Mountain climbing

Yesterday I drove out to Saddle Mountain with Rachael to do our weekly hike. Usually we stick with safe city walks or Mt. Tabor, but we were ready for a challenge. Saddle Mountain is the tallest mountain in the coast range and though I don't remember how tall it is, I do know that we walked 1600 feet up in two hours. And the way my thighs feel right now it was totally vertical the entire way.

Even though the summit was so foggy we couldn't see anything, it was a fabulous feeling knowing we accomplished something that we'd set out to do. Unfortunately this means I can't ever give up on anything from now on because in the back of my mind I'll know that I climbed a mountain so I can probably take that box out to the garage.


The views were still amazing, because it wasn't so much what we couldn't see looking out over the summit, but what we could see as we hiked up. Everything was so green that it didn't seem real. There were mountainside meadows covered in grass and wildflowers.


We were able to hear the ocean and finally know what direction we were facing because the sounds of the waves were so clear.

We hiked just over six miles in three and a half hours and we were exhausted. Feet, legs, brains, they were all about to give out. I still had to drive the hour back into town as the only thing that had really kept us going was the promise we made to ourselves that if we get to the top, we'd get cheeseburgers and wine. It was delicious.

I also love that we live in Oregon so not only did we get to hike a mountain and hear the ocean, but I was able to walk, muddy and dirty, into a bar where I knew the employees and wouldn't be embarrassed that I hadn't worn make-up or brushed my hair in two days.


PS - A word of advice, don't shave legs after a vertical hike and a bottle of wine. It was the second most difficult task of the day.

Not so subliminal coupons

Like I said, I'm trying to lose weight. I've been successful, but there's still that (nearly constant) nagging for chocolate, sugar and fun-dip. Yeah, you'd think fun-dip would fall under the category of sugar, but it's in a class all on its own. Especially grape. Grape is the best.

Last week I was not feeling great, the same way I've felt every 28 days (or so) for the past 15 years, and I needed candy. Lots of it. Wine, too. I went to Target and loaded up on fancy (Lindt chocolate hazelnut truffles) and not so fancy (giant box o' Mike 'n' Ikes) until I felt I had enough to satiate my pain and cover it up with high fructose corn syrup and red dye #40.

A lot of grocery/super stores print up coupons that the computer deems useful to the consumer. Mine was a coupon for digestive health supplements. I guess Target was none too pleased with my purchases, maybe a diet aid would have been a better suggestion?

Today I went to Target again. Yes, it is a weekly thing. This time it was for gym socks (you know the kind that don't go past the ankle so I don't look super dorky in shorts like I did when I was 14 and either slouched them down or pulled them up over my calf) and new workout pants. Also I bought a cute purse because, yeah, I'm in Target, I'm gonna buy a purse.

I was really smug about what coupon was going to print this time. I haven't been healthy for long so I can't think of any examples for you, you'll have to fill them in on your own. Transaction complete aaaandddd.... Tums. Ugh.

Thanks Target. I'm going to think about what I buy next. That coupon's going to be epic.

An open letter to my car

Dear Jack,

You know I love you. Not just because we're both super German and have beer sloshing around our bellies almost always. Well, in your case it's empty beer bottles in your trunk, but it's practically the same thing. Not just because you're so loud (and with that double exhaust) everyone assumes you're a racing car - and of course my driving does nothing to dissuade the masses. Not just because your backseat seat belt comes from the middle of the seat and pisses everyone off, and I secretly love it.

I knew when I bought you it would mean giving up my beloved Mulva, a marvel of Swedish engineering with a surprising lack of cup holders and one really shitty mirror (hey, those Swedes KNOW they look good), for a car I knew would drive more than 80 miles without having to be towed to the nearest mechanic. And while Mulva would start after weeks of sitting in snow and ice and bitter cold, I knew it was time to move on.

We've known each other for a while now, almost three years, but I need to get some things off my chest. I've taken good care of you. Your outlandish requests for full synthetic 5/40 oil. Some places I go don't even know such a grade exists. It does. And it's freaking expensive.

I don't much care for your high maintenance 'battery in the trunk practically underneath the spare tire' move. I could handle when the back window stopped working and when pieces of the doors started falling off. I realize you haven't been through the car wash in a while, and I understand that might upset you, but the last time I went you ended up with 2 inches of water inside the car. Still don't know how the hell that one happened. And since I'm too lazy to wash you on my own, here we are.

Now you've pulled out the big guns. Fuel filter, alternator belt, axle, power steering, leaking transmission. This will not stand. Please suck it up and keep from falling apart until I can afford to fix you. I'd really appreciate it.

Regards,

Nicole

Noise pollution

Today at work I asked a child if he'd ever seen a 29 year old throw a temper tantrum. And I wasn't joking. One more pop of that toy gun and I was going to lose it.

There are so many noises all the time - babies crying children yelling magic microphones bells marbles squeakers - that it gets to be too much and I just want to run screaming. But that would just add more noise so instead I shudder and sigh and keep working.

It's times like this that I miss being a server and the easy access to booze.

Only fatties, uggos, and meatheads go to the gym late at night...

... so what does that say about me?

Since I finished school in March all I've been doing is working. There's been some socializing and lots of wine drinking. But then I got sick of being drunk and fat so I started going to the gym every day. Then I started counting calories. Now I'm boring and obnoxious but losing weight.

Once Skinny Nicole emerges from her resplendent cocoon I'll be able to cut back on the reading of the nutrition labels but until then I'm stuck NOT eating delicious salty snacks and handfuls of processed cheese products and buckets of high fructose corn syrup. Damn it. Though the healthier I get, the less I even want those things. Which is good.

I had half a soy strawberries and cream (no whip, no fun) frappuccino at Starbucks and got super logy and ill from all the sugar. I've officially become everything I've ever hated. But my bras don't give me such pronounced back fat rolls as they used to so I'm sticking with it.