I love making lists

Knowing there's a vacation looming is like having senioritis. Which I had all 12 years I was in college, clearly.

All I want to do is read travel books and shop for new clothes, but instead I have to work 40 hours a week like a sucker. Stupid health insurance requirements. If I could sit, lounge, recline, sprawl, relax for hours upon hours in the sun reading books I'd be golden (and tan! Get it? Word play). I'd buffer my days with eating and watching Netflix of course. Instant Netflix is the best invention since Tivo. Except mine is being wonky and all I want to do is watch season two of Veronica Mars and it WON'T LET ME. Boo.

So, work gym, gym work. Some baking, some reading, lots of television, especially because I go to the gym solely to watch TV. And get healthy, blah blah blah. If I happen to work out for 3 hours because Say Yes to the Dress and Hoarders is on, I can't be held responsible. It's TV's fault.

Soon 12 days off (in a ROW) will be MINE and I'll get to do everything on my list. Get drunk at Disneyland (well, California Adventure anyway, that's where they sell the wine) and look at art all day at the Getty Center and go hiking in Runyon Canyon in the hopes of seeing a celebrity walking their dog. Doesn't matter who.

And there will be beach lounging. Oh my, yes, there will be lounging.

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.

New word!

Word of the Day for Monday, August 3, 2009

desultory \DES-uhl-tor-ee\, adjective:

1. Jumping or passing from one thing or subject to another without order or rational connection; disconnected; aimless.
2. By the way; as a digression; not connected with the subject.
3. Coming disconnectedly or occurring haphazardly; random.
4. Disappointing in performance or progress.

Well, except for the last one (because I'm awesome no matter what!), this pretty much sums up any conversation I've ever had with anyone. As such, this is my new favorite word. Please use it as often as possible. But not so much that you look like an asshole.

Douchebag sighting!

I've been driving around for two days with the gas light on. Sometimes I like to tempt fate like that, not knowing where or when my car will slow to a halt. Will I make it to the gas station? Will I make it home? Will my car run out of gas on the freeway off-ramp? (Yeah, that totally did happen.) It's how I like to live my life. On the edge.

After work tonight I decided fate had been tempted plenty and I didn't want to piss it off any more than I already am, so I stopped at the Chevron on my way home. And there he was.

Douchebag. Toolbox. Whatever your favorite descriptive term is, this guy fits the bill. He was buying cigarettes with no shirt on, and that right there screams class. I know it's hot out, if it was socially acceptable I wouldn't have been wearing pants for the past 4 days. But I'm a lady and I have been. Well, not pants, skirts and shorts, but it's the principle of it all.

Dbag is now walking toward his car and I can see his underpants. Not just a little of his underpants, like his toolish plaid cargo pants are hanging UNDER his butt and I can see his gray underpants (at least I hope they were gray and not just dirty) and his WHOLE BUTT. Too much guy, too much. He and his girlfriend (!) walk to his car, which, for some reason, has a giant sticker of a hand grenade on the back windshield. I don't understand this at all, and am fairly certain he doesn't know why he has it either.

Then I saw it. The coup de grace. The piece de resistance. His license plate. Are you ready for it? Because I'm not sure you are. All right, if you're sure.

"OH FACE" Yeah. As in, "I'm going to show her my o face." Please. That was when I started freaking out. I knew I had to call someone, but who? Everyone I've ever met needed to hear about this, but I decided to call Allie because I knew she could truly understand the contemptibleness of her new teammate. (Aaand, that just might be my new favorite word.) Unfortunately I had to leave a message, but I tried to stay on point and with no mention of my laundry, overdue library books, or gas problems (my voice mails can last HOURS, beware) told of my glorious find.

I do hope to run into him again someday. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for that license plate.

Deutschland uber alles!

My mom and I were talking tonight about all the horrifying German fairy tales and nursery rhymes she grew up hearing and then passed on to me and my two younger brothers. We were discussing my favorite one, which involved my mom or dad bouncing us up and down on their knees, reciting the German poem/song, and when they'd get to the end (the Ploomps! part) they'd open their legs and let us "drop" to the ground.

I can't believe I found it online without knowing how to spell anything. Here's the German version, even though no one will be able to read it, I have to get it out there for all to see, it brings back a lot of memories for me:

Hoppe hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Teich,
find't ihn keiner gleich.

Hoppe hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Graben,
fressen ihn die Raben.

Hoppe hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Sumpf,
dann macht der Reiter... Plumps!

So awesome, I loved it. A while back we found (and have since lost again) my Oma's old book of nursery rhymes and there's a horrible one about kids sucking their thumbs and hobgoblins coming at night and biting their thumbs off to make them stop. It's pretty harsh. I love the Germans.

This song was in there too. I'm sure you can already guess that it's not the best rhyme to be singing to young children; fortunately (ha) my mom never taught us German. The English version goes a little something like this (the only thing I remembered was about the swamp and the ravens):

Hoppa hoppa rider,
when he falls he cries,
if he falls in the hole,
the raven will eat him

Hoppa Hoppa rider,
when he falls he cries,
if he falls into the swamp,
the rider makes a "plop"

I have no good way of ending this post after something like that. So let me just ask everyone that if it's possible to get your hands on an old German nursery rhyme book, please do it. Just keep your eyes peeled.

Or the goblins will get you.

My super power.

I've discovered it. It involves unwittingly forcing people to apologize for things I did wrong.

Yesterday I was pulling into a spot in the Tilly's parking lot (which is also the parking lot for the Cedar Mill Library, the Walgreen's, the dog groomer, the accountant, two barber shoppes, etc.) and I bumped into the car in front of me.

So I'm scootching and bumping trucks in the parking lot. Of course the owner of the truck is in her vehicle when I bump her, because I have never once gotten away with anything ever. She gets out and looks (I was going like negative miles per hour, there's obviously not going to be any damage) and then informs me I should be more careful. I apologized and told her that I was merely trying not to hang my car's ass out of his spot because she was entirely too far over the line.

Side note: the lines in parking lots are not, will not be, and have never been mere suggestions. Stay in them. Pretend you're four and coloring.

What began as me hitting another car ended with her apologizing to me for being over the line. I told her not to worry about it, but she should pay more attention in the future.

I didn't say it was an AMAZING super power. But I will only use it for good. And probably a little evil.

Day four...

I love everything about Boston. The esplanade along the river. The "dive" bar in Beacon Hill. The old churches next to the new high rises and the centuries old cemeteries in all the neighborhoods. But my two favorite parts of Boston are the people and the drivers. East coasters get a bad rap for being rude, but I think it's because they don't take the time to pretend. They may come off a little cold at first, but once you get on their good side, they're all niceness and pleasantries. And the drivers, just don't ever get on their bad side. When you drive in Boston, you do what you want, when you want. If someone doesn't go when they should HONK! If they're taking too long to turn, pass them!

Last time I was in Boston we walked the Freedom Trail. Got to see Paul Revere's house, the historic Old North Church, and the Fanieul Hall. This time, we just wandered around the Public Garden and Boston Common, did a little window shopping on Newbury Street (it's way too expensive for our tastes), then up for dinner and drinks in super fancy, brick lined Beacon Hill. Also too expensive, but last time I was there I discovered a bar called the Sevens on Charles Street that is surprisingly affordable and pretty much what you'd expect from a Boston bar. Sports on the TV, really loud patrons with thick accents, and lots and lots of beer. It was heaven.

Day three...

The weather was on our side today. Most people probably wouldn't say that about storm clouds and rain, but since today was our "drive around Vermont looking for a covered bridge" day, it worked out perfectly. We left Concord early and headed up into Vermont. We ate lunch at a delicious Italian restaurant in downtown Montpelier, Vermont. My GPS (codename: Gladys) was telling me we were going to hit our destination in only 1/2 mile, but true to the Vermont landscape, there was nothing around. We were surrounded by trees and hills and neither Tara nor I could imagine the state capital of Vermont was less than 1/2 mile away. But we turned a corner and there it was. The smallest capital in the United States.

After lunch (steak sandwich=delicious!) we headed 10 west to Waterbury to go to the Ben and Jerry's factory. I didn't realize how excited I'd be until we pulled into the driveway and I saw the signs and the giant silos of cream. The tour was pretty mellow, and we got to stare down on the factory workers (I could hear ABBA ever so lightly through the giant windows) as they made their wares. Our tour guide could tell that Tara and I were no usual tourists, gabbing and exclaiming the whole tour. I was even accused of being a spy for Haagen Dazs and one point. We got to the flavor room, which is where Ben and Jerry and many employees have thought of flavors, taste tested, and named the beauties we all eat every day. Our tour guide asked me to put on a goofy hat, do a twirl, and welcome the rest of our group to the flavor room. So I did.
After leaving Ben and Jerry's we stopped by a locally owned maple farm called Bragg Family Farm on the recommendation of our server at the Italian restaurant. We taste tested maple syrups (I didn't even know that was a thing!) and it was a lot like testing beer; light to dark. The women working there were super nice (just like everyone in Vermont) and they were able to direct us to our first (and only) Vermont covered bridge. We have them in the Willamette Valley, and when I lived in Corvallis, I was only a mile from a historic covered bridge. But this was different. We were in Vermont.