11 out of 22 aka The Second Grand Canyon Incident

I got 11 of my 22 things done before I turned 40 (exactly a month ago as of writing this). I'm calling that a success, though I am still working on most of the rest. I've decided that goats and llamas don't need the stress of me hugging them, but if I come across one in nature and it's down to snuggle, I'll oblige. Others are being delayed as changes come into my life and 'cause I am perpetually broke and can't afford fanciful things, even if they are on a list of things I want to do. And I'm still afraid of dentists.

THINGS I DID

1. Go to the Grand Canyon
2. Pick my nose at the Grand Canyon

In April, we (being my husband, my mother, and I) took a road trip o'er this way too damned big country to FINALLY go see the Grand Canyon, with a detour through Las Vegas. I'm still not terribly thrilled to be in a car almost 7 months later. 

In true Cheeseblarg fashion, "The Experiment" was in full swing and my mother, who is physically incapable of throwing up, contracted The Worst Stomach Flu Ever Known To Man™ and spent two days pooping her way through Utah and Nevada. I, of course, waited to get this flu from hell until we got to Arizona, at which point I became the sickest and saddest fountain of puke and poop, ever.

We had planned to be in town for two days because I was set to complete task 8, "Meet an internet friend in person" but work stuff made it so she couldn't make the drive from New Mexico, and I literally felt like I was dying. I knew I'd be back the next day, so my first moments of seeing the Grand Canyon were staggering out of our car, which was parked right along the edge of the canyon on a cold windy day and thinking, "Great, it's a huge fucking hole, can we go home now?"

Then I sat in the car and cried while my mom expressed 40 years worth of displeasure with me and my husband enjoyed exploring with his family who had driven up to meet us there. It was just as The Experiment would have had it.

The next day, I was dying just a little bit less and it was at least 42% more enjoyable. I still wanted to go home, but I did have the energy that day to pick my nose.

I had that flu for 5 days. Apparently, me and the Grand Canyon were just really not meant to be.

3. Gamble in Las Vegas
4. Pick my nose while gambling in Las Vegas

Before I became deathly ill, I actually had a really great time in Las Vegas. I managed to win 5 dollars on a cheeseburger themed slot machine, and then I lost 20ish dollars in quarters the rest of the time there. And I picked my nose.

I also ate a lot at the Bacchanal Buffet at Caeser's Palace, which you could see from our hotel room. We also had a bitchin' view of the Bellagio's fountains from our room so I could watch the fancy water show without having to be around humans I didn't know.

 I chose the Bacchanal Buffet, in part, because research told me it had the best desserts of all the buffets in Las Vegas. If I had had more money at my disposal, I would have wanted to do my own research, but I did make sure to get one of every dessert I could eat (keeping my allergies in mind) and tried all of them*. The best was actually a Thai rice pudding with a delicate coffee perfume that I still pine for.

(Starting at the top and going clockwise-ish) Fudge, cherry clafouti, chocolate lava
cake, lemon tart, red velvet brownie, toffee chocolate mousse pop, pecan pie.

(starting at the top going clockwise) Thai rice pudding, guava strawberry sorbet, 
tropical pineapple compote, flan, coconut tapioca pudding, creme brulee, 
oreo dome cake

*My mom and I shared them, 'cause even though most of them were small, I totally can't eat 14 desserts all by myself  (especially after eating Lobster Benedict) and I am too Jewish to waste so much food, just taking a bite of each.

5. Read a new Stephen King book

Finishing out the Bill Hodges trilogy, I actually got this book in the mail from an otherwise anonymous woman named Becky, because it was a book I requested from The Bloggess's booksgiving, earlier this year. I look forward to more mystery/crime type novels from Stephen King. 

6. Collect all the cats in Neko Atsume 

I managed this one on my actual birthday. I've been trying all this time but all the fancy cats decided to visit me to wish me a happy birthday. I'm certain of it.

7. Vote for Bernie Sanders

While I didn't get to vote for him for President (because I'm not throwing away my shot vote), I totally did my primary duty. I wanted to take a picture to share, but I found out it was illegal in my state, so here is an artist's rendering:

8. See the new Ghostbusters movie in the theater
9. Pick my nose while watching the new Ghostbusters movie

I did, see this post: I Ain't Afraid of no Reboots!

10. Write a short story

If you didn't see it, you haven't been paying attention: The Melancholy Princess

11. Eat a fruit I've never had before

I started with Dragon Fruit and the image below is a summary of my feelings on this incredibly cool looking fruit.

For the most part, I'm pretty sure I've tasted all the best fruits (though I am holding out hope for mangosteen, which is incredibly hard to come by when you live in rural Montana). Moreover, there's a reason Dragon Fruit isn't as popular as apples and I don't think it's because it's tropical (see: Pineapples. Don't grow everywhere, still super popular because they are amazingly delicious.). I'm, of course, still open to new fruits. I had some awesome cotton candy grapes (that I had to peel to eat without a reaction), and the lychee was tasty but a little perfumey, but I'm totally giving up on Dragon Fruit. I just can't be down with a fruit that tastes like peppery water to me because pepper and I are not friends.

For extra content at just 1 dollar a post.

New Things I Learned This Week - Episode 2

First thing I learned is that it is damned near impossible to open a laptop case.  There is no illustration for this. Just imagine 65 tiny screws and one JRose spouting colorful curse words.

So yeah, the fan in my laptop no longer turns which means that I can only use my computer until it starts to turn into lava, and then, I have to turn it off or it shuts off the monitor and starts smelling like burning components. It is kind of ruining my will to live.  I tried to open said laptop case thinking that if it were just 3 years' worth of lint wedged in there that I could clean it out, my computer would not be a total loss, but alas, I couldn't get the fucking thing open. I clearly do not have the secret password to the hopping club that is going on inside there.

Also, GIMP... While I am sure it is a lovely drawing program made by very nice people who are kind enough to give it away for free, it is NOT comparable to Painter 12, which is what I usually use to illustrate this here blarg, and my frustration with trying to install my drawing tablet on my friend's computer and wrestling with layers on GIMP today has lead to a fair bit of crying. I miss my computer.

Second thing I learned, on Father's day, actually. Someone working in Google Chrome's spell check programming department is obsessed with Allie Brosh. I have surmised this because I tried typing the following in to my facebook status and this was what it suggested as a correction:

And lastly, I learned, while driving to visit my friend on the interstate, a fact that I am very sad to know:

The beautiful majestic monarch butterfly...

... is a terrible bright mustard yellow on the inside.

Crazy Mike and the Debbie Stick

Hey, mom and dad, you might want to skip this one…

Yesterday, I was in the gift shop in St. Regis, Montana, which is one of my regular stop-offs when going on road trips because it is roughly 2/3rds of the way from my house to my friend’s house, and because once I took a bus to Washington State and it stopped there, so since professional drivers deemed it a good place to stop, I do too. Also it has a Live Trout Museum, and if you won’t stop for a Live Trout Museum, what the hell will you stop for?

During this particular stop, I was searching this giant gift store for something small and amusing to give to a Cheeseblarg follower on Facebook, because I like rewarding people for paying attention to me and humoring me without my having to actually put a lot of effort into posting. I think of it as Operant Conditional Love.

What I wanted to buy was a flashing solar keychain that said “Debbie” but I realized that I hadn’t told you the story that makes referring to everyone as Debbie hilarious, so I bought something else that was equally as amusing, to me at least, and made a note to tell you guys the story, which is what I am about to do.

When I was in college, I had low self-esteem, which as we all know, leads to some really bad choices and amusing tales, thankfully. This story started at a Drag Show at the gay club in my college town. I sat outside on the porch, smoking (which I no longer do), and was approached by a very handsome guy who I had noticed around town before, due to his handsomeness, and somehow, the details of which are fuzzy, it lead to us making out by the stairs. (Yeah, parents, I told you to stop reading this).  As I was giving him a ride home, it occurred to me that I didn’t really know him and he was leading me down unlit and unpaved roads and that he might be leading me to a dark, out of the way clearing where he was going to murder me, but, as you might have guessed, since I am writing this now, and called it an amusing story, he didn’t kill or rape me, for which I am quite thankful.

I didn’t bother getting his number or anything, I just dropped him off and went back to my dorm because I realized that my stupidity was overwhelming, and that while it was quite an experience, it was really a dumb DUMB choice to let someone into my car who I didn't really know, but I could now cross “make out with random attractive stranger” off my list of things to experience in life, and yay, I survived it.

Except Crazy Mike apparently didn't feel the same way about the experience that I did.

I think it was when he started giving me random presents that he got the nickname, Crazy Mike. The first was a Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch tape. No case, just the tape.  And I should probably mention that this was about 1996 so Marky Mark had not been heard from for about 5 years.

 The next time he gave me a ring. I think it was a man’s ring. He might have found it discarded in the street.

“Oh, that’s nice…” I said sitting on the porch of the gay bar with my friends.
“Yeah, we’re gonna get married.” he told me.
“Oh?”
“You’re my girlfriend now.”
“Oh…” For fuck’s sake.  And THIS is why you are not supposed to make out with random strangers, THIS right here.
Entirely creeped out by this, I tried avoiding  the gay club. Crazy Mike, however, started showing up all over town, usually sitting on the hood of my car when I would come out of Denny‘s or Simon‘s. I drove a big ugly station wagon. It was pretty easy to find apparently.

So after a few weeks of being unable to avoid him, I finally went back to the club, and sitting on the porch was Crazy Mike’s equally crazy brother, Mark.

“Hey, Debbie! Debbie!” I looked around, and then realize he was talking to me.
“That’s not my name.”
“My brother likes you, Debbie.  I think you look like a hippopotamus.”
“Well, thank you, Mark. My name still isn‘t Debbie though.”
“He’s got a present for you…”

Oh yay, another present. How wonderful.

He wasn’t there though, so I went inside and watched the Drag Show, and after a while, I grabbed my friend and went to leave.

“I have something for you.” he said when I came out of the club.
Oh, was pretty much my standard response at the time, because OMG, LEAVE ME ALONE, somehow was not part of my vocabulary, most likely on account of the low self-esteem. I looked up at him, sitting on the top part of the porch, he was holding a knife and something that looked like a very long ax handle.
“I made you this, I’m carving your name into it.”
He handed me the stick, which I really can’t be sure wasn’t a very old ax handle. He had carved two lines all the way around it, kind of intertwining around the length of the stick, and at the top, he was starting to carve the name “Debbie.”
“Yeah, my name is NOT Debbie!”

After I received the Debbie stick, he seemed to lose interest in me, although a few weeks later, he found me outside Denny’s and told me that he had something to show me.  Apparently he had learned my name by then because he had it tattooed really crudely in a misshapen heart on his shoulder. I, on the other hand, really appreciated the gift of the stick, even though I had to change the name to my own, myself, because he had actually given me a weapon that I could use to bludgeon him if he had chosen to take his creepy stalking up to the next level. I actually still have it, because it was a nice stick. And also because it serves as a reminder not to make out with strangers who don’t know your name and who have brothers who tell you that you look like a hippopotamus.

All things pass into the night.