Damned Cutting Boards

I have decided so many times, that one of the foundational issues in the world, is emotional immaturity. I stand by that. To demonstrate: Here I am, pissed off again, being immature I'm sure, about my emotions. What are you supposed to do with them?

For the first time in my life...I am exactly where I am...and will never be here again.

What I mean is, I am excited about my life, in so many ways. However, I am different to myself and to people that I love, in more ways than I sometimes know how to deal with. Furthermore, I'm not always sure that the 'changed' me is honestly me. Other times I'm not so sure the 'me' I've grown up being, is who I truly am or want to be.

I have an impatience with people and with life, that I didn't use to have. I have an intense amount of energy an urgent need to put it to use. Lately, I want to ski every minute of my day, or run or bike or hike, anything that has me outside, using my body. I don't want to sit at the table and talk politics with my family. I don't want to argue over stupid decisions or details like what cutting board I use or how to make burgers (recently encountered topics). I am tired of being micro managed by my mother, and yet sooooooooo sick of being annoyed by her...so what the fuck? What does a girl do with all this energy? What does a person do with all this emotion? I don't want to be a mom, but I find myself feeling guilty for not being available to my nieces. I don't want to be an emotional support or peer to my parents or any other person of their generation, yet I find myself repeatedly confided of information I do not care to know, that lands me in just such a position.

I may be just a Princess, with too many demands on the world. I may be burning bridges as I write this. I may be a selfish little shit with no sense of family or community or the little things that make the world go round. Fine...maybe. I hope that my friends and family can forgive for that. However, I maintain that I want clearer boundaries. I want people to have integrity in their drippy, gooey shit. I want good friends to go play hard with, every moment of my life. I want the rest of my life to play hard, push every boundary of personal limits and seek the life that makes my soul soar.

I am happy. I am in love with my life. I am in love with the people in it. But I feel impatient. I want people to get the fuck out of my way, or climb on and come with me. Whatever, but for the love of god, who gives a shit about the onion on the cutting board? No, really, to everyone who's just devoured and entire meal, caked in onion, I am so sorry that your carrots taste like them too.

oh the anguish

I've been watching my 4yr old niece for days now, as she demonstrates time and again an almost perfect void of emotional editing. When things are exciting, they are THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET. When things are frustrating, they are worthy of being thrown, growled at, kicked, yelled about, etc. When things are not quite as she would like them to be, there is a general, overall meltdown. The possibility of things being any different, EVER with the use of communication and a little help to adjust the situation, do not occur to her yet...why does this feel so familiar?

It amazes me that to this day, I act like a 4yr old. Better yet, that I can see myself doing it, and can't always (if ever) stop it. I am the queen of crisis mode to the point that my cohorts harass me for being a stress queen and it dawns on me slowly, with the utmost self control, that I am rarely trapped in the situations I think I'm stuck in. Ha! I think the only thing age has taught me, is that silence is an amazing tool and power. People think the world of someone who can walk in and be quiet. They will cast upon this silence, all of their worst fears and greatest aspirations. Meanwhile the silent observer could be (and usually is) just wondering what in the holy hell is going on, but a good poker face will fool the best of them.

Whatever people. I can barely keep a grip on y 28yrs of psychosis. Don't give me the silent treatment to add to it.

tidbits and end caps

Just the little bits of weird shit that make their way into my life...here's a poem from a boy who will likely never confirm if it was written to me, but will nonchalantly send it in a pile of others just to see what ignites...
_________________________________________
Kiss drunk

When I find my body in your arms in waking dream am I
Not the kind with elephants or the ones that make me fly.
Rather this dream without slumber
Comes on me like thunder
My body trembles and shakes
For in this little time
I’m out of my mind
And I am forced to wake
I know that I love you,
as strong as my will
But that is a painful pill
___________________________________________
I on the other hand am not so subtle, and this is my 'poetic' response. I do not pretend to be a poet, but I can make words rhyme and occasionally do somersaults...
__________________
lay down

what the fuck is this
these dreams that you whisper
this tortured iron will
and this body that trembles

don’t tell me your dreams
when you won’t press upon them
the weight of my touch
that you won’t meet beyond them

i have kissed your tremble
i have touched your melt
held your shudders
and known what i felt

here’s my heart
here’s my head
here’s my faults
here’s my dread
here’s my hopes of a life i’m afraid to believe in
here’s my fears of a love i’m not sure i’d be leaving

my hearts bursting open
with words from your lips
my will is worn ragged
on misconceived tips

you’re not speaking to me
and perhaps never were
your’re a ghost in your own head
your own knot, your own bur

so go, fight your own fight
on your own battle field
i’m so sick of the glory
for this sword and this shield

i want real
i want truth
i want ground
i want proof

to be looked at and seen
not imagined otherwise
to be met in the middle
not the outskirts of lies

give me courage and longing
the fierce pursuit of my being
give me rugged whole truth
not a fool who’s been dreaming

No Bowl Cuts or Mullets

"You'd be amazed at how easily they succumb to bowl cuts and mullets." My sister confides in me, as though the latest conspiracy overturning the world is directly linked to the favorite hair-do's of our youth. It's my nieces day to get her hair cut, and the instructions given to the patiently awaiting hair dresser, go something like this: "Yeah, just trim it up a bit here and there, take off some shagginess or whatever, just no bowl cuts or mullets."

Ah life in big sky country...where the buffalo roam, and mullets are an honest to god, fear instilling obstacle that must be reckoned with if you intend to raise your children without damaging their psyche in the same manner as your own. Besides, it's always far more entertaining to conceive original torture techniques for ones spawn. I dream of the day when I can repay my children with the humiliations of parental attendance. In the meantime, I take it upon myself to torment my nieces.

Lucky for them, they're too consumed by their own innocence, unknowingly condemning their future pubescent social life, by supplying me and their parents and sooooo many others, with endless incriminating stories to share their middle school and high school crushes. All I have to do is stand by and take note. Mwaaahaaahaaa. Perhaps I sound mean, but rest assured their daddy is already loading his shot gun for the poor, unsuspecting young fools who make the mistake of looking twice at his little girls. I might as well find ways to amuse myself with their inevitable evil teenagerhood, since they won't likely be escaping the house without a chaperon, and I'm likely to be that chaperon.

Grandmas and Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles, siblings and cousins--blood and adopted alike--clear your mantels. Clear your coffee tables and book shelves of my generations bad hair cuts and embarrassing fashion accessories. There's a new circus in town and I am sooooooo glad to be on the wagon that thinks it's all funny and finally off the one that finds it a life or death matter.

boys boys boys

Boys, boys, boys...when a girl goes out of her way to tell you how she feels, two things are VERY important:

1. Don't leave her hanging. You are in no way obligated to fake having the same feelings in return. In fact please, don't fake anything. However, no response and vague response, are really lame options that technically, shouldn't even be options.

2. Don't set her up--uninformed--to watch you fawn over another girl, or watch other girls fawn over you. It's not cool...at all...ever. Be honest and respectful. Everyone deserves a FULLY INFORMED, OPTION TO CHOOSE whether or not they want to be involved in such a situation.

Who knows, maybe it'll work out in your favor. Maybe it won't. Regardless, it'll save everyone a lot of heartache and unnecessary emotional drama. It's lame to lie, omit or mislead in any way. Get a clue and a backbone, and a little integrity. I promise, it'll get you a lot further than your creepy Casenova act--which by the way, is impressing you a lot more that it's impressing her.

La la la la la la la la la

Ah, the holidays...so easy to blow off w/ a big red stamp of "HELL ON EARTH". Unless you are one of those who truly enjoys this time of year, in which case you visit an entirely different scrap-booking store, for your stamp and ink pad color of choice. I personally find it amusing to play the Grinch while desparately poking about the house and liquor cabinet for the quickest way to make myself laugh.

I don't actually hate the holidays. What I hate, are the overwhelming levels of pure, exhausting emotion that accompany the season and in truth, every family gathering in this here little orchard. I attribute this multifaceted gem adornment, to two things. One: My family alone, maybe responsible for the very existence and financial fueling of psychotherapy as a practice. Two: In large part due to this close knit relationship with shrinkage, my family firmly believes that e-v-e-r-y single confrontation in life--be that with a door knob, your next door neighbor or your next of kin--deserves your undivided emotional and spiritual attention, to seek out the lesson awaiting to enlighten your soul.

Example: My niece has been on a roll lately, exercising her 4yr old right to Sass. She was mid-exertion of some offensive act, when my mother turns to her and asks "Now, how does that make you feel inside?"

Don't get me wrong, as a member of this family if nothing else, I am a huge advocate of self awareness and self betterment...WHEN YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO SEE YOURSELF. As a 4yr old at heart however, I am an even bigger advocate of exercising ones right to Sass, and furthermore, spreading that love whenever and where ever possible. Word to my neicie...and I'm pretty sure I've secured my place in parenting HELL, should I ever make the mistake of going down that road.

Oh and Three: (This one sneaks up on you. It even snuck past being made reference to before hand.) MICRO MANAGING.

Basically, what I'm saying, is that holidays are awesome and I am surrounded by therapists who all know how to process each others shit better than the person it belongs to, and don't drink enough. And the best part is my own attempts to pretend I'm not part of it! Yippeeeee!

This is awesome

I am quite possibly going to hell for my pet-auntie skills. Currently directing anger at an ex-boyfriend, occasional bootie call and idiot, for being stupid. House boiler is screwed, so it's freezing while I write and 13 degrees outside. Top it off with the fact that it's Friday night "and I ain't got nobody" and there is nothing to do in this town. But the cat loves me, and that's what counts. Did I mention I hate cats?

Had the first real conversation w/ my mom tonight in what feels like years, spurred in large part by my trying NOT to talk about the incredibly lame situation I was dragging myself from after Thanksgiving with afore mentioned ex (dumb), which unfortunately involved Mom (dumber). Good to talk to Mom. Bad to eat turkey w/ stupid boys. Good to clear up the fact that some boys are just dumb and I have an amazing propensity toward the majority of them...which is awesome (dumbest).

Holidays are awesome...why do I insist on writing a public diary?

Cyclo-what?

So...finding the luke-warm, mixed response to the cyclocross event amusing. Everything from heated encouragement and cheering to raised eyebrows and dismissal. Well, whatever you find yourself thinking...if it even inspired that much, know that it was a ridiculous BLAST, and nothing more. Which in truth, I think the whole single speed cyclocross crowd was designed for anyway.

My mom got mad at me today because I thought this picture...



was hilarious.

She thinks it "barbaric"--God bless her.

Oh, and...

...

http://velonews.com/race/cyc/articles/13665.0.html

and

http://www.cyclingnews.com/cross.php?id=/photos/2007/nov07/singlespeedcx07/20071111_sscxwc-01590

and

http://www.howtoavoidthebummerlife.com/weblog/archives/2007/11/skating_t
hrough_life_on_a_wing.html

so much so much...and so oh little time

God, what a summer. What a job. What a weekend. What a life...holy hill. There are so many people I want to thank for so many things. So many events and things I want to mention. So many weird ass experiences I am itching to expose and exploit. So much, so much, and oh so little time!!!

This tour season has been amazing. Intense. Bizarre. Overwhelming. Rewarding and downright fucking frustrating to the point of tears. Had one guest get hit by a car, another send himself over his handlebars and take out three front teeth. One endo'd headfirst into a rocky creek bottom and wound up w/ an airlift out of a national park. Someone else had to receive the horrible news from our office, of a baby nephew being hit and killed by a car..and that's just the guests! Entire town water pump systems quit working, trailer brakes locked up, motorcyclists collided w/ company vehicles while I was driving them...I mean seriously! What the f*%@?

How-eva, I truly believe this last weekend alone, set all planets and Universal imbalance, back into alignment. Please view: http://www.dmroth.com/cycling/kiss_krew/index.html for your personal comprehension. I just want to add: I actually gave myself a blister ringing my cow bell...and that is almost as good as double clicking a mouse.

This was a two day event: day one has the boys in blue, grease monkey suits, and day two in KISS makeup and yes, those are leather pants. We all crawled out of bed Saturday, to make the three hour drive to Estacada, just southeast of Portland, where the first annual Cyclocross World Championships were held. Pictures tell the story so much better than words, but suffice it to say we walked away w/ a pile of hand-made cowbells (which are an entire mass-email story and prayer session in themselves), a carbon crank set, at least half a dozen lovely pint glasses, countless kisses, cycle shwag and a fan club to make your heart melt. I think I have found my calling in life: groupie and cheerleader extraordinaire...though I may have to shed a few layers and show some T&A, if I want to get serious about this. I didn't sleep the night before heading down, due to a painting job I had agreed to. Needless to say, I was high on fumes and sleep deprivation BEFORE partying all day, all night and all day again. SO. MUCH. FUN.

This easily ranks as one of the best events I have ever attended, and further more, wreaked havoc upon. I am so sad to say that I am now leaving some of the most incredible people I have come to know and proudly call my friends and family, to play in Montana for the winter. Montana is where my immediate family resides, and while I so look forward to actually spending time with them again, I am sad to be leaving this incredibly brilliant, juvenile lifestyle and the pack of instigators I call my friends. These people fuel my love of mischief, adventure and life in general.

Then, I sign onto a severely neglected blog, only to find more amazing friends and family members have been tending to the madness that is my life, in the form of late night ranting sessions and verbal explosions of momentary frustration a.k.a. my blog. I LOVE YOU ALL.

A La Carp

Damn this nonsense I tell you. Damn this nonsense of people and projects not operating the way I think they should. I am trying very hard to accomplish a ridiculously long list of company "honey do's", and damned if the system ain't workin' against me. Who the hell actually knows where the company ORIGINALS are of vehicular registration and insurance??? I seem to be able to locate a pathetic and useless combination of copies for 4 separate vans and/or trailers, and NOTHING that combined, will allow the good people of Hawaii to give me a damned safety check...which I need in order to register the van and trailer...which I need to drive...in order to run a tour...which is my job-albeit perhaps temporarily, at the rate of my bad mouthing beloved employers...which my Auntie has been quick to call me on and constructively criticize.

Allow me to defend: I speak rather candidly to the face of the very man I publicly harass. While I rant and ramble over the things that annoy me or put me off, I do in fact love my job, very much, and even more so, the people I work with. I tell them this at least as much as I tell them the rest. While verbal "puking" has certainly been a topic of concern to me in deciding to publish my thoughts on the internet-many of which could certainly be categorized as bodily functions or fluids-I find a certain level of interest in staying raw and true to experience. I suck at keeping my pains and opinions to myself. However, if I had never said a word of what I wrote, to the person I was targeting, I doubt that I'd have written it. I believe rather fiercely that honesty is the only policy...and that can kick a girl in the ass. Further more, I maintain a significant level of protectiveness toward the people in my world-after all, it is my world. I do not mention names, and I do not advertise company labels (not that it'd be hard to figure out and top it off with the fact that I'm a lousy liar, so you could likely just ask). I tell it the way I want to-like a spoiled, bratty child-and hopefully make it clear that this is my immature, self-centered, ridiculously opinionated rampage, not the bloody gospel. Mind you, the world would be a better place if you heathens would treat it as such.

Ah ha ha!

Ah ha ha people! You're going to let me get away with all of this? Come now, not a single critic in the audience? Not to antagonize, but I find the temptation almost too delicious. Could I possibly have the entire stage to myself and no one watching??? Almost too good to be true! How long can it last? How long 'til the silence is broken? Oh public diary...

Wormy little man in the corner...

Hidden muses...

Objects of attraction...

A-mercan

I work for a man who embodies the absolute American communication tactic (and would likely fire for saying that). "Maybe if I say it louder and slower, the heathens will better understand the important message I have to deliver."

I've just spent the last hour and a half weeding through a website he designed, and it's ever so much like having a conversation with the man himself. You walk away feeling pummeled with mass amounts of information, all of which is:

R-E-A-L-L-Y F-U-C-K-I-N-G I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T
AND MUST BE MEMORIZED, TATOOED AND BRANDED INTO YOUR PSYCHE OR YOU WILL FAIL AND BE A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT TO THE COMPANY

...Only to discover on the flip side of a 48 hr adrenaline rush and anxiety attack, that maybe a quarter of it was important enough to be worth mentioning...once, not three times, and all of it could be accomplished without the use of capital letters, exclamations or massive fonts. But hey, go team. I have to go take my blood pressure meds now so I can drink some more coffee later.

Good man, just f-ing intense. And yes, thank god I'm such a picinic.

Eeeeew, there's a little worm of a man strutting and boasting himself all over the coffee shop...and his little soccer shorts have made their way into his butt crack.

Uuuuuuh...

Or...I could just be an idiot for the rest of my life. Ignorance IS bliss people, don't let 'em tell you different. It's easier and a lot more fun, let's face it.

Title

I had a girlfriend tell me once that turning 30 was the greatest thing yet. She swore the angst and stress of being a teenager or twenty-something melted away and the burning questions of "who am I?" and "what the hell am I doing w/ my life?" became obsolete. I suppose we all do, but I place a lot of faith in those little things that imply some relief when, for instance, I have no idea what I'm doing w/ my life.

In truth, I am less concerned about the answers to that question at the moment, than when I am given a week off to obsess over it. For now, I revel in the blissful state of being employed beyond the free-time required to properly ponder my likely-upcoming-seasonal-unemployment...say that ten times fast. I say likely, because there is always the chance of spending my winter in Hawaii or New Zealand, running tours (yes, I get paid to do this, though arguably not enough). Anyway, too much to think about when faced w/ the immediate tasks of waking up, finding coffee, making lunch, washing dishes, filling water coolers, filling snack bins, fixing squeaks, emptying garbage, applying sunscreen, hiking, biking and chasing the current collection of spandex clad cyclists about the spectacular scenery of Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park.

Quiet

It's a quiet, lonely stage when no one knows you're on it. I kind of prefer it. Like a predawn event-no one knows you're up yet. Feels like you have the entire day to yourself. So much potential, so much space...and peace, quiet.

Writing this thing got overwhelming towards the end of being in Asia, and then just fell off the face of the planet when I returned to the States. I received amazing feedback from so many people and while it was exciting to know people were reading, I started stressing over writing (Alisa? Stress? Over self-imposed pressure? Surely not!) and further more, what to say. It 's never all sunshine and daffodils, but how much to include? How much time to spend wallowing in my own crap, how much time to spend pulling myself up by proverbial bootstraps to appear heroic and unflappable in my own cast role?

One friend in particular, has been influential in spurring me back to the blog (still a ridiculous name-where did it come from? Is it as ludicrous as G.O.R.P.? Boring Longwinded Online Geeks). While most of his "suggestions" inspire semi-hostile responses, there are a few that find their targets and are well received...oh okay, stroke my ego...but only the first 7,541,642 times, then I'll have to reign you in.

For anyone who doesn't know, I am a bicycle tour guide. I work for a bicycle and multi-sport tour company- whose website I may even attach a link to for viewing of absurd mug shot and "bio" that haunt me throughout tours. I mention this because, while it appears I have dropped into a void of cyber inactivity, I assure you my life is anything but, and I LOVE THAT. I love my job and I love my life and I want to tell you more about it all, but I can't right now because I am on back-to-back tours in Utah, and have to go prep for #2 of 2.

Do This

Do this. Do this thing. This blog thing. This life thing. This candid, honesty exposure thing. Do this writing thing where you shout at the invisible world all of your thoughts and opinions, at the risk of going completely unnoticed. Do this.

Set down black letters on white screen. Rattle thoughts incongruent w/ head. Argue self-appointed foes and sell the battles for public display. Sell this. Set this down. Rattle this. Argue this. Do this.

This is what I do. At the risk of going unnoticed. At the fear of being heard. Right here, right now, I do this...w/ great drama.
.............................................................................................

There's always this layer I'm trying to shed when I sit down to pick this thing up again. What to say, what not to say, how much to expose, how to treat this immense stage. I want to believe it's vast enough to absorb my crudest contributions w/out causing harm, but I do not trust that my words would not be taken out of context or manipulated...if they were even heard. How much responsibility do we owe the world to edit our thoughts, emotions and inner turmoils? How thorough do our disclaimers need to be in order to stay true to personal experience? This is what therapists are for right? So no one else has to listen to this crap.

I tell my stories and thoughts as a challenge to myself. To see if I can stay real in the face of disappointment or disapproval. To see if I can have my voice and not need to destroy another to maintain it. I am in awe of what the internet offers for both personal and public growth. My contribution is almost solely self-centered. This is my sounding board. My tool for reflection. My witness to things in my life that I do not always share or know how to put in the open. This is my disclaimer for the expressions in this blog. This is my life, not yours. Don't take this one personally. If you don't like what it says, well then, don't read the damn thing.

Welcome back to my blog...I'll be attempting to keep it up w/ my life for the next year, to see what sorts of trouble I can find myself in. Grandma, sorry about the cussing.

i'm a believer

While my friends and fellow cyclists back home are sending me links to great, well maintained, informative and entertaining blogs on the underground life of cycling in Seattle (observe new link "sally forth!")...I am busy disregarding all common sense, caution, upkeep and well, everything I have ever been taught about cycling and general courtesy.

If you've been following along on the life and times of yours truly, you may recall a previous entry making mention of a cycling event. I was recruited to head a project involving students from a local highschool and English speaking tourists to encourage pedals over petrol, and give the kids a venue to gain confidence speaking English...allow me to say here, that I have never prayed so hard for an event, as I prayed this morning for the uneventful outcome of this one...

What I am attempting to poetically state, is: HOLY SHIT! I JUST PLAYED A PRIMARY ROLE IN LEADING 21 KIDS FROM A LAOS PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL, ON EVERYTHING FROM A BMX TO A BEACH CRUISER, AND EVERY SIZE, SHAPE AND COLOR OF BAD CHINESE SUSPENSION, ON A 24KM RIDE WITHOUT A SINGLE HELMET, IN THE MIDDLE OF TRAFFIC, W/ NEXT TO NO 1ST AID, ONLY MY ATTACHED HAND PUMP, MULTI-TOOL, AND TWO SPARE TUBES, TWO (LITERAL) BUNCHES OF BANANAS, 100 LITERS OF WATER IN A TRUCK AND A PAPER ROSTER (NOT ROOSTER) OF NAMES...on a tour of Vientiene...with out a single scratch.

I do not know how to explain the number of times, in the last few hours, I have secured and re-secured my place in cycling hell. If for no other reason than the fact that I was making deals w/ the devil: my soul in exchange for these kids safely home at the end of the day. I swore if I survived this event, I would blog and purge my guts of the last week and a half, since I've been holding back. I have so many stories, so much to say, so many thoughts. It's been overwhelming to try and sit down to tell all.

The last week has been a brutal combination of my rediculous, over-active head, intense heat, no exercise, great friends, bad teaching skills, amazing ideas and oportunities for the future and an inability to focus on anything other than what's in front of my face. I have taken to reading the classics and decided the truth of my existence is that I, like the rest of humankind, demand to know the reason why I am here. Virginia Woolf is an amazing writer and I can only handle a few pages at a time. Robinson Crusoe, is as big an idiot about the world as I am and he's 200 plus years old. Shogun is a really big book, and a great story. Sticky rice is an amazing product. Jesus was Lao. Chelsea (football) Stadium, had to ban celery because fans kept throwing it at the refs and the "other" team, when they scored...and it made international news. They make pink toilet paper here, and I love that. I still can't believe there wasn't a single scratch on one of those kids by the end of that ride. George Bush is a fucking idiot and I keep having to explain to people here that we don't all agree w/ him, we aren't actually like what you see on Jerry Springer, and just because I look rich here, doesn't mean I can actually afford to live in America. The Lao people could but Subway out of business in a matter of hours w/ the rockin' "sub sandwich" on real french (freedom) loaves. The French know how to make ice cream! And croissants! And incredible, fatty, rich food! If it can be made out of rice, these people have made it...50,000 times, 100,000 different colors and 1,000,000 different textures. I know how to read that many zeros effortlessly because I have been dealing in Laos, Kip and I have to be that rediculous w/ my over exageration because there are in fact, a rivaling number of products made from rice. I've tried eating half of them in the last 2 weeks. Beer Lao is a beautiful thing. People are dumb. People are amazing. It's likely I am bi-polar. I have an offer to return here in 4 mos and stay for a year. My head can't decide which of 500 possible commitments available to be made, it should freak out over first...so we take turns. I miss the mountains. I love the people. My new friends from the school and the students alike, make it easy to want to return...knowing I am missing out on my nieces back home, makes it hard to want to stay away for long.

I am still in shock from the cycling. Can't conjure a big enough, loud enough or rediculous enough victory dance for the success of such an insane event. I don't even know how we got the permission from the school, much less the kids parents, to let us take them out! I think the school (the one I've been working for) director, just signed a piece of paper saying he'd be responsible for their safety, and away we went. Top it off with the fact that 3 local cycling teams showed up to accompany us, which then brought their own traffic controllers (men on motor bikes w/ bull horns for the front and back of the pack) who appeared out of nowhere, and we had a bloody parade! It was amazing! One girl nearly fainted at 6km, where we made a break for bananas and water. 12km was free coffee, compliments of a local coffee producer and a tour of the coffee roasting process for the kids. Jacked up on sugar and caffiene, and now w/o the love of our cycling teams (they took the coffee and ran...not thinking much of our rockin' 12km/hr pace), we shoved 'em all out for a back-track to start. It was (everyone sing along w/ me here) FU-CKING BRILL-IANT!!!!!!!

So, that's a start. I am still tromping around in my dorky bike gear, so I'm going to go ditch that for now and take a victory swim in the 100+ degree weather we're sporting here in Laos. I have to go recover my sense of sanity and promise to emerge refreshed w/ extensive interviews and opinions. Love love.

what about it

What I was trying to tell you, somewhere between my own self conscious editing and your girlfriends sweeping sabotages, is that I love the mountains. I love them because at least when there's a physical mountain in front of me, I can climb it. I can cuss at it. I can struggle and push and fight w/ it. When there's no mountain, I make one. I make them in my mind or in my heart...those mountains are far harder for me to summit.

I saw those pictures you took, of mountains in far away lands, and my heart cried. I know what I want, and I was momentarily distracted by an invisible view: I want to climb every mountain. I want that huge expanse of blue sky and sharp, fresh air shot in my face. I want the vertigo, looking out over a pass I just spent inumerable hours struggling to climb. I want the mountains, and I want the people who burn for the same. I want those people beside me so long as we seek the same path. Then, to not pretend we share something once we realize we've parted ways. I want my life, as big and open and undefined as those skies. As ever changing, unpredictable and unapologetic as the views. I want the mountains shouting vertical, holding adamant, solid indiference beneath my feet. I want the wind hollering at my chest, "Are you done fighting yet?!?!". I want to stand in the presence of others who can't sit still knowing there is something else in life that they seek to find, to experience, to know. I want to burn, to bask, to devour, absorb and inhale every moment of my life and rest in the moments of hysterical exhaustion, knowing I am not settling. Knowing I am being absurd. Knowing it's soley my insistance that drives me believing I can only find peace on a mountain top. I want to sleep knowing I am pursuing what I love, even when it takes the shape of 500 days rest and 1,000 consecutive feasts of shite filled, cream cookies. So long as it's what makes my soul soar, my heart full and my senses alive. I want my life. I want to live it fully...and, I do not want to fear the richness of being still, of being in love, and of being loved in return. I do not want to overlook the fact that mountains come in many forms and incredible, breathtaking views often appear in the most unexpected places. I do not want to be so focused on that peak and a fantasized view, that I forget the beauty that is standing right in front of me. I do not want to apologize for my reach. I do not want to beg forgiveness for my hunger. I want to be...and be okay with that...all that it entails...

Something like that anyway...that's roughly what I want (which I was not attempting to tell you). That is how I feel about mountains though, and approximately what I was trying to tell you before I caught and curbed myself from spilling dramatic, proverbial guts. As for your hawk-eyed friend, damn. You scored. I'm paying extra for the luxury of icey cold in my room. Only difference is mine has a button I can push to shut it off.

enter

House lights to half.
House lights out.
Curtain up.
Stage lights.
Enter: Clueless white girl w/ big, black eye.
Enter: Communication gap
Enter: Social misinterpretations translating as hostility and predjudice
Enter: Self consciousness and severe questioning of motives
Enter: Class of 7 Laos students ranging 10-14 yrs of age w/ attention span of 3 yr old and attitude to rival that of clueless white girl

...get the picture??? Ha. Ha ha. Ha...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I swear I'm coming home, moving my shit back to Montana, settling my ass into a construction business and getting a dog! Screw all this worldly perspective and broadening of horizons! What is this but another oportunity to clam up into the self inhibited shell and fear the world of collapsing sky? Why is it so hard for me to leave myself alone? So fucking difficult to imagine maybe the world doesn't want to kill me, cheat me, loathe me? What is it w/ people? That we're all so scared of each other, we can't make it out of our own stupid, spineless, narrow minded, conspiracy theory heads, long enough to see we're all doing the same damn thing?!?!? I know I'm being an idiot! I know I'm creating my own experience, and I STILL can't get my head out of my ass long enough to overcome my momentary defeat of being refused at a market stall! Two actually. I feel like an outsider. I look like an outsider. And hell if I know how to break the ice and quit finding it necessary to appologize for things I do automatically, that offend the hell out of the locals! Direct eye contact? Yep, "aggressive". Motioning w/ your hands, pointing or rapid motion? Uh huh, "aggressive". Inability to speak the language??? Can you say "DISADVANTAGE"? And that's the PC term.

Part of me puts my head down and starts getting ready to bulldoze. Part of me is reconcilled by the thought that I only have to do this for another couple of weeks and then I can go home. Part of me refuses to let this be my final note here, and stands back up to dust off and try again. The best part being, that I know I can and will go home, and do this same thing in my own country. I will inevitably find the "enemy" in my own back yard, and stand there yelling obscenities at it for days, only to realize I'm yelling at my own reflection. Did anybody get an owners manual w/ this life? Could you forward me a copy, because I am in desperate need of...of...I was going to say comprehension, but maybe what I really need is an enema. Squeeze tight honey, that's right. Now, just hold on, as tight as you can, to aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall the shit you can muster.

You know, I really think that blogs are the therapy of the future. Hell, the therapy of the now. What better venue to listen to yourself bitch and complain (for free! hello?) and then have the opportunity to go back and re-read your session, thereby given the chance to both vent and reflect. Vent and reflect. Vent and reflect. Sounds like a bad dance move or exercise to release...I'll stop there. Knowing all along, that you can then proceed to release your "expression" into the open, public forum of the internet, full of people...just like you. God bless 'em, me, you, whoever, whatever. Anybody have any good ideas for foreign language class activities?

Enter: Deep breath and gratitude.
Lights out.
Curtain.