Aliens, a Love Story

"If it comes to that... I'll do us both."
-Hicks

I've always suspected that my idea of romance and relationships is a little off. Today is only affirming that, because Aliens is on. I love Aliens, way more than Alien. I've been debating every time I'm at Target if I can buy Aliens without owning Alien or if that's against the rules of life. Why do I love Aliens so much?

Well mainly because of Hicks.

Hicks may be up there with my ideal man. He takes charge of a bad situation, he's great with Newt, and he makes snarky comments. All things I enjoy. When he gives Ripley his tracker watch thingy I almost swoon. His promise to kill both of them so they don't get alien embryos all up in their business is one of the most romantic things I've ever heard. Of course is you know anything about Aliens you know Hicks is not the real hero of the story, Ripley is, and that's awesome too.

So since my ideal romance story involves danger and snark and girls that are equally bad ass as guys, it's probably not a surprise that I don't really enjoy romance novels. I have read my fair share. I used to steal them from my grandma when I needed something to read. When I worked at a book store I'd page through them here and there. But I can't really get into them, UNLESS there's a humorous element.

Basically I need the books that are romcoms. I can't do straight gushy love so there better be some shenanigans and brouhaha to keep me interested. You'd think that would be pretty easy to find, but apparently I'm picky. I also want interesting female characters and dialogue that doesn't make me beat my head off the wall. And is it too much to ask that we don't always randomly impregnate people? I mean seriously, there's more to life than knocking up the female lead.

I find it intensely frustrating trying to find new books that meet my criteria. I read the description on the back and it sounds like it MUST be a funny story and then it's just not. It's atrocious. It makes me lose faith in humanity.

And then there's Jenny Crusie.

I love Jennifer Crusie stories with a passion. I first started off with her story Faking It, which has art theft, multiple personalities, orange-pinapple muffins, and fake orgasms. Slowly but surely I started accumulating more and more of her books, including the ones written with Bob Mayer which are my favorite, hands down. Her stories are amazing. Yes, there's romance. Yes, it gets sappy sometimes. But they are hysterical for one thing, and for another despite the absurdity that goes on (and trust me, it can get absurd) they feel more real.

This year I started to suspect I had a Jennifer Crusie problem, because prompted by my friend Erin I decided to start tracking the books I read. I reread Jennifer Crusie novels A LOT. I realized why last week, when I was rather depressed so I decided it was time to read one of the new ones I had been saving. Her books just make me feel better, plain and simple. And realizing that, I made a decision.

For NaNoWriMo this year I'm going to try and write a happy, funny, love story.

I've known about National Novel Writing Month for ages. If you're not familiar, it's basically where you write a 50,000 word story in the month of November. I've debated doing it several times, but I've always had an excuse to not do it (ex: several papers due that month, moving, or taking a lot of vacations). This year though my friend Erin is doing NaNoWriMo and she inspires me to try as well.

There are sooooooo many reasons why this may be the worst year to do it. I am traveling literally every week of the month. I have a vacation with my family. I have a wedding to attend. I have work functions. I have Thanksgiving with my brother. BUT, I'm going to try anyway. I think I'm going to be cutting out TV completely for the month, and that's okay.

I do better with goals. I do even better when people know my goals, and I don't want them to know I've failed. Take my jazzercise progress as proof (I hit my 150 classes before the end of October! WOOT!). I have not been writing as much as I should. I love writing, I have a ton of ideas, and I need to just MAKE MYSELF DO IT.

I actually came to the decision to participate a few weeks ago, but the idea of writing a happy story is new. This may sound weird, but except for my fanfiction, which is admittedly fluffy, all my writing tends to be dark. Not like Stephen King dark, but there's pretty much always some sort of either depressing or scary element. That's fine and dandy, but I really want to challenge myself this year. I want something that makes other people happy and gets them through tough times like Jennifer Crusie does for me.

Will I be successful? Oh lordy, who even knows. But the point is I am determined to try.

When Rangers Make You Randy

Apparently the Green Ranger is coming to Austin in November for Comic Con! I found out a few weeks ago and I have been super excited. I may actually go. I say this not because I am against going to cons, but because as my friend Erin has already discussed we keep planning to go to Dragon Con and failing at it. But I think I’m legit going to make the Austin Comic Con happen, if for no other reason than the fact that the Green Ranger will be there.

Now I don’t talk about the Power Rangers as much as other things (like Vampire Diaries and jazzercise, which you’ve heard about many a time) but I have certainly mentioned them before. When the Power Rangers came out all the kids in my neighborhood fell in love with the show. We jostled over who got to be which ranger. Luckily this was when I was the alpha of the group (as opposed to later in the days of the Spice Girls when my friend Bri was alpha and we had to follow her rulings) so I got dibs on the Pink Ranger.

If you aren’t familiar with the Power Rangers, it was a group of teenagers that were given special coins that allowed them to “morph” into ninja warriors that also had “zords” which were basically like giant machines they used to fight giant monsters. It was rather ingenious that the teenagers weren’t born special but got their powers from an outside source, so they could easily switch out characters when necessary.

Initially there were 5 rangers – Red, Pink, Yellow, Blue, and Black. Pink and Yellow were girls (duh), Red was the leader, and in a racist twist that was delightfully overlooked the first year the Yellow Ranger was Asian, and the Black Ranger was African American.

I loved the Pink Ranger, Kimberly. She was pretty, a gymnast, and of course at the time seemed powerful and in control. Like the other rangers, she wore her color at all points, so she was always wearing some wonderful 90s fashion in pink. I fully blame this show for the disaster that was my pink bedroom. Pink walls, pink carpets… and I was stuck with it for YEARS.

Anyway, Tommy Oliver, the Green Ranger, showed up in season 1 but was initially a bad guy. He was from a rival school or something, was just as good as the Red Ranger in martial arts (oh did I forget to mention they all know martial arts? Power Rangers is also to blame for all the kids that suddenly decided they needed to do karate, which includes my brother), and so Rita Repulsa made him her evil minion.

MEANWHILE, there was all sorts of tension between him & Kimberly despite him being a bad guy. Eventually Tommy became a good guy, and later he became the White Ranger and was the new leader of the gang. Kimberly and Tommy were an adorable couple, and all was right in the world. 

Seriously, tell me you didn't want that back in the day

Tommy Oliver was my first fictional character crush. Actually now that I think of it, Power Rangers is probably also to blame for my previously discussed problem where I habitually prefer bad guys/guys that are kind of dicks. Huh, apparently Power Rangers is almost solely responsible for all the problems in life. Don’t let that stop you from watching it though! If I had the original seasons I’d watch that in a hot second. As it is I frequently turn to the Power Rangers movie when I need an emotional boost.

But anyway, the Green Ranger was like girl fantasy candy. He was hot, strong, evil, but seemed to have hints of good because of his feelings for Kimberly. Even when he became good he was witty, dependable, protective, and still super sexy.

I didn’t realize how deeply Power Rangers was embedded in my subconscious until the other day when my friend tried to pull his hair into a ponytail, reminded me vaguely of the Green Ranger, and all of a sudden I was like !!!!!!!!!

They say you always remember your first love. Maybe you always remember your first fictional crush as well. I should probably figure out if I’ve been unconsciously trying to find a guy like the Green Ranger and that’s half my problem, but that can wait for another retrospective lazy weekend.

We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

So I’m a little late to the game with this, but this evening I happened to find the “documentary” Megalodon and decided to watch it. I remembered that a few weeks ago when I was traveling I saw my Facebook feed blow up with mentions of megalodon but had no idea what was going on, was too busy to find out, and was so exhausted by the time I got home that I forgot all about it.

I actually had a little bit of background on megalodons before watching the show. Why? Well, remember the 5 Ways I Definitely Don’t Want to Die and how I’m crazy terrified of sharks? As I mentioned I’ve ALWAYS been afraid of sharks. It’s not something that developed after watching some movie or tv show. It’s an instinctive fear. In fact, I am mildly convinced I was eaten (or bitten) by a shark in a past life.

But anyway, my parents realized pretty quickly that I was a little insane on this issue, and they tried various approaches to handle the situation. Clearly, none of those attempts were effective. However some of them, like the “suck it up” method, at least taught me to try and act normal in public. Others might have actually made things worse. See my parents thought it would be a good idea if I learned more about sharks. After all, the facts prove how unlikely it is to be attacked by a shark, let alone die from an attack.

My mother got me an adorable kid’s book about sharks. It had very nice drawings and all sorts of important facts. She pointed out that baby sharks were called “pups” to make them seem more loveable. She highlighted the sharks that can’t even bite people, like the whale shark. We even bought a few “baby sharks,” which were fish that looked like little sharks, so they’d be in our fish tank and I’d get familiar with them.

The problem was this didn’t make me any less afraid of sharks, but I developed a strange addiction to learning more about them. I did a project on sharks in high school. I buy books on shark attacks. Every time I see an article online about sharks I read it. I draw the line at watching shark week, because seeing them in action is terrifying.

Megalodons were mentioned in that first book from my mother about sharks. Of course it highlighted the fact that they were extinct. Over the years I’ve read a few articles when people have new theories about megalodons. Then, I foolishly read the “Meg” fiction series about megalodons still existing in the trenches of the ocean. So it’s fair to say I’m familiar with them.

When I saw the “Megalodon: The Monster Shark Lives” listing I assumed it was just a documentary talking more about the shark and their theories on it. I jumped in almost an hour into the show. You can imagine my confusion when they were talking like there’s really a possibility the megalodon is still around, and possibly tied to some recent whale and boat attacks.

Due to the way I was lying on the couch, I happened to have my hand resting against my throat, and not even 5 minutes into the show I could literally feel my pulse going wild. Within 8 minutes, I had to text my father because I was already starting to panic about the idea that maybe megalodons were swimming merrily around the coasts. Thank goodness he pays more attention to life than me and knew it was a hoax.

Even knowing it wasn’t real for the rest of the documentary, I almost had a mild heart attack when they decided to try and tag the shark near the end. I was doing my fair share of screaming at the screen. I mean seriously, you’re trying to catch a megalodon and you don’t have like a battleship?? Not only did their main boat seem way too tiny to me, but they put people in a CAGE and then had to rescue them in tiny little speed boats. OMG are TRYING to make me die of panic??

This is why I don’t watch Shark Week.

The good news is that there’s no current evidence of megalodon. Phew.

Should there ever be even a hint that megalodons are still alive, I may never enter the ocean again.

It’s been an ongoing struggle just to go swimming at the beach, and that’s in places like Rohobeth that aren’t really known for their shark attacks. I refused to go on a cruise for years because I hate being on boats in the water. It’s not that I think a shark is going to capsize the boat (that’s just crazy), but what if it sinks for some other legit reason? I’d still be in the water in the middle of nowhere.

I was heavily impressed with myself when I did a cruise with friends a few years ago. Even better, I managed to talk myself into snorkeling, which was an absolutely amazing experience. I’m so glad I did it.  Of course you may wonder, how exactly did I get over my fear for this? Well, I made all my guy friends going in the water with me swear that if a shark attacked they would drag me back to the beach no matter what, and I stayed near someone at all times, and still was in a constant state of anxiety the whole time in the water. Honestly, I’m amazed I’m alive.

But if I even start to suspect there’s megalodons running amuck, you’re going to have some work convincing me that even something like a cruise ship is big enough for safety.

The Cult of Jazzercise

It’s been especially frustrating for me the past 2 months that I haven’t been able to jazzercise as much as I want. It’s probably not helping my stress levels. I’m going to be lucky to hit 10 classes for August. Freaking ridiculous.

At this point of life, I like to joke to my friends that I only talk about 2 things: The Vampire Diaries and jazzercise. You’ve probably already noticed The Vampire Diaries obsession. I’ve mentioned jazzercise a few times before… here, and there, and everywhere. But finally, it’s time to explain the obsession.

You see the thing is I totally drank the Kool-Aid. I bought into jazzercise, and now I continuously try to recruit others. I’ve made my mom go jazzercise when she visits me. I almost had my friend Baby Kevin talked into trying it, but then we were busy/hungover during the class time.

This is utterly shocking because I DO NOT like exercise. Seriously. Not at all. I remember back in the day in high school there was some sort of test we took where it would determine your best love matches in the school (which by the way I also remember that mine sucked). One of the questions was “how often do you exercise?” I tried to say 1-2 times a week because otherwise I felt lazy, and every reprimanded me because that was a huge lie.  It would be more realistic to say that for 1 or 2 weeks out of a year I was really good and worked out maybe 3 times a week, but the rest of the year I did absolutely nothing.

I continued this behavior in college. Actually I may have been the least fit of my college roommates, because they would work out consistently for a few weeks, and I always tapped out at like week 2. I just see no point to exercising. You get all sweaty and disgusting, it doesn’t feel good, and it’s boring.

Now I had a year after college where I did slightly better. What happened is that I decided to go on a cruise with a bunch of friends, and I figured I should look half decent in a swimsuit. I was successful because I didn’t go to the gym, instead I danced or jogged around the house, and because I tied exercising to my pepsi intake. I made some rule where if I didn’t exercise every other day I wasn’t allowed to have my daily pepsi or something similar. Once we got back from the cruise and I gave up pepsi, that pretty much fell apart.

So how did I end up an absurd jazzercise enthusiast?

When I moved to Austin I decided to go to a jazzercise class because I thought it would be a good way to meet people. I was pleasantly surprised to realize jazzercise is FUN. As I continued to go, I discovered more benefits. Because it combines cardio and weight exercises, you can burn calories (if you believe in that sort of thing) and also sculpt your muscles.

There are 2 questions I always hear from people when I talk about jazzercise, which if I answer now will clear up some common misconceptions:

1. Is there actually jazz music?

Normally no. The routines are set to a variety of music, but think more top 10 than jazz. Right now some of the routines are to “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk, “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark” by Fall Out Boy, and “Treasure” by Bruno Mars.

2. Do you do jazz hands?

Sometimes, yes. There are songs where they tell us to do jazz hands. But not as often as you might think.

Basically how jazzercise works is that the first 30ish minutes are cardio. There are set routines to different songs. The instructor can choose the songs, and there are some things they do slightly differently in a routine, but otherwise it’s the same.

Once the cardio portion is over, we move on to the strength training. These are a few songs, typically involving weights, a tube, a mat, or an exercise ball, that hit certain muscle groups. Normally there are 2 leg songs, 1 for arms, 1 for abs, and then an ending song. This is the area that gets switched up the most. There are songs that combine muscles (like both legs and abs or arms and legs). Some instructors do more arms and less legs. As we approached summer one of my favorite instructors made us always do 2 abs songs. So this is where you normally get more variety.

It’s hard to explain what makes jazzercise different. You have to try it. Everyone is so welcoming. I tend to hit different jazzercise locations when I travel, and it’s always a really great experience. When people think I’m “new” they are so sweet and make sure I know where everything is and how it works.

There’s no judging in jazzercise. When you mess up (and everyone does at some point) you laugh it off. The instructors always say as long as you’re moving you’re fine.

Plus the instructors are amazing. Now I have my favorites, and by no means is anyone perfect. I’m always mentally comparing styles in my head (I feel like I want to make a scorecard of jazzercise instructors someday). But they keep it fun, and they are so encouraging. They take the time normally to greet new people and they’re always available to answer any questions.

And the thing is now that I jazzercise regularly, I do feel a difference. I feel stronger. I feel healthy. I feel empowered. And I feel like I need my jazzercise “me time” so I don’t get angry at the stupid people of the world.  

3 Real Perks to Being Friends With (My) Boys

So as you may or may not know, sometimes I get a little obsessed with Buzzfeed. It comes and goes, so I’m not really worried about it. However, as I was jumping through page after page a few weeks ago I found this article on the 27 Perks of Being a Girl with Guy Friends. As a girl who has always had a lot of guy friends, I was super excited to read it.

But for the most part, I found it infuriating. Sure, some of it rang true (my guy friends have been some super awesome wedding dates, and man pockets are the best), but a lot of it seemed just like stereotypical nonsense. I would NEVER dream of having my boys beat up a guy on my behalf. Their “love” advice just frankly sucks half the time. Plus I am perfectly capable of overindulging in delicious junk food with my female friends, thank you very much.

I have been mulling it over for a week or two, becoming more and more offended by these so-called “perks,” and finally I decided the only way to combat the lies is to share some perks of my own. Now granted, these still won’t be universally true, because while you can always try and break things down as “girl” versus “guy” behavior, a lot of things just depend on personalities. With that being said though, here are the top 3 benefits I’ve found from being friends with guys.

1.     The Drinking.

I said I am capable of eating junk food with my girl friends, and I’m certainly capable of drinking with my girl friends (and trust me, I do), but without a doubt I drink more when I’m with my boys. This is twofold.

For whatever reason when I’m hanging out with the guys we are far more likely to just have a casual beer or two with whatever we’re doing. Getting dinner? Better have a beer. Playing Settlers of Cataan? Clearly need a beer. Watching anime? Definitely should turn it into a drinking game.

This may partly be because of my own drinking preferences. It’s rare for me to drink wine, so a glass with the ladies just doesn’t happen as often as a beer with the boys. It may partly be because the boys tend to have alcohol around, and they tend to start drinking it. I know when I visit my brother the fridge will always be well stocked with beer. Heck, I just helped some of my friends build a kegerator for their house a few weeks ago (and by helped, I mean in my normal manner of assisting wherein I mostly watched and occasionally handed over a tool or held something when asked).

Besides drinking more often, when I’m with the boys I also tend to drink larger amounts. It’s tough to try and keep up with them. I should really know better. I run around trying to remind them “but I’m tiny!” with the appropriate hand gesture to indicate my smallness, but they encourage the drinking anyway.

Now in their defense, if I really didn’t want to drink I wouldn’t. I do have some self-control, thank you. I think I give in more frequently with the boys because I know first of all that they are going to drink excessively, so at least I’m not the only super drunk person. And second, I feel utterly safe with them. Not only will they not let anything bad happen to me, if I’m ridiculously hung over the next day they’ll take care of me without judging. I think they half expect it at this point.

2.     Shit Gets DONE.

Maybe this explains it...

Call me sexist if you want, but one of my favorite things about my boys is that they handle things. If a problem comes up, they fix it. I’m not saying I can’t handle things myself, but I tend to ignore problems until the point where you absolutely need to do something. Same with my female friends. We talk and discuss and complain and only eventually do we actually do something about the issue.

For instance, when my amazing brother sent me a Wii I was having an issue where I had to keep switching cords between it and my Playstation, which I found super annoying. My friend Pietro was over and when I started complaining about it he looked through all my cords and my tv, and figured out how I could solve the problem by getting a HDMI cord. A simple fix, but I guarantee if he hadn’t gotten involved I would still be switching out my game consoles whenever I wanted to use one.

Last night they managed to get a swimsuit stuck in the washing machine. My approach after a few attempts to fix a broken washer would probably be to go to bed and ignore it until I was out of clothes (which I’ve discovered recently would take a LONG time. I own 29 pairs of black underwear alone). But Kevin and Pietro poked it, and turned it upside down, and attempted various strategies until finally they fixed it (my contribution was to get my hand briefly stuck in the machine. FTW as always).

Again it’s not that I think girls can’t accomplish things. But I do think we tend to delay and deliberate over a problem before we look at actually fixing it. The boys just try to handle it immediately. It’s awesome.

3.     The Partial Nudity.

Again this breaks down into 2 benefits. The first one was definitely more of a big deal back in high school. The guys always want someone to be naked-ish. You cannot even imagine how many different things they can turn into a strip game. Strip poker is for the squares. Once you’ve played a game of strip pool, or strip Magic, then we can talk.

That might seem odd as a benefit (unless you’re an exhibitionist), but the truth is that hanging out with the guys has made me far more comfortable with nudity. With girls, even when you’re friends there’s a bit of awkwardness when someone has to strip. You say things like “we’re all girls here,” “well we all got ‘em,” or my favorite “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before” in order to make it feel acceptable to take off our clothes. Sure, eventually good friends can just wander around in whatever state of dress, but you’re always aware of it on some level.

With the guys, it’s like their own nudity doesn’t mean anything. They’ll play strip games all night long because they don’t seem to care what you see on them. That attitude rubs off. Thank goodness, because inadvertently I end up ruining/losing clothes. A few months ago I happened to be wearing an adorable red dress and then attempted to hop a fence to recover a Frisbee, which was a poor choice as it completed tore open the whole side of the dress. Did I freak out? Nah, I just hung out the rest of the night with my side exposed. Whatevs.

Who needs strippers when you have male friends?

Besides strip games, since nudity doesn’t seem to matter to guys, they spend a lot of time taking off their clothes. They wander around in towels, and on hot summer nights strip down to boxers when they’re playing Starcraft. Which means when you’re a girl hanging out with a bunch of guys, you get to spend a lot of time admiring their half-naked bodies. Hey, we can be platonic, and I can still admire your pecs! They’re not mutually exclusive!

Of course there are many more benefits to having guy friends. Sometimes I worry that there might also be come cons, such as hanging out with the guys all the time makes me less like a girl, but my boys are definitely worth it.   

P-p-p-poker Face

Last night I was playing poker with some of my boys, which let me tell you I haven’t done in YEARS. We went through a big poker phase in high school, which continued a bit into college, and then I just stopped. Possibly because I am the worst poker player in the history of the world.

Seriously, poker is complicated. I hardly ever remember what beats what (it seems to me like 2 pair should be better than 3 of a kind, because there are 4 cards involved, but they always tell me I’m wrong on that). I have this issue where the 6 and 9 cards look the same and confuse me. Not to mention I continuously forget the denominations for the chips.

Even worse, as they tell me in Jennifer Crusie’s wonderful book Faking It, poker is actually about knowing the other players. You need to know who’s bluffing and who’s actually got something good. The idea is you learn everyone’s “tell” and use that to better play the game. If you’re not a reader, you can see excellent examples of “tells” in movies like Maverick and Casino Royale.

This is a good (and sexy) poker face.

I find this just about impossible. I’m not particularly good at reading people. I’ve discussed before how I’m constantly missing the conversational subtext. You can imagine how well I do reading the subtleties of the poker table.

The amazing thing is that I do sometimes win at poker. Last night I was one of the last 3 playing. Probably would have finished 3^rd, but we just quit the game. How do I explain this? Well, because of my horrendous poker face.

To be clear, ideally you should have a GOOD poker face. Also to be clear, I’m talking strictly about your face at the moment (none of the Lady Gaga muffin-bluffin whatnot is under discussion). A good poker face is like a mask. No one knows what you’re thinking; no one knows when you’re bluffing.

A BAD poker face gives everything away. Every emotion - from when you pick up your cards, to the moment of the flop, to when you’re betting - makes it entirely clear what you’re doing.

I have a BAD poker face. But my saving grace in poker is that half the time I don’t know what I’m doing. I think I’m bluffing, and my face tells everyone thus, but meanwhile I didn’t realize I have a straight in my hand. This has happened multiple times (although not always specifically with a straight).

My hysterical laughing prolly didn't help matters.

Honest and true time, this is something I should probably work on. Not specifically for poker (I don’t play that often, and worst case scenario I could cover up like one of my friends last night... see example to the left) but more so for life. I sometimes worry that I have overly expressive eyes and face. We used to play a game in college where we would cover the bottom half of our face and guess emotions just based on the eyes. When they were looking at my face, my friends had a 100% success rate. My sign (Taurus, for those that don’t pay attention) is known for our “bedroom eyes.” Well that’s fine and dandy except that I have no control over it whatsoever. So at any given point I do not know what my face is telling you.

This is especially dangerous because my thoughts are all over the place. What shows up on my face may have absolutely nothing to do with the conversation. I swear almost once a month I get in a situation where someone’s like “what’s THAT look about!?!?” and I don’t even know what they mean.

Now if you haven’t realized this already I’m about to reveal something super useful for dealing with me. What this all comes down to is I can’t lie worth crap when it matters.

I have to clarify, “when it matters,” because for really stupid stuff I can lie awesomely. I can look you straight in the eye and convince you I grew up in Russia on a beet farm. That’s not even an exaggeration; I totally had a guy from work believing that for like 5 minutes. Then I realized he was taking me seriously and I had to clear it up. I only have this ability when I find what I’m saying so absolutely ridiculous I don’t think anyone will believe me.

So when I seriously need to lie, such as for surprise parties, or when I’m talking about people I’m interested in, it doesn’t actually work. I’d be a horrible spy. I blame this entirely on my stupid face. Because even when I try to control it, the best I can do is a lack of emotion, which apparently looks so completely different from normal that no one believes it anyway.

The right puppy eyes could take over the world!

Maybe this should be a goal for next year, learning to control my expressiveness. There’s a scene in Memoirs for a Geisha where Chiyo learns how to use her eyes to make a delivery boy drop his packages. Granted, she had awesome eyes, but the idea appeals to me nonetheless. If I could learn to use my expressiveness who knows what I could do?

Dead Oxen & Potential Interventions

Almost a year ago now I talked about my diet pepsi addiction using The Oregon Trail to illustrate my issues. For today’s purposes let’s continue this metaphor.

I have an announcement. I tried to ford the river and my oxen all died.

What does that mean in pepsiholicism?

Rivers are those moments of temptation. You either cross successfully (and don’t give in and drink pepsi), or you flail around a lot and drown (but not literally, it’s not like you’re choking to death on pepsi, just you are in fact drinking it again). Sometimes a passenger in the wagon dies (you take a sip) but you still make it across (you don’t get back in the pepsi habit). When all the oxen die, that generally means the wagon is going down too. So are all the passengers (people traveling to Oregon don’t know how to swim, btw). You lost the game, and you need to start back over in Independence.

So basically what I’m saying here, as my friend Kevin puts it, is that I need to turn in my chip.

Not that I had a chip, which is a shame all in itself. Should I successfully get off pepsi again I want chips, or badges, or something. Somebody get on that.  

I’m not overly upset at myself. Every so often you come up to a river that you can’t ford. Sometimes you really should have just sucked it up and taken the ferry. Not that I have any idea what the ferry would be in this metaphor. I’m just saying.

For those that don’t know already, my cat died last month. That was my river. I came home and found a dead cat, and I’ll be the first to say I did not react in the best manner. In the course of events I ended up over at my friend’s house, where there just happened to be a 2 liter of pepsi in the fridge. I had a few glasses there to calm down (I entered the river), I took the 2 liter home with me (the oxen floundered), and once it was gone since I still wasn’t particularly happy about the situation I went ahead and bought myself more (oxen died, supplies were lost, passengers drowned).

I had plenty of opportunities to not fall off the pepsi wagon. I could have had a few glasses but left the bottle there. I could have finished the bottle but not bought more. I could have bought more for that week but then stopped once it was gone. Or, I COULD HAVE MADE IT SO THE 2 LITER WAS NEVER AT MY FRIEND’S HOUSE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

If anything about my relapse annoys me, it’s that. The presence of the 2 liter was entirely my fault in the first place. What happened is that the weekend right before everything went down a few friends gathered at Pietro’s to socialize and play games. We ran out for supplies. We had rum since we needed it for mojitos, we had beer because you always need beer, and we ended up getting some pop for one of the girls that didn’t particularly like mojitos or beer. We figured she could have rum & coke. As she grabbed the bottle of coke, I protested, because after all pepsi is so much better.

Did I drink any of it that night? No! I had no intention of drinking it. But such is my insanity that even though I wasn’t going to be drinking the beverage, I wanted it to be my beloved pepsi instead of coke.

And THAT’s why there was a 2 liter of pepsi in Pietro’s fridge. I believe this was the only time THIS ENTIRE YEAR there has been pepsi in that fridge, and it just so happened to be the same week I hit a river.

Le sigh.

Meanwhile I have not gone completely crazy about the pepsi thing (although that may depend on who you ask about it). I bought mini bottles of pepsi so I’m not drinking that much. I’m drinking regular pepsi instead of diet, because I can’t drink as much regular pepsi at one time without feeling sick. Every few days I try to have a day with no pepsi whatsoever (although I will admit I’m not in the best mood those days). I’m well aware I need to quit again, I’m just waiting until after our big work conference. Or maybe after my weird work transition thing ends in October. Or actually maybe it would best be a goal for the next year.

But do I really need to quit again? I mean who’s to say I do? Plenty of people all over the world drink pop. I know I’ve talked about being healthier this year and pepsi is not the healthiest thing in the world, but everything’s okay in moderation. One of my initial reasons for quitting was the effect on my teeth, but I’ve been brushing every time I finish drinking it. So why can’t I keep drinking it? Just because people think I’m “addicted.” Please.

I suspect I sound crazy again. My friend Jenn and I were discussing this yesterday and she told me I was crazy ranting. She also threatened an intervention. I said not yet. I can totally quit, just not yet.

Clearly a sign we should wait until next May

The good news is that Jenn is hundreds of miles away from me! Normally not good news, but in this case it means she can’t actually pepsintervention me (yes I made that all one word. Deal with it). Thank goodness. Because I think she was actually being serious about that idea, and I’m not ready to start back on the trail again.