I live in Colorado and I’m annoyed every single day by its beauty.
Colorado is so obnoxiously beautiful that it’s really easy to take for granted. There were deer and elk in our yard almost every day when I was growing up. I put a picture of one on Facebook as an afterthought last time I was home. When I came back an hour later, it had become the most popular picture I’ve ever posted, and that includes a hilarious photo of a bagel stuck to a tree.
Living here comes with certain obligations. Continue reading
My attitude towards food has been described as odd. I’m hypoglycemic, which means I eat often or people die, but I rarely rejected a food opportunity even before I started Hulking Out. I think I’m addicted. If I didn’t eat, it would probably kill me.
My enthusiasm for all things edible does not make me a “foodie”. If anything, it’s taken me in the opposite direction. I appreciate a gourmet meal as much as the next guy, but I’ve experienced the same deep satisfaction eating a chili dog from my hometown’s hotdog restaurant.
I’m having the scariest Halloween season ever. It’s not the haunted corn maze my roommate keeps trying to get me to see (because I definitely need another weird complex associated with vegetables). It’s not the girls who literally have to tape their body parts to make sure everything stays inside their skimpy costumes. It’s not even the inhuman number of Pumpkin Spice Lattes I’ve been drinking in preparation for the long, dark, Pumpkin Spice-less time known as “The Rest of the Year”. Those things are frightening, but the most terrifying part of this Halloween– the thing that’s been keeping me up at night in a cold sweat and haunting my dreams when I finally manage to sleep– is the sudden, horrifying epiphany I had last week.
I finally figured out what makes monsters so scary.
They’re my ex-boyfriends!
I guess I ride a bike now.
It’s not really something I like to talk about because bikes, like magnets and former governors of Alaska, have polarizing effects. Maybe it’s different in other towns, but here they’re a pretty divisive issue. Of course, neither side presents itself very appealingly.
On the one hand, you have the people who are decidedly anti-bike. Some of their points make perfect sense- I also drive a car. I know how annoying bicyclists on the road are. When I’m riding my bike and a car comes up behind me, I want to nod sympathetically and yell, “I KNOW! I HATE ME TOO!” The problem is, the anti-bike types are surprisingly aggressive. There’s no quicker way to get someone to call you a dirty hippy than to show up somewhere on a bike, and three bicycle-riding friends have been hit by cars in the last year. It’s hard for me to take your side when you’re actively trying to kill people I like.
On the other hand, the pro-bike crowd is full of terrible human beings. If they’re not hipsters with the name of their fixed-gear bike tattooed ironically inside a heart on their arm, they’re mountain bikers who won’t shut up about Moab.
The following is an actual list I actually wrote while waiting for an actual date a few months ago. I like to think the nervous sweat I was completely drenched in while writing this was totally endearing and not at all smelly.
Before the First Date
1) Don’t die.
2) Don’t make that weird spitting noise when you laugh. You know the one. Just… never close your mouth when you’re laughing. No wait, do. Wait. Don’t laugh at all. No wait, do.
3) Maybe don’t nervous laugh every second.
4) Don’t get food in your teeth. Or on your teeth. Or around your teeth.
5) Does your breath smell like ranch dressing?! Does it?!