OK Hippies, You Win

I know, I know, I forgot to post last week. I was halfway to Mexicali when I remembered and I contemplated posting from below the border, but roaming data is something ridiculous like $15/MB.


Anyway, the fog of fever has cleared, and I’ve thought about my life choices. Namely, that binging on Del Taco after several days of dried figs, almond butter on whole-grain bread, and kombucha is not what my body needs.

That was after my trip to SF, where I spent a week with a vegan. My body promptly responded to the Del Taco feast with the “horizontal cold” in which I spent 36 complete hours horizontal. I used several of my coping mechanisms, in part because I had less than 2 weeks to heal up for Mexico.

I did it; I healed it like a champ, blew out the last of my snot the morning of, and hopped in a truck packed with people and camping supplies. I am not intending, by the way, to write much about my trip. Normally I’m happy to exploit the fuck out of my friends’ fun-times for my blog but this is an instance where I’m a little too romantic about the whole thing and will keep most of those memories to me, myself and my diary. I will say (again) I encountered two scorpions and killed one of them. Over and over again with a rock. Then I shook with primal bloodlust, murderous joy, and sadness for its death.

My friend Alexis found a live scorpion when she unpacked her luggage in America.

My friend Alexis found a live scorpion when she unpacked her luggage in America. She took a picture before killing it because she’s thoughtful like that.

The first thing I did when I got home from my treacherous camping trip was not, as I usually do, chuck my belongings in a discreet corner and procrastinate hygiene for a nap-crash. I shook out my sleeping bag and put it in the wash, I went into the pool to (remember what cold felt like and) buff out some of the dirt, I brushed all of my sister-wives length hair, I showered, I actually moisturized, I cleaned my room… Civilization was so much easier than everything I’d been through in Mexico that I might as well do chores.

And I ate. I did not stop by Jack n’ the Box on the way home. I made myself a plate of oranges, eggs cooked in minced garlic and onions, and baby bok choy. I ate carrots and prunes and drank water. I ate a spoonful of coconut oil. I ate hippie bullshit food, and I loved it.

For Mexico, I had packed garden burgers, Dave’s Killer Bread, and avocados. I didn’t do these things because I wanted to eat like a rabbit. 1. Garden Burgers are good cold and don’t spoil like regular burgers, 2. Dave’s bread tastes great even if it’s been sitting in the sun or if you massage it with your knee somehow whilst crawling into your tent, unlike other breads, 3. Avocados are the best food. Full Disclaimer: Katelyn helpfully packed me tuna salad + cracker snack packs, which I discovered contain FOOD STARCH-MODIFIED, which I discovered is actually sawdust, and which I enjoyed anyway. Other than that, I ate wholesome things, and people fed me wholesome things, like vegetables.

I don't know why I took a picture of my cooler before my trip, but I'm glad I did because this thing is the most badass motherfucking cooler and you need to know about it. I had the last cold beer in Mexico.

I don’t know why I took a poorly-lit picture of my cooler before my trip, but I’m glad I did because this thing is the most badass motherfucking cooler and you need to know about it. I had the last icy cold beer in Mexico, and it came from this cooler.

I’m beginning to understand that eating good food isn’t just helpful for [insert sappy body and health-related reasons that I don’t care about because I’m in my 20s], but also makes for better partying. If I’m always eating healthy then I’m basically in a perpetual state of detox and can tox’ it up that much more. In Mexico on the first night I drank probably 1 flask of Jim Beam (I filled it twice but I spilled much of it on the rocky trails and in my friends’ mouths) and a few Tecates and I woke up not hungover. Now, that’s just anecdotal evidence but, I’m convinced.

My granola crunchy friends aren’t just getting into healthy diets because the universe and everything and love. They have landed on a formula. They are giving their bodies nutrients instead of Taco Bell and are rewarded with endurance and energy. I was trapped in a vicious whiskey / crunchwrap / gatorade cycle just trying to survive ’til next Friday. Now I’m enabling my liver to handle more abuse, and I’m so excited for that.

Next thing you know I’ll be aligning my chakras and reikiking my (uh…?) and whatever to party harder. You win hippies. You win for now.




The Right to Bear Arm

Ok, so one of my friends read my last post (Hooray! I have nice friends) and said,

“Sami, what in the hell is the bear arm.  You can’t just drop something like that and not explain it. Also, kicky boots?”

Everyone seems to think I'm adorable.  That does not mean my personality has to match.

Everyone seems to think I’m adorable. That does not mean my personality has to match.

I dressed in my Spyro the Dragon costume for a party in PB, so the fireball told me I had to drink it. In fact, the fireball taunted me for not thinking of bringing my own in the first place. I mean, come on, dragons drink fireball, not Jim Beam out of a paper bag.

I spent much of the night chatting up a pretty engineer. When it became apparent I wasn’t really her type, I released some of my angst by flinging myself violently around the stripper pole in the middle of the living room (I know two people who have these. Apparently they are good for exercise. Also, dragon rage). In a dizzy combination of glee and frustration, I stomped numbly to the sliding glass door.

Outside, redditor boys with creative costumes, attractive PB women, and the usual bros had been tossing the proverbial ping pong ball across a long table into little red cups. These, and empty cans, littered the surface before me. Most of the partiers faced away from the messy cluster, save three, including myself.

Step 1: Brandish arm with menace.

Step 1: Brandish arm with menace.

Katelyn told me later that she blamed what I was about to do on a hapless witness and I got off scott-free.

In one smooth series of motions I swiped my arm across the table, swiveled, re-entered through the glass slider, and closed the door behind me. Apparently the cans and empty cups scattered dramatically. Katelyn asked the sole other witness, “Why did you do that?” Everyone laughed at his expense.

The bear arm results from the potent combination of three things. Me, alcohol, and unrequited lust.

Step 2: Flail.

Step 2: Flail.

Kicky boots are more about a general taste for violence against inanimante objects, though alcohol is also involved. Unlike the bear arm, my need to apply shoe to object can come out of the innocent place of, “look, I kick things and physics happens!” But bear arm is immensely more satisfying.

Good Bear Arm Targets:

  • Empty cans
  • Empty cups
  • Curtains
  • A structure made of playing cards
  • Streamers
  • Doorway beads (sometimes)
  • Shrubbery

Bad Bear Arm Targets:

  • People
  • Full cups
  • Glass bottles
  • Cactus

So….yeah… bear arm.  Good stuff.

You got a problem with that pussycat?

“Hey stop staring! Haven’t you ever seen a dragon before?” – (me as) Spyro the Dragon