I eat and I write and I climb mountains.

I’m a big supporter of food.  You’re probably thinking that pretty much anyone could say that, but most other people don’t like it as much as I do.  I say that because I know what everyone thinks about everything.  That super power is useful when needing to validate statements such as the one above.  (It’s less useful when I have to know what people think about me all the time.  “God, stop liking me so much!  It’s getting annoying!”)

I do, however, feel like I have an unhealthy obsession with food.  I think about it all the time.  My first blogpost ever was based entirely around how much I was thinking about hamburgers that week (All In Your Head).  That could be any week though.  If hamburgers were a lifeforce – they would be mine.  I imagine my senses would be duller and I would walk really slow if that we were the case though….

But the point of this message is to give you food lovers out their some much needed advice.  If you ever need to make a list of your all time favorite foods, climb a mountain before a meal – you’ll be talking about that your whole way down.

That wasn’t exactly our intention when heading out on the climb – it was, more or less, try and get to the top without dying because we are not very athletic.  It was early afternoon and the entire trip up and down would take between 3 and 4 hours.  Don’t want to spoil our appetite for dinner, right?  Right?!  No. Bring a snack, idiots.  Scratch that.  Bring a party sub.  

Water is way less filling than I thought.  Climbing mountains are even harder than I thought.  And words of encouragement when you think you are almost all the way up from hikers making their way back down like, “You are almost to the half way point!” are less encouraging than they think.  I’ll spare you the details of how beautiful and lifechanging the top of a mountain is and tell you how we ran back down talking about every food we wish we were eating right then and what would be the best.  Baja Burrito fish tacos?  Heck yeah.  Samurai volcano roll?  Done.  Bread & Company fresh mozzarella sandwich?  Too expensive, but yes I want to eat it.

Unfortunately,  places you normally think are “okay” make it to #1 on your “Things I’d Kill Someone to Eat Right Now” list.  Didn’t think I’d ever kill someone for Las Palmas chile relleno. (I hate that I might have to spell this out for you because you may be in that large group of people who don’t understand this fact but it is because Las Palmas is TERRIBLE.  I refuse to call this a differing of opinions.  You are wrong in liking Las Palmas.)   But I did.  No, no – I didn’t really kill someone because no one was on the top of a mountain in upstate New York offering me bad mexican food from Nashville in exchange for a human life.  I only wrote that I did it because I thought that my paranthetical break was so long that you’d have to go back and see what I was saying that I did.  Maybe you don’t care enough to even scan back to see what I was talking about.  This isn’t about powering through.  It’s about something else and I’m leaving that to you to figure it out.

If you are spending time right now trying to find out the underlying meaning of this, I’ll let you know that I am too.  Am I inconspicuously bragging about having climbed a mountain?  Maybe.  Do I just need a vehicle to express my opinions about a particular bad food?  No, I’d tell anyone that at anytime.  Am I showing you how easily I would take someone out for a meal?*  Yeah.  That’s probably it.  I think I even foreshadowed that a little.

*I now realize that it sounds like I’d treat someone to a meal.  I meant I’d kill them. You got that, right?  Yeah.  You get me.

 

Target vs. Panic Attacks – Round 1.

I experienced something odd yesterday  (and by “yesterday” – I mean 5 months ago because that’s when this realization first occurred.  Let’s journey back in time.)

It’s “Back to School” time.  I’m in the South, so you could also call it August.  But it was, more specifically, the week that all the local colleges are beginning.  I live in Nashville and we have a fair amount of legitimate Universities for a a less than large city so that means that my usual haunts are over run by 18 year olds.  If you don’t know me that well, my usual haunt is Target, but I frequent two Targets that are within 5 miles of each other so I had to make it plural.  I was warned by someone (that I assumed to be exaggerating) to not go to the aforementioned haunt because of the hordes of young people buying extralong fitted sheets (shout out to Cranky Tea) and $50 couches that probably won’t last until Labor Day.  Crowds don’t bother me in general and it’s going to take a lot more than a long line to keep me from buying $80 worth of unnecessary things.

But I shouldn’t have gone.

I learned a hard lesson that day.  Everyone looks alike.  Well, not “everyone” – I’m not racist.  Just white boys.

I usually have a mild anxiety attack everytime I recognize someone in public.  I’m not completely socially inept, but I’m not a butterfly either.  If I know I’m going to see people, I can handle it because I’m prepared.  I get a stomachache and wish that I was in bed sleeping just like everyone else does when they go out for a fun evening.  But, when caught off guard, my first instinct is always to hide.  God made me well-equipped with the sensory system of the perpetually hunted.  In a past life, I was a merekat amidst a plain filled with lions ..or wait.  They get along, don’t they?  I was a merekat facing an evil skinny old lion that’s duped a group of hyenas into following him and ruining their pridelands.  And, while I was at Target, I hid behind every row of greeting cards, coat rack, and HDTV possible to avoid what could have been an awkward “Hello” and smile.  It’s hard to shake that unnerving rush.

The weird thing is, I was only seeing people I knew from freshman year of college – as they were when I knew them during their freshman year.  I’m two presidential terms away from freshman year in college, so unless they time traveled…. No, no way.  None of them could afford that.  So, my point is – - why do people in college always look the same??  Why did I see my group of friends * (*random groups of friends – not actually groups that included me) at Target 8 years later buying new things for their dorms??  Okay, so I know your first thought is the same as mine.  They are vampires that don’t age so they have to keep restarting their lives over, but forgot to relocate before enrolling in college for the 50th time.  But, as plausible as that sounds, I don’t think that’s it.  It’s that dumb shaggy haircut is what it is.  So this wasn’t a hard mystery to solve, but knowing the reason everyone that age looks the same doesn’t change the fact that I can’t leave my house for fear of running into the ghosts of my past.

This even leaves me wondering how bad my eyes are that I think every person is someone I know from the past with a similar haircut.  I’m not bad with faces and I don’t normally lump people together into such generalized groups.  I can tell the difference between Urkel and Carlton.  (About 30 lbs and some awesome dance moves, am I right?!)  The moral of this story?  Young male caucasians are my Scar.

Downers….and UPPERS!

I’m not much for mood alterers.

There.  I said it.  (And apparently “alterers” is not a word, but I’m leaving it.  Artistic license, right?) 

I never have been and I’m pretty sure I never will be.  I’m no drug connoisseur.  I’m actually more of an ignoramus according to the thesaurus (which is claiming that to be connoisseur’s antonym, but I find that choice of word to be debatable).  To stay as vague as possible, my few run-ins during my dark alley days have always left me saying, “Now, what exactly is supposed to be pleasant about this?”  Prescription medications that I’ve been given for various ailments have always left me puking and much more keen on withstanding the pain of yet another pinched nerve than coming near pills that some people happily pop all day long.  What can I say?  I like to be high on life. (Man, that’s hard to even type as a joke.)

I came to that conclusion more than a few years ago.  I’ll have a cocktail or two to liven myself up for a social gathering, but that’s about the extent of any alterER that I find enjoyable.  That was until I tried Ritalin.

It was the typical story.  College kid needs to stay up all night to study.  My time during the day to study was always pretty limited – so my night hours were the best to hit the books.  But guess what?  I was TIRED when night came.  So I’d heard others talk about taking some Ritalin or Adderall in order to study because it kept you awake and you stayed extremely focused.  A friend of mine had some 5+ year old Ritalin from a prescription during highschool and he offered me some to pull an all nighter for an exam.  He said he had used them, but they weren’t very strong anymore so it might not have very much effect.  I took one and felt nothing so two hours later I took another.  Then I went to sleep 30 hours later.

I was living at home at the time and I clearly remember being extremely exhilarated when talking to my mom when she woke up that morning.  I couldn’t wait to tell her about my new found love.  Uppers.

The point of the Ritalin that night was in order to stay up and transfer all of my notes to notecards to prepare for an Art History exam I would be having later that week.  The process is extremely time consuming.  Thank god I wasn’t actually staying up to retain information for an exam the following morning because I don’t think that would have panned out so well.

Being a somewhat Type A personality (maybe more than somewhat…but who is keeping track…), I like to be in control.  Yes, I like to control others, but I also like to be completely in control of myself.  I don’t like the way mood altering takes away one’s authority over oneself.  I want to be able to function at the same speed and with the same mental capacity as I always have.  The beauty of Ritalin is that I can do everything I do on a normal day…except BETTER.

I am about to say the following without a shade of sarcasm.  Ritalin makes me high on life.

When on Ritalin, everything that you need to accomplish feels within your grasp.  Finish my 50 page paper in one night?  Of course I can!  Read this 700 page text book by my 9 am class?  Why not!  Learn how to do sign language?  Sure!  Alphabetize my nail polishes?  Let’s do it!  Unfortunately, it’s that enthusiasm and focus for everything that can also be a hindrance if you are intending to have an all night study session.

I’d heard tale of Ritalin’s power to focus you on even the dullest subjects.  Kids that are normally unable to read their text books for more than half a page before wandering off into no man’s land suddenly find themselves riveted and glued to the pages like it’s the last half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  What I was not warned about, however, was your mind’s inability to realize what the Ritalin was intended for.  You walk accidentally by your computer on your way to studying and suddenly its 5am and you’ve just memorized the script to “White Men Can’t Jump” and painted a mural of Weird Al in your bedroom, but you haven’t started on those exam notes.

Sure, I was up all night.  I was sitting on a heater, wrapped in a quilt yet still shivering.  I hadn’t eaten in hours and my appetite was no where in sight.  And I was more optimistic than I’ve been in years while gluing pixely printouts of cave drawings and color coordinating my time periods, but that wasn’t the only thing I was interested in.  I found myself taking breaks quite often – 2 or 3 hour breaks – to do things like write poetry and watch Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure.

Maybe that’s not odd to you, but I don’t write a lot of poetry on a normal basis.  And I certainly don’t write pages and pages in a row for 2 hours.  But, for some reason, you couldn’t stop me that night.  Oh wait, I know what the reason was.  Prescription drugs.  Anyways, I felt like my mind was on fire with creativity.  And I wrote a 17 stanza poem about cabin fever that wasn’t half bad, but that’s really not the point.

It may seem as though I’m complaining about the unexpected directions my focus went throughout the night, but I’m not.  It’s more of warning to others that this will probably happen to you.  The good thing about it is – it doesn’t matter.  You have more than enough time to spare.  Why not rewrite your recipe book ransom note style?  You’ve been wondering what you were going to do with all those old magazines you have laying around and you’ve got more than enough hours because you are no longer wasting them on sleep!

Trust me, no matter what you choose (or just end up doing for no logical reason), you will do it with confidence and a lust for life that you have never had before.  It was the best idea you’ve ever come up with and the end product will be your best work because Ritalin doesn’t leave you with a whacked out version of yourself that thinks they are getting things done only to find the next day that you’ve watered your plants with Gatorade.  Ritalin helps you achieve your best while feeling your best.

This post was brought to you by the makers of Ritalin.

Afterthought:  It should probably be said that I have only taken Ritalin one time and Adderall one time during the same year in college.  I am not addicted.

Career schemes.

I want to start a lot of blogs based on specific topics and become extremely popular and somehow break into meaningless journalism by my aforementioned fame.  When I say “meaningless” I’m referring to things without meaning.  That’s why I added the “less” part.  Primarily reviews of things – food, movies, cities, books, activities, (insert nouns here).  Seeing as though I find it close to impossible to even update my blog about absolutely nothing more than three times a year, one might think I would not be suited for managing many blogs and producing pieces in a somewhat regular fashion.  I think with imaginary deadlines and feigned demand I could trick myself into keeping up with the needs of my nonexistent public.

I’m not normally one to toot my own horn (and I suppose I’m not really going to be doing that now…), but I think I could write reviews and they would be adequate.  Claiming one’s self to be adequate isn’t exactly boasting, is it?  I will be quick to point out that I’m not blown away by most reviews I read so I feel that I am capable of reaching (and dare I say it — surpassing?) the current level of “okay”.

I mean…if he can do it…

My career (goal) is graphic designer.  Yes, I am a graphic designer.  I design things.  People pay me to do it.  Since I’ve never worked in a firm and put in my time in hell, I often don’t feel like I can call myself a graphic designer.  But that is what I do.  So there.

My dream job is being the designer for a magazine that I also write articles in.  I feel like becoming the designer for a magazine is feasible and then weaseling my way to becoming a freelance writer for them is only a matter of time.  Actually, being the designer for a magazine is reality because I am the new designer for Local Table ( A Guide to Food and Farming in Middle Tennessee ).  So, step one of two is completed.

Now on to step two: Weaseling.

If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s estimating what size container I’ll need to store leftovers in.  It is unbelievable how good I am at this.  Unfortunately, I’m not sure how clever I am.  Fortunately, the woman who runs the magazine is extremely nice and the all the contributors are freelance writers so it might not take more than a writing sample and her deciding whether or not it sucks.  I had plotted to disguise my articles in emails, imagining her thinking, “God, if these are what her emails sound like – think of how amazing her story could be about the 12 South Farmer’s Market Scandals!”  And the next thing you know, I’m interviewing Mark Ruffalo and designing the layout of his pictures and deciding on the font I’m using for the amazing pun I just came up with using his name.  “Mark my words, You are about to be Ruffalo-ed Up!”

That’s not what it will be.  Something way better.

On more than one occasion, I’ve looked at the small bookshelf in my room and have become embarrassed when I notice the copy of The Lovely Bones on it.

The things on my shelf seem like a reflection of me.  I anticipate people coming in to my home, perusing through my belongings, and then making their own judgment on who I am and what I’m about.  Sometimes, before a new guest comes over, I look around with fresh eyes thinking, “Is this the Lucy I want them to be acquainted with?  Will they know at first glance that I was given a copy of Twilight as a present before it was even popular?”  I want to leave a good impression.  Actually, not so much good as accurate or more like in keeping with whatever persona the given person associates with me.  You are probably wondering why I feel the need to impress these people.  I don’t really.  People that know me are given no thought at all.  It’s the new people.  I’m not so much worried or insecure about my interests.  It’s more that I’m not confident in their ability to correctly assess me.  I feel like the things that I own are an extension of me in a way.  They are a part of my personality and if said people are unable to realize that owning Heroes season 1 and 2 does not mean that I just haven’t gotten around to purchasing the following seasons but really that they make me sick – I’m in for a world of trouble.

Everything is highly calculated.  Most of the time.  Sometimes.  Well, when I feel like it and only in some places.  I own very few DVDs, but they are all movies/tv shows that I love so that doesn’t really pose a problem…unless they somehow forget that Eli exists and think I have a weird obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine.  In case this happens, I place them next to The Royal Tenenbaums and hope they just think I collect movies Alec Baldwin narrates.  I have the Karate Kid trilogy on VHS and DVD just to drill the point home.  You will find no where in my home a Karate Kid movie with a girl or a black person with a Chinese guy as the lead characters.  If I wanted to see that, I would have just gone to sleep and watched my nightmares.  I have something called a Harry Potter corner, but that doesn’t mean that Harry Potter memorabilia can be contained to one corner.  I mean, who can contain magic?  The only thing that might be misinterpreted is my owning two copies of The Lovely Bones.  And two copies of *David Sedaris’ Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk.  My fear is that people will make the mistake of thinking that two copies of a book means I like it more when actually two copies means that I hate it.

Maybe I’m not confident in my new friends because I’m making myself impossible to interpret…

Who needs friends anyways.

* Don’t assume I dislike David Sedaris.  I love me some David Sedaris, but I hate me all of that book.  I’ve seen him read twice and it was amazing both times.  If you have a chance to go, don’t pass it up.

Toys or Us.

Eli asked me if I knew what Toys ‘R Us meant and then he told me                 before I could reply.

“I think it’s parents asking ‘Do you want toys or us?’ “

The biggest corporate ultimatum in history.

Of course I had to ask him what he would choose.  He picked parents.  But only if he could still have stuffed animals.  I said it was a deal.

Chattanooga is for haters.

I went to one of my favorite places today.  Chattanooga.  Many of you are probably thinking, “Really?  Chattanooga is one of your places?”  (In my head, you are saying it in that “Chattanooga is for dweebs!” way that you talk since you are the head of the football team and I am a mathlete and we are in a movie from the 80′s.)  My comeback to that is telling you how Chattanooga is actually super awesome.  I have a laundry list of reasons why it is the best, but maybe it is also paired with the fact that I really haven’t been to that many places….Stop making me doubt my love for Chattanooga.  I’m going to go to Paris one day and hate it and wish I was Seeing Rock City.

Anyways, while on my way there, I saw a semi-truck pulled over on the highway and two hitchhikers were being picked up.  I immediately exclaimed (to the driver, Nick) that I felt like I should be crossing this experience off of some sort of bucket list.  I just witnessed hitchhikers being picked up by a truck driver!  This was followed by disbelief by my chauffeur that my list had me watching someone else successfully hitchhike rather than include hitchhiking myself.  This was followed by lame jokes including many exciting things that I could watch others do.  Apparently I should add “Watch someone sky dive” to my list.  Maybe it’s just me, but I think it’s okay that I don’t want to stand on the side of the road and put my thumb up issuing the international sign for “Murder me.”  It may make me seem dull, but how dull can I be?  I was taking a daytrip to the fun capitol of Tennessee.  I was also able to cross #49 off of my bucketlist.

…..

46. Eat a peanut.

47. Wear jeggings.

48. Go to Rock City and see seven states at once.

49. Witness murder victims be picked up by their future killer.