, but now I speak it fluently, knowing all too well the games played within these beautiful kingdom mansions. The lines that the fraternity boys use to lure you into "shacking" with them in their "butt huts". It is a sex driven world, it is college, and we are all apart of it. The clash of a sober world and a clash of a very drunken world are all too different, and the distinguishable difference between them become very clear. Try it out. "Isla!Isla!" A drunken girl looks my way and crumbles on her eet through the crowd; we dash to pick her back up. These parties remind me why I am from Boise, why I am stil young and still innocent and that although I have made great choices. We have all been at these parties. We have all either been the drunk ass or the one who sees from a completely new perspective, a sober one. Who wants to skip prefunking an event like this? It is easily accepted that to be apart of this world and enjoy yourself while in it, joining the crowd activity is inevitable. I do it, we all do it. Down your drink and wait for the craziness to begin. Because it will. Whether they are the best times of our lives, or the worst, there is no denying these wild young college kids their freedom. To what lengths are they willing to flaunt it?

My Personal Manifest Destiny

Living in this great state of Idaho has been a true and utter blessing in my time. I have been an Idahoan since 1990 moving westward from North Dakota, a flat desolate land of the socially backward and dissenters of any foreign influence. My family decided it was time to leave for a new opportunity along with knowing that "Nordak" wasn't the best of settings to raise a young family of five. I came here without any subtle inclination what this new state had in store for me or my family except better paying vocations for my parents. We hit Coeur d' Alene when I was four and I immediately fell in love with Idaho's scenic presence. There are relatively no natural disasters here in Idaho except the occassional summer fires and at times hard hitting winters. We a truly blessed with four beautiful seasons whereas North Dakota has only two seasons and those being terrible summers and drastic winters. My recreational life was bolstered by far with numerous outdoor endeavors and the availabilty to enhance our community in positive ways. I can't fathom living in another place where one can hunt, fish, hike, ski, boat, swim or relax like we can in Idaho. It seems that there is always something brewing in this state which is filled with the most delightful people that would go out of their way to help a fellow citizen in a time of need. During my early years here, I heard that Idaho was ridden with racism and neo-facist organizations, mainly the Neo-Nazis of Northern Idaho. As of 1997, Idaho was nationally seen as a place of ridicule and so-called 'white pride.' Knowing our state was in jeopardy of being labeled a Confederate sympathizer, our population in Northern Idaho sought a time for change and modernization in which we sucessfully irradicated the hate in our community all the way to Pennsylvania where the Neo-Nazis that once infested our district had all gone to. We burnt down their old communes and now live in a time were acceptance reigns supreme and the beauty of Idaho remains undeterred. Since that time in our history, Idaho has been open to all newcomers looking for pleasant residential living and a chance at happiness. Coeur d' Alene has become a hot spot for tourism being that it is a resort town filled with lakes, rivers and various recreational activities. I guess it's safe to say that Northern Idaho has placed itself back ontop in the national limelight thwarting the once negative outlook many once had perceived. And if there are any naysayers that live among us, I would tell them to come down to our great college town of Moscow where diversity flourishes freely. Ten to fifteenyears ago this would have not been relevant seeing our student population full of kids from nearly five other continents living the American dream listed on the Constitution. Just like America, Idaho has become a land for all to live equally and freely while thriving in their own environment. I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else that is until I find a job after school that may take me elsewhere. For now I am happy where I am at and am thankful I didn't come of age in North Dakota. The chance for new opportunity here in Idaho has never been better and I am content with my personal manifest destiny here in the Gem State.

The Most Hideous Bullets in the Gun

These most hideous parts torture my unconscious, my dreams, my fantasies, my hopes and aspirations.

I am it...

I'm not depressed, nothing is wrong with me. I am actually quite happy with the way my life has gone to date. Minus the fact that I have had a few events in my twenty year life which I suffered greatly. I write to get those experiences out, and however personal they may be I'm not too worried about what everyone thinks because this is for me. The story is for your enjoyment, but it has always been my release and always will be.

Life or Death

In life there’s death, in death there’s life.

You take your choice, but in the end the knife.

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain,

But is what Philippians said in vain?

You choose your life, you choose your dame,

But in death you may never choose the pain.

You watch as the people you love are gone,

And the island your on is a lonely one.

So take your choice, so choose your pain,

But to take your life will not be the same.

Life after death won’t take pity on you,

Taking advantage of, and torturing, you too.

So is to choose a life of sorrow and solitude,

Better than the knife, to change your attitude?

Superbia

There was a time when I was known

as the man with the last name "Ever"

first name "Greatest"

There was a place where all bowed

before me, and I bowed to no man.

But that time is no more,

as I laid there broken and confused,

faded and abused...

There was a time when every one noticed and cared,

and the town chanted my name.

And now I listen to the winds.

I used to sleep next to a new beauty every night,

but lately I've been sleeping next to a ghost...

There was a time when suicide seemed absurd,

but then again my neck did wrap itself around

that dusty noose. And my mother held my lifeless

body. There was a time she smiled, but no more.

"There was a time he was full of life... so full of pride."

Dead set on Livin’

Oh the suicidal thoughts of man.

Broken and beaten, left and forgotten...

so few look for a savior.

so few look to god.

I have battled the pain and crushed

the shame that left me clinging

to the little hope had left.

Clutching the knife I drew near to my chest

I contemplated suicide...

Was this life of mine something divine,

or was me living becoming a crime?

Sucking the air others breathe with a touch of Greed.

Stuffing my Gluttonous need to be #1.

Would my strive and fight for life

be taken as too much Pride?

And is the longing for a women to trust

taking me as just another victim of Lust?

Is this swelling of hate dwelling deep in my stomach

destroying the man and evolving the Wrath?

Will my lack of hope and thought of life

bring me to the speed of the miserable Sloth?

If this be the case, I’m guilty of Envy.

Time slows, and thought distances

Life flashes, and my savior floods my head…

I see family and friends gathering, all of which smile

And not cry, my father and mother’s embrace

Is warm and welcoming, two brothers’ smirks

Bring a laugh, and my sister’s voice

snaps me back to reality…

Yes I contemplated suicide, but only so I may

appreciate this life of mine.

Ill lower this blade, and if you don’t like me

don’t stress, God isn’t finished with me yet...

The poems are unique in their own sense. Each has it's own meaning and that's what I love about poetry.

The Plant

I step inside The Plantation, expecting a cloud of cigarette smoke to immediately engulf me, but smoking has been banned here; this is unfortunate for me because I am a smoker, and when I was underage all my friends always talked about how nice it was to be able to sit down at the bar, have a beer, and enjoy a smoke.

It is my 21st birthday, and I plan to have a shot of whatever the bartender recommends, and whatever drinks my friends plan on buying me. The bouncer immediately asks for my identification, which figures... I still get carded for cigarettes.

Me, my fiancee, and my friends Pete, Karlie, Zack, Nate, and Erica head up to the front to get a few drinks. I have no idea what to order. The bartender can tell I'm fresh fish.

He tells me that he'll make me a shot that I'm sure to love - it's free. What's not to love? When he places it in front of me, I look at all my friends wearily. They're smiling and waiting. After it goes down, I taste tobasco sauce. Yuck. I nearly throw up.

After the grossest shot I've ever had, we head over to the ping pong table. I'm really good at this game, but none of my friends really like it. The bar is fairly crouded tonight because it's a Saturday, so there are already people playing at the table. Lucky me. New competition. I ask to challenge the winner, and they agree. His name is Silas, and he beat his other friend by fourteen points. This guy looks like he'll be difficult to beat.

As I begin playing Silas, my fiancee comes over with two pitchers of Kokanee, and seven Jager Bombs. I tell Silas that it's my 21st and if he could wait a moment while we all take a shot together, and he says he doesn't mind. I'm thankful that I can no longer taste the tabasco sauce after we shoot the Bombs. I poor myslef a glass of Kokanee and go back to the table.

While I play, my fiancee and Nate leave to play some pool. I suck at that game, but I'm sure I'll be tipsy enough to later to at least try it out. My other friends want to play some darts, but that won't be possilbe until we leave for the next bar scene. I end up breaking a sweat playing ping pong with Silas, and I only beat him by two points. I wanted to take on the next competitor, but since it was my 21st I couldn't spend all of my night at the same bar... there are at least four bars my friends and I want to hit tonight. Let's just say I didn't even make it until 10:00 pm that night. I heard that is how a "21 run" generally turns out, and now I can see why - EVERYONE wants to buy you a shot!

Physics: A character study

Physics. The study of motion. The study of matter. The study of space and of time. The study of the backs of classmates heads and the students ability to roll their own tongues. The study of Physics as man.

Physics dresses himself in denim. His Levi's patched with an iron-on square of jean stuck straight to the hole on the lower right corner of his fly(the classes right, not his), and a faded blue denim button down sports the proud polo player of Ralph Lauren poised to take his shot. His mallet held aloft. His horse rearing back on hind legs.

Physics smokes before class. Walking into the front you can smell the scent of cold and of fresh and of camels wearing sunglasses. Or maybe of cowboys with their spurs. The smell of his science thick around him at the top of the hour but that will fade through the 50 minute lecture until, just as the scent turns to leave you, the class will be declared dismissed.

Physics flips through powerpoint slides adorned with lazy cats and the equations and proofs of his trade, he tells us, "I have been a cat owner for 25 years, and as serious cat owners know, cat's are often smarter than humans". We nod, some of us in agreement, some of us in wonder as to what this statement has to do with the impending exam, many of us to places off behind our eyelids.

Physics holds up stacks of coupons at the beginning of class and tries to hand them out to his students. We look away. We look away because Physics has a disconcerting habit of looking us straight in the eye, of addressing us one at a time. Of asking each of us in turn, "would you care for a coupon to Jack-in-the-Box? Two-for-one, that will save you quite a bit of money." Catching one students eye, he again poses the question...she, reluctantly or perhaps heroically, takes the whole stack.

The rest of the class continues on with the private study of tracing their own hands onto the blank pages of their own notebooks labeled,

Physics.