Ahoy Matey!

In just over a week now, I will be drifting along somewhere in the Atlantic, sipping a cocktail, and working on my tan. And Lord knows, I could use a tan. I fully admit that I immensely enjoy being a natural blond, but I have got to be one of the whitest white people on the planet. Anyway, I haven’t been on a sailboat in almost two years now and I am downright giddy with anticipation. One of the things I miss most about Alaska is the ocean. The smell, watching the tides, the sounds of waves crashing into docks and rocks and boats. And sailing in Southeast Alaska is phenomenal. Anywhere you go mountains are in the background. Whale sightings are virtually guaranteed. If the wind dies down – throw out a fishing line or two and salmon or halibut could be on the table for dinner. And there are so many old, abandoned mines and deserted towns that once were bustling ports thriving with immigrants in search of gold. Funter Bay is a now vacant site where the US government dumped Aleut Natives during World War II to ‘protect’ them from Japanese bombings. No one ever returned for them and today all that remains is a small grave yard, a remote Fish & Game lodge, and two or three - I can't remember anymore - privately owned summer homes. Funter Bay is my favorite sailing destination in Alaska, followed closely by Gustavus. I have a feeling that at some point in my life, I am definitely going to return to Alaska. Alaska gets under your skin.

Sailing around in the Bahamas is most definitely going to be a very different experience. My crew responsibilities include next to nothing, so all I really have to do is drink and possibly mix other people drinks. I am not certified to dive (d’oh!) because water in Alaska is wicked cold, but I plan on snorkeling and there are supposed to be some amazing coral reefs in Bimini. It is going to be a fantastic way to bring in 2007!

Trapped in the Clauset

I've stumbled upon a few entertaining writers since I started blogging, and this ditty was introduced to me on Roonie's blog, and it is hands down the funniest Xmas video I have seen all year, so I couldn't resist adding it to my blog as well. I'd be worried about her seeing it and getting pissed at me for copying her, but there are only two people (thank you ~gs!) that ever read this damn blog so who gives a shit? Eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus would approve and that is all that matters...

Would you like some cheese with that whine?

Now that I am single, it feels like the entire world is coupled up. My best friend is busy planning her wedding and just sent out her disgustingly cute engagement picture. My ex-'boyfriend' - or whatever you want to call him - is already living with his new girlfriend. All my co-workers are either married or in serious, committed relationships. Ever last one of them. My parents have been married for 35 years. Fuck, even my dog has a boyfriend. His name is Olav and they don’t get to see each other very often, but they have a bond that transcends time and space.


I am not a serial dater. Never have been. I have always somewhat envied the flirty girls that are always attached, but that is just not me. And I have accepted that. There are advantages to not being that kind of girl. My current roommate, before she found God, was breaking up as often as she was hooking up. She’d come home utterly crushed with each failed relationship. And I’ve met too many couples going through the make-up-and-break-up cycle. And I sure as hell would not want to be dealing with that. But it would be nice to be able to let loose and go whore myself out once in awhile.

George Bush Global Warming Video

Only 691 more days until the 2008 elections...

All I Want for Chirstmas...

Things that I would love to buy, but can't afford:

• My own apartment


• New contacts


• A roof rack for my car


• Meat

Great Big Convoy

I have decided that I would make an excellent truck driver. Over Thanksgiving weekend, I put 1,531.6 miles on my car driving home to surprise my parents and I must have passed at least 500 semis. (And that is probably an extremely low estimate.) Anyway, I think I have what it takes. I have the perfect sized dog to ride along with me. My iPod is completely full. I would blow my horn for anyone who made that universal fist pumping gesture. And most importantly, I have mad CB skills.

The only factor that could potentially hinder my future trucking career is my adamant refusal to put any type of American flag paraphernalia on my truck. Naked women silhouette mud flaps? No problem. One of those 'How's My Driving' signs? Alright. But I could not and would not splay a gigantic American Flag sticker on my truck with something along the lines of 'Support Our Troops, NO SYMPATHY FOR THE ENEMY' surrounding it. I must have seen that on half of the trucks I passed. Seriously. And it kind of pissed me off. What enemy?
We are by far killing more Iraqi civilians than terrorists - am I not supposed to feel bad about that? Supporting troops would be a lot easier if I supported government military actions. If they were in, say, Darfur, I would support that. If we had a presence in Banda Aceh, I'd support that. But kids getting shipped off to Korea and the Middle East on pre-emptive missions of democracy? Um, no.

So when I start my trucking career, I am going trick out my semi to run on vegetable oil and custom paint it to say "Peace, Motherfucker!" And I am going to recruit other truckers to join my gang and we'll only stop at locally owned, organic truck stops. And it will be wonderful.

We are the World

Aside from packing up my whole world and moving to the Last Frontier, the biggest adventure of my life so far was hands down studying abroad on Semester At Sea, which was three months of drunken debauchery on four continents and thousands upon thousands of dollars in student loans that aren’t even close to being paid off today. The problem with going on a kickass whirlwind global tour is that no one wants to hear about it once you come home. And I can’t really blame them. Who would want to hear someone begin every sentence with, ‘This one time in India’, or ‘When I was in Kenya’…? Obviously, I have a little bit more self restraint now and don’t do that all the time, but every now and then from out of no where a story slips out and some poor unsuspecting victim is assaulted with a comparison of their hilarious trip to the grocery store in search of the perfect spaghetti squash with my wild goose chase for Johnnie Walker Blue in Madras, India that ended with me getting felt up by a rickshaw driver. People on the receiving end of those assaults usually end up giving me the same looks I give the crazies on the Metro.

My younger sister is in college right now and has opted not to study abroad against my best older sister advice. I can now understand why Homer always chokes Bart. What the hell is she thinking? If there is one thing I am absolutely sure of, it is that at some point in her life, my sister will regret this decision. Or worse yet, she won’t. I’ve met people that don’t like to travel. Healthy, carefree, unattached people I went to school with, dated, or work with that have never been out of Wisconsin or who’s only traveling experience consisted of an all inclusive package deal to Disneyland or Vatican City or some other tourist destination where you are herded around like cattle by someone that speaks perfect English so you never have to interact with any local people. I just never thought my sister would be one of those people. I am always confused by those people. What exactly is it that scares people? Fear of the unfamiliar? Cost? Does the convenience of sticking to a routine outweigh the possibility of seeing someplace new? Whatever it is, I feel sorry for people so close-minded. And I know my sister is not one of those people. She loves to travel, she is just worried about the money. But it is worth every penny and I just don't know how to convince her of that. I’ll work on her over the holidays…

She's a little runaway

Apparently, Katie Holmes is going through with her crazy whack-a-do wedding to that freak Tom Cruise this weekend. I cannot even begin to fathom the amount of alcohol and prescription medication it would require to get me to marry a devout Scientologist, even a filthy stinking rich one. Now, to be fair, all that I know about Scientology, I learned from watching South Park. But Trey Parker and Matt Stone know their shit. Now, you can try to learn more about Scientology – but go ahead and Google it – you really have to dig to find anything. For an author, L. Ron Hubbard really likes to keep things secret. It’s really just much easier, and I guarantee it’s more enjoyable to just sit down and watch ‘Trapped in the Closet’.

My advice to Katie is to run. Cause I know a thing or two about cults. My roommate is the queen of ManicLand (thank you, craigslist!). Her mother is a ward of the state thanks to her attempt to drive up to heaven in a 2004 Chrysler with a 6-foot statue of the Virgin Mary in the trunk and apparently my roommate has inherited the lunatic gene. She fluctuates between being an independent, outspoken, liberal lesbian – which is the personality she was wearing when I met her – and a devout reborn again Christian who thinks homosexuals burn in hell and comes home spouting off about the gospel according to Pastor. Not Pastor Bob or Pastor Dave. Just Pastor. And Pastor has the ability to perform divine healing; my roommate has seen it with her own eyes. Impressive, huh?

Living with a person that has multiple personalities means I never know what I am coming home to. My roommate is on one of her God kicks right now. Whenever I come home to Sister Psycho, I want to kick her in the crotch, kidnap her dog and run away. Vermont sounds like a nice, unbiased state. My lease is up in four months and if I can get through it without going all jihad on her ass, it will prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt the existence of a supreme being.

Now, I consider myself to be a decent roommate. I am by no means perfect, but I am not a total slob and I don’t hog the bathroom or throw loud parties. But I am seriously religion intolerant when it comes to zealots. Nothing good comes from intolerant bigots cloaking themselves behind the Good Word. So trust me, Katie, when I say run. Run far away. And don’t look back. No one will hold it against you. I stumbled in to a cyanide-laced kool-aid world by accident, but you, Katie Holmes, you can see exactly what you’re walking into. It will be really hard to feel sorry for you if you actually go through with this farce.

Just call me the bag lady

In February I’m going to turn 28. I like that number. It sounds like a good age to be. Not that there has been anything wrong with 27. I think the year I turned 25 was the year I totally freaked out and thought that I was ‘so old’. Now I don’t think I’ll have another freak out until I hit 37. For some reason, that just sounds like the next big milestone. So I am not scared to turn 28.

But I am scared about turning into a bag lady. I have spent ALL of my 20’s involved with the same man - my entire 20’s. And recently, he ended it with me. My entire adult life has included one man and now I am trying to figure out how to start over again. I do not want to be the jaded, bitter person lugging baggage into all my future relationships. I’ve know him since before it was legal for me to drink. He’s seen me quit smoking and graduate from college. He introduced me to country music (no seriously, some of it is actually good) and showed me how to change the oil in my car. I watched him go though a seriously fucked up marriage and watched him go through a complete break down when his family had a last minute shotgun wedding because his little sister got knocked up. (Yep, he’s a little bit redneck, but it’s usually not in the Jerry Springer kind of way.) We were best friends before we ever got involved and he’s seen me at my best and my absolute worst.

I’ve accepted that it’s over and I even think it’s for the best, but the reality of not having him to bounce ideas off of and the thought of having to build up that trust and friendship all over again with someone else hits me like a ton of bricks some days.

Where are my lucky charms?

I started my job nine months ago, right before Mardi gras. I left the land of the midnight sun and a carefree life of drinking, Monday night football, weekend sailing expeditions, failed snowboarding lessons, and more drinking because I decided it was time to start a ‘career’. What the hell was I thinking?

My pity party

"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes, none remain."

-Memoirs of a Geisha

Rubber Ducky

I have the most kick ass little dog ever. She’s not an ankle biter, she doesn’t have one of those annoying yippy barks, she doesn’t even really bark. (But when she does, it’s wicked cute.) She gets along with big dogs, she’s a great hiker, and once she chased off a bear. (Black, not grizzly.) I continue to drag her to new and unfamiliar cities and she stays laid back and low maintenance. Which is good, because my best friend has a very high maintenance young golden retriever and there is no way I could deal with that. Plus, Pint’s poop is only about the size of a marshmallow, and she usually hides behind a tree, so most of the time I don’t even have to bother picking it up.

As much as I love my dog, tonight I am going to do something to her that I know she HATES. Tonight, she is getting a bath. I might not be able to do much with her stank breath, but I can wash off some of the shit smell on her. Every time she sees me get out the doggie shampoo, she runs away from me and hides. How can you not anthropomorphize an animal when it’s SO obvious they have emotions? And after she is done with a bath, she is like Speed Racer running all over the house, trying to run away from the awful memory of warm, sudsy water. Sorry Pint, but tonight you’re getting clean.

Chocolate Salty Balls

I am a culinary genius when it comes to such delicacies as spaghetti and frozen pizza. Last night I mixed a sun dried tomato alfredo with an Italian sausage marinara sauce for my spaghetti. It was a little slice of heaven. I totally rock.

Come Sail Away

I was resigned to the fact that I was going to spend the holidays lying around my parent’s house sulking and mopping because Mark is going to blow me off every night for some old bitch. (And why do I care? Mark is an asshole. A lying, alcoholic asshole.) But if I am just sitting around doing nothing every night, I know myself, and I know I will start thinking about how much fun I would be having if I was out getting drunk with that asshole and then I’ll get depressed about how he’s moved on and I am just sitting on my parents couch eating Christmas cookies missing him. That is what I had resigned myself to...

But then I got invited to go sailing from Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas. And even though it’s going to cost a shitload of money I don’t have and will use up all of my vacation time, I decided fuck it, you only live once. I mean, can you think of a better way to ring in the New Year than stumbling down a beach somewhere in the Bahamas with a cocktail in one hand and a little bit of mysterious dried throw-up on your shirt? Ok, so maybe I could do with out the mysterious puke, but other than that, it’s all good.

Jeepers Creepers!

Halloween weekend! I always say that I love fall and winter, but I usually have shit luck this time of year. It’s been years since I’ve had a great Halloween. When I was eleven, the week before Halloween, I got caught shoplifting at the local Ben Franklin and I was grounded for what would have been my last year of trick-or-treating.

In high school, my best friend had a Halloween blowout and everyone else left the next morning, but I stuck around and helped her clean up. Well, her parents ended up coming home early and we got caught, my parents were called, and even though I’d had nothing to do with planning the party, I was labeled the ‘bad influence’.

Same goes for Christmas. In high school, I got arrested and the police called my parents at 3am on Christmas Eve. I spent New Year’s babysitting my little sister and as the clock struck midnight, I was watching Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

In college, my boyfriend, whom I thought I was in love with, basically dumped me right after Christmas. We ‘made-up’ for New Year’s but that was just because he wanted to get laid that night. We broke up for real on the 2nd.

This year I am bound and determined to have a good Halloween. I made a costume, but didn’t spend too much time slaving away at it and I don’t care if it gets ruined. I have two Halloween parties to go to and I will refuse to be a wall flower all night even though I am not going to know that many people at either party.


PS - If you look really closely at the spider picture, you'll see that it's a spider carrying hundreds of little baby spiders on her back. I found it right outside my work.
Wicked nasty, yo.