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.