No, I'm not branding the next best cereal.
Today I have graduated to a new level of crunchiness, by way of this thing that floats, and flips, and is sometimes referred to as a KAYAK.
Zack, in his never ending quest to find new activities to fill our weekends, decided it was time (92 degrees today), to trade in our biners (climber jargon for those clippy things that keep you from plummeting to your death at 100 feet), for oars. It is much too hot to hold onto rocks these days, and Zack knows that if he doesn't find something to peak my interest for the next few months, I will either be on the computer, or shopping every weekend. Which to him, are akin to activities that could only be enjoyed by an amoeba. Or a lazy wife. And we can't have that.
So. After he begged and pleaded, I rolled around on the ground a few times, bid on a few EBAY items, and then resigned myself to giving it ONE MORE try, just for the record. Making it very clear, that I was going to be miserable. You see...I tried this once back in 1998. It was on a lake. You know, the kind with no current. And I was told it would be 'fun', and leisurely -- which was a horrible lie. It was hard. It made me sweat, and I do not remember at any point, smelling roses.
Now don't get me wrong. I like to sweat. If it's sweaty fun. Like sex. Or climbing a rock. Or sex. (which I don't do nearly as often as I should). Anyway. This was work with no reward sweat. The kind that makes you think to yourself 'People actually do this FOR FREE?'. So needless to say, I wasn't thrilled at the mention of 'kayaking' being the new 'fun for the whole family!' activity.
He has decided he's going to sell his 'jumping rig'...(oh yes, the man leaps out of planes for 'fun' too!), and buy a new KAYAK. Do you know how much a new kayak costs? Like 900 bucks. My husband doesn't ever spend money. Instead...he saves...and hordes...so that one day he can wake up and decide to drop a G on a big piece of floating plastic, because he can. And he's bored. And he'd rather donate a kidney or eat a jar of mayonnaise (which would be certain death), than to sit on the couch and chill all weekend. For someone who smoked as much pot as he did in his day, it amazes me how anti-chill he is.
So anywho. We went and spent the day on the ol'CHATTAHOOCHEE (you know the one that gets hotter than a hoochie coochie). For those of you who have never been in a kayak, it's like being in a straight jacket. Not that I would know what that's like, but I have an idea of how it might feel -- like being in a kayak. Your bottom half gets locked down into a hole and sealed, so that no water gets in. The object of the game is not to flip. Ever been on a hammock? It's sorta like that. Because if you flip...instead of hitting the deck and knocking out your two front teeth, you get trapped under water in a vessel that doesn't want to release you. And if you're lucky, and don't panic, you might not get your head seared off by a big rock. Not good for the claustrophobic.
Good times. I didn't flip. But he did twice. Once by accident and totally geeked out and I almost thought he was going to die. And the second time on purpose because he was pissed off that he didn't remember what the hell to do the first time...and being the 'teacher' that he was trying to be...the authority on kayaking...it just didn't look so good.
We're talking class 1 (grade 1?? whatever) rapids. Think, fart bubbles in the bath tub. Not very impressive.
But I loved it. And I was cruisin. And the boy kept yelling out to me 'Hey POCAHONTAS, ya wanna slow down!!!?' But then he realized Pocahontas was too nice, and so he started calling me Sacajawea (this being the title we affectionately gave Marley when they took his enormous balls out leaving a massive giblet). And I thanked him for the compliment. It's hard being such a natural.
As I was out there there were these beautifully peaceful moments of stillness and irony...where I thought to myself...oh my god, I'm such a crunchmeister. I have CHOCOS on my feet. I drive a Subaru complete with a roof rack (that may be toting a KAYAK soon). I have a Labrador retriever, and two pairs of Birkenstocks. Actually..make that one REAL pair. The others I got for 20 bucks off Ebay thinking I had really scored the deal of a lifetime...and when they came...Zack had the time of his life pointing out the logo on the side that read BIRKI'S. It was a very tender moment for him.
More and more these days I catch myself riding out without bras and/or panties. I shop at the Farmer's market and I am the poster child for NON-Homogenized/grass-fed milk. The other stuff might as well be watered down Elmer's glue. I listen to NPR, and I'm convinced that there is a little house on a prairie in BOISE IDAHO with my name on it.
Yes. We are already talking about moving. Again. Already. Let's all say it together now. A-D-D.
