It's getting better all the time.

I don't know what it is, but I've been in a really good mood lately. Case in point: today, for no reason at all, I just started giggling. I'm not talking about a little tee-hee-ing, I'm talking full on giggle fit. Japanese school girls came out of nowhere and were like, "Hey, KV, chill with the giggling. You're embarrassing yourself."

I don't even know what to do with myself. Mind you, I'm not complaining. It's just that my situation hasn't really changed at all, so I'm kind of caught off guard. I'm still clueless as far as life goes, I have no idea how I'm going to pay for the transition to a state university, my summer is jam packed with work, school and social obligations and my car/phone/computer/life breaks down every third day of the week. I'm still in the exact same situation as I was a few months ago when I was sobbing myself to sleep and doing my share to help with the failing ice cream industry by eating enough Dryers to put the half-ton man to shame. I was basically a walking Lifetime movie.


I need to work on my seduction eyes.

So why the change now? Why am I falling into giggle fits and taking detours down Shit-Eating Grin Lane?

I don't know. I don't know and, honestly, I don't really care. I'm happy with whatever happened in my brain that triggered this good mood. So, I'm going to try something that I rarely ever do.

I'm going to enjoy it.

A long post about how much donkeys suck.

I was going to write some inspirational story about how I conquered the Grand Canyon and found strength inside myself that I never knew was there, but that would require thinking and forming coherent sentences. Verbs? I ain't got time for no stinkin' verbs!

Thus, I present to you a photo essay entitled "Rain and Donkeys: How I Made It Out of the Grand Canyon Without Having A Stroke and/or Stepping In Donkey Poo."

Mother Nature must have known I was coming to get my vengence on her because the morning of our hike, it was raining. Raining tears of fear! Hey-o! High fives? No? Okay, moving on.

These two guys, Austin and Red, were my hiking partners for the day. Or, as I like to call it, the only people I could convince to come with me.





We got to the rim and were scoping out our trail, Bright Angel Trail. I had originally wanted to hike all the way down to this place called Indian Gardens, which I thought was 1.9 miles. Yeah, 1.9 miles from the 3 MILE POINT. It would've been a ten-mile round trip and we were kinda short on time. So, we picked the three mile house, which, as evidenced by this picture, was REALLY FUCKING FAR.



So, we gathered lots of water bottles and Rice Krispy treats (because only the super experienced hikers take Rice Krispies) and started down. It was a pretty nice trip down. It was drizzly and misty and generally kind of eerie. At one point, Red looked up into the mist and said, "I feel like we're in the pterodactyl cage in 'Jurassic Park'."


It was agreed that there was a very real possibility that dinosaurs may come out of the mist, so I tried to blend in.

"Rawr! Seriously, guys, I'm one of you. Please don't eat me."


The rain and mist was awesome compared to the new bane of my existance: canyon mules.

Let me tell you something about mules that you may not know: they're assholes. They smell like hobos and they poo everywhere. I expected to see mules and maybe even get stuck behind them once or twice. What I did not expect was to see fresh piles of donkey presents every two steps. Here's a little equation for you: donkey presents + dirt + rain water = a poo cocktail you want no part of. We had to do some tricky footwork to avoid the Grand Canyon's hommemade mule surprise stew. Blech.


After a few miles of successfully avoiding mule droppings, we made it to our 3 mile mark.

That face? That is the face of a girl who is 3 miles into a canyon. The face of a girl who hasn't quite registered the reality that in order to get out of said canyon, she'll have to walk another 3 miles uphill. One could call it the face of ignorance. Or maybe denial. Either way it was short lived.


The trek back up was pretty much to be expected.

The trail is pretty maintained, but it's still a constant incline. The first mile and a half I hit a good stride. Red and Austin were in front of me the entire time, but for the most part we were able to stay together. The last mile and a half, well, that part kicked my ass. I don't have any pictures of it because my main focus was on staying alive. I know, I'm such a selfish asshole. My bad, everyone.

Red and Austin were pretty good about setting and keeping a consistent pace. However, after a while I declared my ascent back up to the rim pace free and took a lot more breaks than I actually needed. Even in the Grand Canyon I can't escape my laziness.

We had all agreed that we wanted to be out of the Canyon and back onto the rim by 2 p.m. By the time I caught up to Red and Austin it was 1:45. We were close to the rim, a mere 10 minutes away, when what did we find?

Donkeys. Everywhere. It was a clusterfuck of donkeys. We had to wait for the tour guide to finish his schpeil before we could pass them. We were determined though; there was no way we weren't making our 2 o'clock goal.

After the donkey congregation dispersed, we hauled ass up the last bit of the trail and finally made it out at 2:02 p.m., four and a half hours after we'd started.

We. Looked. Good.

Some ice cream, iced tea and a couple waters later, we were sore and ready to nap. But not before showing the Bright Angel Trail what we really thought.



Austin didn't have feelings towards the trail one way or another, I think he was just psyched to get some pizza...and Rice Krispy treats...and a sandwich.

All in all, it was a good experience. My exact words upon emerging from the Canyon and seeing my family waiting for me were, "Holy shit, I can't believe I just did that." I was so psyched that I accomplished something I set out to do and so overwhelmed by the Grand Canyon's natural beauty, that I decided to bury the hatchet between the GC and myself. No more fueds with Mother Nature, I told myself.

That is, until I saw the parting gift the Arizona Sun had left me.

A v-neck shaped sun burn?!

It's on.

A bear may or may not be attacking me as we speak.

I'm minding my business today, listening to last.fm and doing some typing when I notice that the music has stopped. What's going on here? I think. I pull up the last.fm screen to find this:


We'd hate for Wolf Parade Radio to fall on deaf ears. We hope you're still there, but in case you've wandered off, recieved a long-distance phone call or been...


EATEN BY A BEAR, we've paused your station until you get back.

Eaten by a bear*? Why you gotta break balls?

Re-match, bitch.

My senior year in high school, I went to the Grand Canyon. I'd been plenty of times before (after all, you can't live in the "Grand Canyon State" without going at least once), but this time was going to be different. We were going to be hiking into the canyon.

I was pretty unhealthy in high school and generally unaware of the outdoors world. But, my friends were going so I talked my way onto the trip.

"Are you sure you want to go?" one of my teachers asked me. He was concerned that someone of my, er, caliber might have a hard time hiking downhill for 2 miles and coming back on a steeper incline for another 2 miles.

"I can do it," I said. I flashed a smile, dropped some witty banter and I was in.

We got to the Grand Canyon in a group. I was nervous because the only exercise I ever got was walking from the main building in the high school to the carne asada stand in the back parking lot. More so than being nervous, however, I was cocky. I compared myself to the people I saw hiking into the canyon.

"Alright," I thought. "If that guy over there can do it, I can do it."

I started at the same pace as my classmates but after a quarter mile, my pace slowed considerably. My knees weren't prepared for two miles of downhill and grew shaky. One of my friends and a teacher, Ms. U, stayed behind to walk with me while the rest of the group practically ran down the trail. We stopped every ten minutes because I needed a break. I'd sit on a rock to take a break and watch as kids, teenagers and grandparents passed by me, smiling and laughing. I didn't understand how someone could be smiling while walking down. Good Christ, I could barely convince my mouth to open wide enough to breathe let alone smile.

We were a mile and a half down when another teacher, Mr. M, came trekking up the trail to meet us. The same Mr. M who I convinced to let me come on the trip was now informing me that he didn't think there was enough time for me to go all the way down to our intended meeting spot.

"It's just that it gets pretty steep up here," he said. "Everyone else is already almost down there and there's still another half mile to go from here."

I stared at him, out of breath. My friend who had been walking with me looked at me, then Mr. M, then down at the ground.

"I just want you to remember that for every bit you go down, you have to go back up," Mr. M said.

I nodded. "I'll just start walking back up then. I'll meet you guys at the rim."

Mr. M nodded and my friend gave me a wave. I was humiliated. I wasn't embarrassed at what Mr. M had said to me; he was just trying to look out for myself and the rest of the group. I was mortified that I overestimated my ability to keep up with my peers. I'd always had the mentality that if I thought I could do it, I could do it without any practice or preperation. When it came down to the wire, I convinced myself, I could do any physical task that was demanded of me. It was bad that I didn't realize my philosphy wasn't true before I made the journey down a giant canyon face, but it was even worse that something so obvious had to be pointed out to me in front of my friend. The more horrifying thing, however, was that I was more than a mile into the Grand Canyon and I had no idea how I was going to get out. I was stuck.

So, I started walking. I slowly trudged up and put on a good face as donkeys and senior citizen groups passed me. I made jokes and laughed when my classmates, done with their lunch near a drop off that I never got to see, caught up to me and proceeded to pass me yet again.

"We're trying to beat Mr. M up to the rim!" they shouted to me.

"We'll see how that goes," Mr. M said trotting up a few steps behind them. Those bitches. I could barely breathe and they were having a race up the Canyon.

I was exhausted and defeated in more ways than I could imagine. My toes were numb and the walking sticks that carried my shaky legs down the canyon were now just another source of excess weight. I was just about to give up and try to hitch a ride on a donkey when Mr. M came lumbering down the Canyon.

"I thought you could use the company," he said. It was the first time in my life that I remember feeling overwhelming gratitude towards someone. I would have punched a donkey down the canyon at that point if he had asked me to. A little while later, Ms. U joined in our trek up to the rim. After 8 grueling hours in that bastard Canyon, I made it to the rim. My classmates welcomed me when I got back to our camp and everyone did me a favor by ignoring the elephant in the room (or the campground).

The Grand Canyon kicked my ass that day. I had never in my life felt so defeated. We came home and my ego mostly recovered, but there has always been a scar on it that just can't quite fade away.

Well, this weekend, I'm looking to tackle that scar. I'm looking for a re-match with the Grand Canyon. I've got broken in hiking boots, lots of sunscreen and a healthier self to bring to the table.

This weekend, I'm coming for you, Grand Canyon. I am going to stomp your ass with my gianormous hiking boots and then I am going to eat an ice cream cone and marvel at your ridiculous natural beauty.

This weekend is our re-match. It's on.

What's the opposite of 'buzzkill'?

Buzz-revival? Buzz-zombie? Buzz-survival?

Whatever it is, that is what's happening over on my side of the computer. Nothing has been able to kill my buzz. I'm happy these days. There's no real reason to be, I just am. Happiness is a bit of a double-edged sword for me. It's awesome because I wake up with the intent to accomplish things, like wearing clothes with buttons instead of elastic or seeing the light of day. I feel joy when I see my friends and family and don't have the sudden and overwhelming urge to cry and drink a lot.

The part I'm not so comfortable with is my creative juices stop flowing. Happiness is the Hoover Dam of my brain; it's cool because, hey, look, a dam used for hydroelectric power! but sucks because it blocks the water from doing it's natural, flowy thing. In this example, my brain juices are the water. Does that make sense? It if doesn't, blame happiness. It makes my similes suck.

In fact, y'know what, here's a list of things that are currently making me happy. So when I'm not around as much and when I write lame blog posts, you know what to blame.

I am happy because...

• People think I'm awesome. Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up, look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Why the hell does anyone like me?" I feel like this most days. I don't really understand why someone would go out of their way to hang out with me, let alone a whole group of people.
  

This photo proves that I was cool looking at least once in my life. So, y'know, score one for me.

I don't think I'll ever get it. So I'm trying something new. I'm saying a general "fuck it" and just rolling with it. Which leads me to my next point...

• New friends are fantastic. Once I started implementing my "screw it, I must really be rad if people keep wanting to talk to me" policy, things kind of started falling into place. I haven't been interested in making new friends until recently. Something very interesting has been happening in my group: everyone is a pair. There have been several occasions where I look up from my plate/salad/sake bomb only to find that I'm the only person around without a significant other. The 7th wheel. It's cool because I like everyone in the group, but it can get a little awkward when it's New Years Eve and there's nobody to make out with except a drunk cowboy. I need more single friends. Where all the drunk singles at?! Oh yeah, everywhere.

• I can shop in normal girl stores now. Many of you know my journey to become the Incredible Shrinking Girl, some don't. So here's a quick game of catch up. I used to be the biggest size at the big girl store. That's like being the fattest elephant at the zoo. An accomplishment in and of itself. but not really one you write home to mom about. I didn't have a light bulb moment or whatever the hell it is Oprah talks about, I just didn't want to have to start shopping in the extra-big girl/tent store. So, I changed some things and I can shop in normal girl stores now. I'm the biggest size at the normal girl store, but I'll take being the biggest monkey at the zoo over the biggest elephant.

That's all I can put a name to right now. As evidenced by the zoo bit up there, my brain is not helping me out today. I'm on my own which, today, is pretty okay with me.

I'll take "update" for $400.

Ugh. My cell phone is dead, I owe money to the Tax Man and I spent all weekend Facebook stalking old crushes and watching movies that were made before Y2K.

But, y'know, I can't complain. Things have been looking up in more ways than one, excluding the aforementioned cluster fuck of yuck. I've made new friends, I'm close to hitting a long awaited goal and I'm preparing for a re-match with the grandest of canyons. Don't worry kiddos, more about that tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'm going to bang my cellphone against the brick wall in my room in hopes that it'll shock it back to life. Nothing wakes up dead technology like blunt force trauma.*

*Scientific study still required.

Another post about how I am an old woman.

Two things today:

1.) Suck it, Spring 2009 semester. I was going to take a moment of silence to mourn all the potentially fun times that were lost during the hours of studying, questioning my major and wondering how the hell anyone becomes so amped about Geology, but then, well, #2 on this list happened.

2.) The following conversation between me and a co-worker (via IM) reminded me that there probably wouldn't be a whole lot to mourn.

KV/... well, the day's almost over at least.
Co-worker/... It will be a long night though
KV/... working late?
Co-worker/... Nope, just almost everyone I know graduated today and I have like 20 different people I have to take shots with tonight
KV/... busy night
Co-worker/...Yeah, should be fun. What are you up to
KV/... um, a friend of mine proposed watching "wrath of khan", but i don't know if i'd rather do that or watch "enter the dragon" at the loft.
Co-worker/...Oh
Co-worker/...Uh, that's cool

I think I'm going with Bruce Lee, because I don't always get Star Trek, but a Chinese guy kicking someone in the face is universal.

I'm still not making any coffee, though.

A couple weeks ago, I had a conversation with M about our jobs.

"I just want to do something that I like. I don't even have to love it, but I'd like to wake up and go to a job where I'm doing something that I care about," I said.

Without missing a beat, M said, "I want to make money. I want to make enough money to be able to do whatever the hell I want."

Today, as I was sitting in on a meeting that had little to do with me, I couldn't help but remember the conversation M and I had weeks earlier. I felt bad. The woman leading the meeting flew in from out of town. She was looking to talk to someone about records and, for reasons unbeknownst to yours truly, I was the best representative. I listened, nodded, made the appropriate comments at the appropriate time and generally did my best to look like I belonged there.

The woman studied my face as I spoke. She watched me so intently, I started to think she could see right through me. I focused on her eyes and silently dared her to read between the lines.

"I don't know what I'm talking about," was the underlying statement.

"I don't care about any of this," was a close second.

"I'm just biding my time here until I get transferred to the department I really want to work for," came in third.

Then, as I was in the middle of rattling off something not even I understood, it hit me: I need to grow up.

I have this thing in life where I just expect everything to work out on the first try. I expect to love the first job I have. I expected to get into my first choice college and have it all figured out by the time I walked in the door. I expected to graduate in 4 years and have a job lined up doing something that both pays well and is emotionally fulfilling.

Um, no.

None of that happened. And, much as I regret some things, I'm kind of glad it worked out this way. I'm starting to realize that only on the rarest of rare occasions will life go according to plan. It doesn't make it less painful or frustrating, but at least life is kind enough to be consistently cruel. For now, I'm struggling to figure out what kind of job I want and if it's possible, or even relevant, to have it be something that satisfies me emotionally.

"Just do something that makes you money. It doesn't have to be something you love, just something you can stand. Once you have the money, do the thing you love," M said it to me and it just clicked. It made sense and I was a little amazed that I hadn't thought of it before.

M's voice filled my head as I spoke to the woman who was leading the meeting.

"Sure, I can look into that for you," I said.

Her eyes bore into me and I thought, "I can do that, but not because I care. There are fewer things in the world I care less about. I can look into that for you because it will eventually lead me to the road I want to be on. I can sacrifice some of my interest and happiness because I know that someday, it will be repaid to me in full. I can look into that for you because I am putting faith in myself that I will follow through and become the person I want to be. Most of all, I can look into that because I have the knowledge, talent and ability to."

The meeting let out and I walked back to my desk. The ever-present urge to drop everything and walk out the door was still there, strong as ever. This time, though, instead of trying to repress it, I welcomed it. I allowed the feeling to make itself at home, hoping that it would never leave me. Praying that it will remind me that while I may not know what I want to do, I sure as hell know what I don't want to do.

I took a deep breath, sat down and got back to work.

She blinded me with science (and then totally took my organs).

I know I said I wouldn't be around as much this week, but what can I say? ALL CAPS, I just can't quit you. It also doesn't help that I'm the only one at work and I'm harnessing all my passive-aggressive powers into saying "Screw you, The Man!" by not working. Okay so I'm still answering the phones. And maybe I'm still sending out company-wide e-mails. And I may have changed the toner cartridge in the printer. But dammit! I am not a machine!

You're not my real mom.

Ahem, what? Where was I?

My brain is still relatively fried from my week long journey into adult life, so I'm having a hard time focusing. A harder time than usual, anyway. And yes, that is what she said. Let us take a moment to recognize. All done?

One of the reasons I've been so swamped with school work, regular work, etc is because instead of being a good time-manager, I'm a terrible one. I should be time-fired. Zing! No? Okay.

In the few hours of free time I have, I don't spend it studying, working or even exercising. I'm not trying to teach myself a new craft or attempting to better the world. What am I doing, you ask? Reading this:



I should start by saying I didn't pick this out. Aside from generally being a little hesitant to buy a book called Stiff (lest someone think I'm scouting screenplays for my new porno), I don't like feet. So a picture of dead feet on the cover of a book under the word Stiff? That's gonna be one seriously weird (and potentially illegal) dirty video.

But it came highly recommended by Garland. Now, Garland and I may have different opinions on movies, music and literature, but one thing is always for certain: we both like to be entertained by weird and potentially gross things. Plus, there are few people on the planet who know my taste better than Garland, so I relented, grabbed a Jell-O pudding out of the fridge (not recommended whilst reading this, by the way) and got to reading.

This book is, for lack of better words, awesome. It is about all the things that can happen to your body after death. Say, for example, you donate your body to science. Well, what does that mean? What happens to your body after you donate it?


Bill Nye the Science Guy may or may not be involved.

Well, apparently a lot of things. You can donate a still beating heart, liver or kidneys to transplant patients. The Army can shoot at it to test the stopping power of bullets. Medical students can dissect you, the auto industry can use you as a crash-test dummy or you can end up at a body farm where researchers study decomposition to help aid in crime scenes. In short, any possible use you can think of for a cadaver has probably been tried.

After reading much of the book, I've come to the conclusion that I want to donate my body to science. I am already an organ donor, but if there's more than can be done with it when I'm gone, then have at it.

I think this would be good for a few reasons. It would be comforting to know that even if I didn't accomplish anything with my body when I was living, maybe something can be accomplished when I'm dead. Totally still counts. Also, it would help others in the long run and I could use some extra points tacked onto my soul at the end. Heaven doesn't let in any freeloaders. I know, I checked. Also, it would lessen my chances at coming back as a re-animated zombie. And if that doesn't make it worth it, I don't know what would.

There's no time, there's NEVER ANY TIME!

Holy crap, it's already May. Who saw that coming?! I'll tell you who didn't: me, because I'm not a calendar.

May means a lot of things. It's that magical time of year where the nice spring days start to turn into ice-cream melting hell. It's the time when all the dust you kicked out of your house during spring cleaning comes back and is all, "What up bitches? You miss me?". It's also the time of year that I hate the most: finals.

Yes, finals. The only time of year where I actually attend all my classes and pull what I hear are called "all-nighters". It's rare for me to stay up past 11, so staying up till the un-godly hours of the early morn' without alcohol to keep me company is, well, lame. I don't want to study during the day when I'm at my best (except between the hours of 1 and 3 because that's nap time), so why would I want to abandon my bed for arithmatic equations and rock formations?

So, until next Thursday when my last final is over, I'm going to be everywhere but here. Putting in an effort takes a lot of work and there just isn't enough time in the day to give 100% to everything.

But I promise, in the grand scheme of things, this blog is more enjoyable to me than school. Like, waaaaaay more enjoyable.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the stack of textbooks on the table. Those books aren't going to fall asleep on themselves.