Camp Wanna-whine

"It was amazing. We hiked to our site, set up the tent and then kayaked up the river. Then at night we drank beer and roasted marshmallows, telling stories all throughout the night. Oh, and there were so many stars, it was like being in a planetarium."

Whenever we get together with friends of Joe's and they mention their love of camping, he can't help but cast a sideways glance my way, as I try to avert my eyes by taking a sip of my drink. I feel bad for the guy, I really do. After all, I don't mean to keep him from doing something he loves. But I'm not really what you'd call "outdoors-y".

Now, I will defend myself and say that I'm not a total princess; the hiking, kayaking, drinking and roasting are all activities I'm actually fond of, even enjoy. I think where I draw the line are the whole, non-showering and sleeping-on-the-ground things. I'm also a bit of a sissy who screams at the mere sight of a big bug and is terrified to be in the woods at night, thinking an ax wielding psychopath is on the loose or a rabid hungry bear. Oh sure, I can hear you say, 'well, what are the odds of something like that happened?' I can guarantee you, those are the same words that came out the mouths of the people who, hours later, ended up in their sleeping bags looking like meat in a burrito.

Ok, so maybe that's a tad irrational, but truthfully, I can say at least that I've given the camping thing a good college try. And while it started off good, when the night came it became a bit...disastrous?

The first time was back in middle school, when I was completing my journey as a Girl Scout by attending the graduation ceremony that was to be held at the conclusion of an overnight camping trip. Never having gone camping I didn't really know what to expect, however all my friends and fellow Girl Scouts were pumped so I tried to adopt their enthusiasm.

I remember hauling all kinds of food items and plastic ware to our campsite, which was set enough in the woods to make us girls think we were really facing the wilderness, yet conveniently close enough to the highway should anything arise.

We arrived early and I was happy to partake of the nature trails with the group and play games with my friends. I even managed to get through whatever food we had. Finally it was time for bed and we all finally collected into our group's tent. There were actually at least 4 or 5 tents to accommodate the whole troop, and before the grown-ups got REALLY serious about our bedtime we spent some part of the night making the small trek through the dirt path and brush to arrive at our neighbors' tents. But after the last threat, which our troop leader promised to act on, we actually settled into our own tent.

I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, or at least as much as I could using a small throw pillow, a blanket, and a sleeping bag over a solid wood platform that kept us off the forest floor. I found myself tossing and turning every 2 minutes, waiting for my shoulder to wake-up so I could go to sleep. I didn't seem to be the only one having a hard time, since before I knew it we all became painfully aware of a big mosquito that had somehow gotten past the flimsy flap and not buzzed annoyingly in our ears. Some of us screamed and begged the others, the brave ones I'll call them, to get rid of it. Finally, after hours or swirling around my sleeping bag trying to find a spot that wouldn't feel like my body was crushing itself, I passed out simply from exhaustion.

The next morning I heard someone saying, "Ohh Grooooss!" Though I never liked to be out of the loop, especially when it was something so remarkable as to elicit such a response, I could barely lift my head off my tiny stiff pillow. Then I heard someone whisper my name, at which point I gave up and looked to see what embarrassing thing I had done. Happily, it wasn't my doing. Unhappily, one of the girls had gotten sick and had vomited on my sleeping bag.

I was about to show my frustration when I looked over and the poor girl still looked a bit green, so I simply carefully slid out of the bag and carefully folded it up, reassuring her apologetic face that it was fine, and not to worry about it.

The rest of the trip went much smoother, however I never forgot that night. I guess I'd be willing to give camping a try, at least until night fell, at which point I'd bid my goodnights and check into the nearest Red Roof Inn.

Staycation

Ok, I'm not gonna lie, I'm still sorta feeling that massive glass of Pinot Grigio I had with dinner...my third Restaurant Week restaurant, I might add. And to answer your question, I had this crap and artichoke stuffed filo for an appetizer, a seafood bouillabaisse for dinner and a trio of Mediterranean desserts. Oh, and I had a small break through- not sure if it was because of the wine, but I tried my friend Ash's appetizer (which was CHILLED shrimp in a citrus sauce) and actually liked it! I ATE A COLD DISH! What is becoming of the world??

Anyway, that's really not what this post is supposed to be about. It's about the fact that EVERYONE and their mother has been/is going on vacation, while Joe and I putter around the house for the 10th weekend in a row. Now, I hear you say, 'But Kris, didn't you guys JUST move in to your new place? Isn't it still new and exciting?' Well, let me tell you loyal reader, it is NOT! Well, it is a little bit, but I can't help feeling the drag of not having an actual vacation in over 3 or 4 years.

Granted, Joe and I did take two beach trips; one to Ocean City and then to Virginia Beach. I honestly can't remember which one we did first..do you see what I mean about it being a long time? And though both were fun, they were also way too short, in my humble opinion.

Also, I must admit that this summer the move really ate away our money and time (the two basic essentials for a vacation). Still, as aware as I am about these facts, I can't help noticing all the trips and time off people around me seem to be getting. Hell, even my radio personalities have taken numerous vacations. Mickey, of the morning show I listen to on 98 Rock, was interviewing the major of Ocean City, and described how he went down for a few weeks! He even said he was going to try to make another weekend trip soon! And it doesn't stop there. I noticed on my favorite NPR shows that the co hosts there seem to be taking turns taking their vacations.

Even as I look around my office I notice people missing here and there, only to discover THEY had unused vacation time. Though it's terrible to think, I keep wishing them sunburns and rainy days, just out of spite.

Did you know that in many countries in Europe, they actually require you to take a few weeks off? Without any penalty or anything. My friend Dave told me this once, when he explained all the various trips he intended to take. It was further confirmed on a segment on Sunday Morning (one of my ritual shows that I do miss terribly).

Maybe I'm being obsessed. It's just that back when I was a kid, I guess I was pretty spoiled, at least where vacations were concerned. In fact, my cousin Beck and I were just texting about those trips tonite, which we often did with both families, offering up little tidbits of memories...

"Remember the drive down to Captiva and the dolphins?", she texted.

"Remember the raccoon stuck on the roof?", I texted back.

"Remember when your brother threw up hot pink stuff in the hot tub?", she replied.

"Remember that kid, Chip, who was kinda weird but we liked boys so we wanted him to hang out with us?", I responded.

So many memories. So many trips. But as we got older, and schedules became more rigid, the vacations seemed to drift away. By the time I got to college I was usually unable to go for trips with my family, and before I knew it years had passed since my foot stepped inside a crowded airplane to touch down in a new place. I swear, last week's trip to pick up Ashley was the closest I had been to an airport in ages. *Sigh*

And though I should count myself fortunate (having family still up by the Jersey shore allotted me at least some quality beach time, though not as much as I would've liked), I feel sympathy for Joe, who has been trying to get away to Myrtle Beach (HIS family's old vacation spot) for ages now.

We keep trying to tell ourselves that once the paychecks are not being used up for other things, like security deposits and mattresses, we will have a proper vacation. But still, I think Europe has got it right. I could think of some things to do with 6 weeks of vacation time. Even if it was just to Ocean City.

A Visit with the Griswolds

I love my family, don't get me wrong. My dad's got a great smart-ass sense of humor (which I hope I inherited) and my mother is loving and nurturing (another trait I think I have). My sisters are cool and wise, my brother is fun and good-intentioned.

They also drive me bat-effing crazy sometimes, even now living on my own. The problem is that I have my own neuroses to contend with, so I feel fairly comfortable calling us all 'The Griswolds" at times. And last night only furthered my observation, as my parents and brother came for a visit.

It started out sane enough, as how any adventure with the Griswolds usually begins. I frantically tried to escape work early to run to the store for a few last items, then stop by the fruit truck, and then finally get home to do some final cleaning. Of course, since one of my problems is perpetual tardiness, I didn't get out until they were already on their way over to the townhouse. So I passed on the store and just grabbed some fruit from the truck and headed back. I didn't see their car yet (whew) so as I was pulling up to a parking space, thinking I could at least do my cleaning --BEEP, they pulled up right next to me.

We said our hellos and started bringing their things in. Having never been there before we decided to walk them around for a tour. As I stepped first down into the basement, somehow my foot twisted and I crashed to the floor, missing the wash basin by a hair. I was fine, except for my foot...and dignity.

When we arrived at the guest bedroom my parents starting putting things down and Georgia wandered in. Now, all I can say is that I just wanted her to be an angel for them so they could see how well we had trained her. I let her come into the room, and while I turned my back for a second I hear my dad say, "Uhh, someone's takin a dump..." I spun back but it was too late. I ushered her out, scolding her all the way while my parents escaped the emanating smell.

As I cleaned up I could not BELIEVE this horrible luck. It was bad enough tripping and landing on my ass down the basement so that my parents think I'm totally inept or that the house is unsafe, why did the dog have to crap in THAT room! All I kept thinking before their visit was, if she craps in the house PLEASE let it be in our room where we can clean it up without anyone being the wiser. No, that kinda luck never happened for the Griswolds, so it would never happen for me...

Finally, we go out to dinner to a place I had never been before. Part of my anxiety about my parents visiting is that I want to ensure they have a great time, so they can pass the word on to the extended family about how well I'm doing. Even down to the restaurants we have down here, so I was nervous how the place would be. Luckily I got a great tip from my friend Heather about a place for crabs, and I'm happy to report the night went off without a hitch. Well, except for a small one.

While we were ordering, we noticed that the waitress's attention appeared to be elsewhere. She was looking off in the direction of the televisions. My mother was still deciding and trying to ask her questions. Finally, my dad noticing her intent gaze, followed it with his own. I don't know why but it made me bust out laughing. My dad caught my eye and smiled, knowingly. When the waitress finally left my mother asked us what was so funny. So it wasn't really a hitch, just a funny odd moment.

After I got up the morning (and my mom rearranged my kitchen to her liking) I said my goodbyes to the Griswolds, promising them I'd visit soon. Even though their visit was brief, I still drove to work smiling (and with a few less hairs since the had been pulled out). I know that I'm just part of my funny family, and even though they drive me crazy sometimes, they make for some good storytelling.

Road Rage

I freaking love road trips. I think I tend to like the trip even more than the destination (but it's a nice bonus when the place is awesome too). I love seeing the other places people live, wondering what they do for a living, where they for a vacation, etc. Usually all we need for a good road trip is good music, plenty of things to look at, and a nice ratio of talking to silence. And actually, sometimes a good fight makes the time go by fast.

I hadn't been on a road trip in a while, so when we found out we had an excuse I was pretty excited. When the day (or night I should say) came we packed up the car and stopped at our usual gas station for fuel and our road-trip necessity snacks- pizza-pretzel Combos, something chocolatey, something fruity, energy drinks for Joe and water for me. Finally, we were off.

When we started, we were good: music was as easy-going as the conversation as we passed all our landmarks. Road trips for us operate very much like any other mission- Joe is the driver, responsible for getting us there, knowing when to get gas, take break, and what music is played. My role as co-pilot is to simply keep him comfortable and awake (and occasionally pass him food or drink). We both take our jobs seriously and I have gotten remarkably good at being able to gauge when to start a conversation and when things ought to be quiet. Since we got such a late start, and Joe already mentioned he was tired before we even left the gas station, I knew that I'd have to do some talking every once in a while just to keep him from nodding off.

So when we came upon an especially boring view, I found myself bringing up simple topics to talk about (you know, the kind that require some thinking but have a small answer). But since he was showing signs of grumpitude, I figured I'd answer my own question...merely to keep the car from being silent, and therefore, easy to fall asleep.

We passed a large back-up of cars and when they were out of view I remembered a similar time when Joe and I were driving back somewhere and on the other side of the highway was such a terrible accident that the back-up damage extended for miles and miles. And then I wondered something aloud...

"I wonder what people do when their cars are all backed up like that."

"What do you mean?," Joe said abruptly.

"Well," I continued, "what do you suppose people do when they are stuck in such a terrible traffic jam for hours and hours?"

"They stay in their car," Joe said defiantly.

"No way," I said. "People can't stay in their cars for hours upon hours. What if it's cold and they know there's no chance they are gonna get their car out for a while? They can't just stay there."

"What are you talking about, hun, it's ILLEGAL to abandon your car," he said.

I should have dropped it then and there. But for some reason, I felt like he was baiting me, and honestly, I felt like taking him on. I knew it was going to be a pointless debate (or as I call it when Joe gets like that, "Mental Chess") since he wasn't going to relent his point without taking me around first.
I held my own, I think. I came up with some valid points, even trying to knock his theories out with scenarios of my own. But in the end, as we were practically yelling our sides over the other, I realized I was getting more annoyed than passionate about my point. I suddenly fell silent.

"You're just being a grouch," he said, again trying to bait me, but this time trying to make me forget what we were arguing about. Still I was silent.

"You're not allowed to be a grouch"

Silent.

"That's it, I'm dropping you off at that scary Bates' Motel looking thing in Frackville."

Silent some more. He waited a few minutes and then spoke back up.

"I just don't understand what the people trying to get by would do if you left your car," he said, trying to flush out the last of my arguments.

"You're just trying to have the last word, so I'm gonna be the adult and let you have it," I said simply. This actually led to us both trying to let the other have the last word, until we were both silent for a little while. Finally, as I continued to play my alphabet car game (something Joe hates) and spotted a letter I had been waiting for, Joe joined in helping me find other letters. Then we knew the fight was over.

Happily, as I looked at the clock, the fight had altogether eaten up almost an hour. We drove the rest of the way, with no incident. I later told Joe I think he purposely picked that fight.

"How could I have? YOU asked the question," he said. But I knew that he was glad for it. Not only did it help pass the time, but it helped chase away any fatigue he was feeling. Plus, I'm a big believer in fighting helping a relationship (not so much that you are screaming at the person everyday). Every now and then people need to sharpen their claws and doing it on each other not only opens communication, it really helps to de-stress.

As I'm typing this I am lounging on a bed at Joe's parents house in upstate NY. Sadly, we are already going to have to leave tomorrow, but it's been a nice visit. His mom and dad are awesome, and it's such a different atmosphere up here. But I am actually looking forward to the drive back. At least we'll be leaving a bit earlier, so we can see more sights, we'll be less tired...and JOE won't be such a grouch. Guess that's the nice thing about having a blog...I ALWAYS get the last word, lol.

Highway Crossing Bott

"Come on! Before they close!" Joe yelled to me from across York Road earlier tonight. At least, that's what I think he was shouting, as it was difficult to tell because of the constant whooshing of cars that separated us. I stood stranded by the car wash on the other side of the road, waiting for a break in the traffic. He finally came closer to the edge and yelled that there was nothing coming for miles. And with a quick glance to confirm (and a big breath of courage), I booked it like Flo Jo, for all 4 secs it took to cross the street. To further solidify that my fears were baseless, Joe proceeded to count the seconds before the next car came along (11 secs if you are wondering).

But it doesn't matter. People have all kinds of fears: heights, spiders, snakes...peaches (yeah, if you ever watched that episode of Maury- pretty sure it was Maury- you would know what I'm talking about. Apparently the girl was freaked out by the skin or something). So is it really so unreasonable that I have a small problem crossing streets? And since I have known a few people who have actually BEEN hit by a car, I'm gonna go ahead and continue to be absurdly cautious.

I don't really know where this fear first developed. I was never hit by a car, I never witnessed someone getting hit by a car, I never had a dog that got hit by a car. And yet, if you walk along with me outside and we come to a point where we need to cross the street, don't be surprised if it takes me an extra 20 min (and I get out some binoculars to check the horizon for headlights) before I budge.

My fellow study abroad friends found that out first hand when we toured around Europe. I had always heard that driving in foreign countries was a little crazier, so naturally my ability to cross the streets worsened. I'd take even longer checking back and forth for signs of cars, and waited like a sprinter waiting for the second the "Walk" sign lit up. As it turned out, in most of the major cities we visited, the driving tendencies weren't so different than the bustling of New York City. I learned fairly quickly the technique of huddling together within a large crowd (somehow the thought of being surrounded by soft bodies which would protect me from a careless driver comforted me..it's sick I know) and moving with them when they crossed the street was useful. For some reason either Alex or Jay has actual video footage of me trying to cross the street in Paris. I'm not sure which is funnier: the fact that it took me actual minutes to do it, or they felt compelled to film it.

After several years, Joe has become quite accustomed to this particular idiosyncrasy. I think it has gone from being a cute thing, to an oddity, to an annoyance, and finally to a defined characteristic. He even often jokes about how he wants to create a game similar to "Frogger " and call it "Highway Crossing Bott." I guess I should be glad that he has managed to accept this quality, but I really should still try to work on it. After all, it can't exactly be fun for people to want to keep moving while I'm stalling.

I guess that's how I tend to be with all things in my life: overly cautious, fear-ridden, and constantly looking to be mowed down. I need to try and be more bold and take a confident step forward, not be so terrified of what's eventually coming down the road. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll keep looking both ways...

Back in the Saddle

My head is kinda poundy (prob b/c if you look at the timestamp from last night's post, it was around 1:50 and didn't actually fall asleep until well after 2, and then got up at 7) so I'm pretty tired and this will prob be a short one.

And since my mind is devoid of a particular topic I think I'll describe another one of my "life as a sit-com" stories: my first time on a horse.

Like many young girls, I was a proud member of the very prestigious organization known as the Girl Scouts. Yes, the camaraderie was nice and I learned that selling dozens of baked goods could lead to earning a brand new stopwatch, but prob the best part of being a girl scout was the trips we went on. On one such trip we went to a dude ranch, complete with a lake with paddle boats, making s'mores, and of course, horses.

I also used to be one of those girls that "loved" horses (despite the fact I'd never been on one and only seen a few) so I was pretty thrilled at having the chance to finally ride one. However, standing by a fence with a horse a hundred yards away and standing right next to one can be a little disarming. This thing was huge! I took a hard gulp and allowed the cowhand help me up. If it was a little dizzying standing near this big animal, being atop it was nothing short of nerve wracking. But since I was among my fellow scouts I wanted to make sure I didn't come off as a wuss. Plus my mom was one of the parents that came along to be a chaperone, so I figured that nothing traumatizing would happen. I prob should've taken the hint when I realized the helmet thing they gave me was a couple sizes too big...

When everyone else was settled on their horses we took off at a gentle amble following the head horsewoman. It started off normal enough (although alot of the magic of the moment was lost when my horse constantly took piss-breaks and I got a nice shot of the horse in front of me pulling off to take a crap).

Meanwhile my helmet kept sliding down over my eyes, and I had to quickly shift it back in place while still holding the reins like my life depended on it. Finally I got annoyed and jerked my hand up....and accidentally jerked the hands with the reins as well...

In a matter of seconds my gentle amble turned to a pretty quick trot as the horse reacted to my hand motion. Through bumps and what I could see beneath my freakin Lord Helmet headgear, I bypassed all the other girls, the chaperones and even past the head leader. She took off after me while I was terrified (and besmirched at the irony that I'd die doing something I always thought I wanted to do) grasping the reins. When she did finally catch up to me she was muttering plenty of expletives and managed to get my horse under control. My mom tried to come up next to me to make sure I was ok, although I'm pretty sure she was trying to suppress her giggles at the same time.

As the saying goes, I did eventually get back on the horse years later and did have a better experience...except for the horse slipping on some rocks while we were going down through the woods, but thats a horse story of a different color...

Alright kiddies, on that note have a great weekend, and I'll see you back here on Monday!