Fruitcake Rave II

Creepy Dead Animal Eyes That Look Like They're Watching You

Fruitcakeness II

To my defense, I always post a health warning before every Fruitcake Rave, and to all those who hate pointless, vapid laughs that leave your mind unimproved and unenlightened (though I will lighten it and most probably, sedate it), or things that are, for all practical purposes, useless:

BEWARE.

(Read that again, but add your own scary font and theme music) Nonetheless, the post is not as completely fruitcake as my Posh Hotel post, though most likely, in the big scheme of things, fruitcake anyways. But hey, if we're going cosmic, what isn't?

I've just come back from Calbera, a huge* outdoor (hunting, fishing, hiking...) store, and my mind is still reeling. Walking through the double doors, I ran straight into, what seemed to me to be one huge, macho, trigger-happy, man fantasy. They even had a gun library, for crying out loud. Down the aisles, as far as the eye could see, were camo apparel, guns, and knives.

And dead animals.

Now before I totally wig out, let me just say, dead animals scare me. Live animals are cool, I mean, they're facinating. But when they're dead, it's just wrong. Especially if they're still staring at you, trapped in some far-off time. Heck, they don't even have to be dead to creep one out. I mean, have you ever walked in my closet? One one shelf, you'll find boxes and boxes of pencils, paper, fabric, feathers, junk, etc, and clothes (my side), and on the other, you'll find an expectant audience of stuffed animals staring at you as you hastily pull on your pink bunny jammies.

Actually, in my brother's defense, he took pity on me and turned them around, but now it looks like a bunch of animals are holding a top secret meeting. Hmm. Take your pick.

That's just weird.

But when you enter Cabela's , the first thing that strikes you is this huge, fenced off area full of dead animals in a faux safari habitat. Really. I just don't understand, it's almost like they're trying to make you think about, oh, how much fun the animals will have in their natural habitat, frolicking around with each other, making lots of friends and being wild and free...when they're dead, stuffed, and kept in a large air conditioned room full of tiny kids screaming

"HEY MOM CHECK THIS OUT WOW LOOK AT THAT ELEPHANT THAT IS SO BIG CAN I HAVE SOME MORE CHOCOLA...." and so on.

Does anyone just find that slightly disturbing?

And the heads. The heads. That's slightly creepy. I mean, in the old days, we used to take heads as bounties or as proof that we killed so and so. But I'm pretty sure MacDuff didn't mount the head of the ignoble traitor, MacBeth on a wood plaque over his dinner table. I don't know about you, but I don't want a fluffy bighorn ram watching me eat his near relatives.

Now, I guess I should just say, I'm not a vegetarian or anything. I'm not trying to make a statement about animal rights or something. I'm not really making an effort to say anything, really. The post is exactly what it looks like-- me explaining my fear of really creepy dead stuffed animals.

Hunting is ok, I mean, we all have to survive, right? At the same time, we should never hunt a species to extinction, or introduce species that can take over the world. Dead animals are neither here nor there. I don't mind eating bul go gi (korean barbecue) and I don't freak out at the sight of road kill. Those are just parts of life. Hunting, too, we need to eat something, right**? However, why would you kill something so you can stuff it and have it look at you 24/7?

Taxidermists...um...Ok, I guess, but really, if you admire it and it has like, huge horns or whatever it is people like, wouldn't the best idea be to let it live so it can breed and (hopefully) pass on it's genes to more babies, who will also breed and pass on their genes, and....etc. etc. Why would people want it watching them?

I don't know... there's just something seriously creepy about a dead animal who just stands there, often posed to look like it's alive, watching you. Come on, people, you're not fooling us, it's dead, so please, please, bury it. Especially the eyes, sometimes you can admire them, like, oh, wow, this is so cool, what an amazing thing, but then you realize, these are corpses with fake eyes in them watching you! It's one step away from digging up somebody's grandmother, stuffing her, and placing her in her 'natural habitat' (aka rocking chair) so later generations can come up and go, "wow, cool! This used to be Grandma!"

I'm rambling. One or two scary dead stuffed animals might be ok. An osteology museum is just plain cool. But when you walk into a room full of animal heads that are staring at you....I don't know...

There's something really disturbing about that.

This is Quiet girl, going to hide under her bed right now.

-Shhhhh....don't let them find me.....

*Actually, huge doesn't begin to describe it. It's so overkill, it makes me sick.

**It's the food chain, people. Learn it.

Fruitcake Rave I

posh |pä sh | informaladjectiveelegant or stylishly luxurious : a posh Munich hotel.• chiefly Brit. typical of or belonging to the upper class of society : she had a posh accent.
Warning- Do not read if you detest pointless, girly rambles, that leave your brain feeling like tapioca pudding and your IQ about 5 points lower.
After having left Estes Park, Colorado, we drove about 8 hours to Salt Lake City, Utah. And right now (Cue Fruitcake-ness) WE ARE STAYING IN THE POSHEST HOTEL EVER! True, I've seen better. Silver Legacy in Reno, and the Venetian in Las Vegas were Posh-er*, but this comes pretty close. Right across from the uber-posh Grand America is the posh Little America. Driving up to the valet parking, I didn't enter fruitcake mode yet, but my posh sensor started beeping when I saw a few elegantly dressed families exit the hotel**, I had a squeamish feeling that we were seriously underdressed. Hey, you don't exactly wear prom clothes for road trips. Unless you're like, filthy rich or something. But back to rambling. We entered the hotel lobby and I think I silently blew a gasket. Everything was like, marble and mahogany, and HUGE. True, the hugeness couldn't compare to the two aforementioned hotels, but it was still pretty neat. Big vases that looked like they could shatter if you looked at them in the wrong way, plump, velvety armchairs arranged in little circles that orbited the crackling fireplace, long marble check-in desks that stretched for forever and a day, tinkling crystal chandeliers that reminded one eerily of Phantom of the Opera...Oh, and the revolving doors. Revolving doors are epic. As are swirling staircases made of mahogany that are absolutely useless (elevator, anyone?) unless you want to make a grand entrance. Which I suppose, if everyone is dressed as poshly as the people I saw come out, may not be to out of this world.
Before I totally kill my brain cells (and whoever is reading this blog) , this is Quiet Girl, shutting up.
-Shhh... (insert girly squeal here) *Actually, the Venetian was so posh it made me sick. I mean, it was like, better than the house I lived in! **Via the elegant, posh, revolving doors that I absolutely adore now. Mom said that revolving doors are what kills people. Something about the mafia and shootings...I can't tell if she was teasing or not, but I believe she leaned towards the former.

Breath III

Alberta Falls-

There's something in the air, a dreamlike quality- time is fluid here. Maybe this is how they live, something we, in our attempt to catalogue time, to slow down, speed up, and transfix life, have missed. There's a sort of laziness in the summer air, and I meander through the woods, soaking in the Life with every step. I'm Miranda from The Tempest, glorying in this brave new world that has always been there. I'm discovering the world all over again.

The trail to Alberta Falls are full of song. Bridges cross over foaming brooks, and streams of melting snow ripple laughingly over the path. The big creeks pound against the rocks, foaming and frothing, running under our feet and then plunging over a hill. The wind roars through the tree tops, lending them voices and animation, it's almost as if they're whispering to each other, secrets which you can just barely make out. There are feet in the background, crackling through leaves and tapping on rocks. Maybe once or twice, we can make out the shape of the owners of those winking, fairy feet, but more often than not, they remain instruments in a symphony of life.

We walk over a bridge and into heaven. Young aspens bend and bow, creating a golden tunnel, speckled with dots of green light. The aspens laugh, their heart-shaped leaves slipping through the wind, and I slowly walk through, reveling silently. This is beauty- the white arms of the aspens on either side of the trail, creating a haven in time where it is sunshine forever, where the world is cast in shades of yellow and green, and even the boisterous creek is subdued and murmurs gently in the distance.

We humans left our mark there- humanity's foolishness, squabbles, ego and pride, preserved forever in lumpy, black scars on the aspen's soft white arms. Names, hearts, pictures, welling up in hard lumpy scars that bubble and crawl all over the aspen trunks. And this brings me back to reality, one blot marring the beauty and making this piece of heaven a part of earth.

I exit the aspen tunnel and walk a little more before encountering what I believe was the pallet of some long-gone artist. Rocks jut out slightly in cubic formations, and the cliffside is painted glorious shades of green, orange, yellow and salmon. The river thunders loudly, a few steep drops down, the water frothing and churning. And always moving, dancing swiftly and surely downstream. The foam curls a little- just a little, swirling like fine hair, or smoke in the air, then it shifts, changes and quickly disappears downstream. We're not there yet- I shift the backpack slightly and follow the others up.

Reality IVd

It's that time of the month again where you start wigging out about how much stuff you aquired* and family members suddenly turn against each other in the race for space. Yes, we've had a great vacation**, but the short 5 days spent in the Rockies have flown by faster than a hippo with a jet pack, and it's time to repack the Honda.

With a curious sense of deja vu and absolute heart-pounding, knee-knocking, scream-like-a-girl, appocalyptic dread, I approached the Honda CRV. Yes, read that again but add your own scary

sound effects. Somehow, we would have to completely repack the BVPing thing, a thought that made me feel slightly ill. Seriously, I'm still trying to recover from the horror with a nice piece of pizza. Although it will really take the Udon noodles to do the trick, right?

We stuffed. We sweated. We engaged in heated, passionate, screaming debates about how that couldn't go there because that was where my pillow was supposed to go***. You know how some people say you got to be alone to really discover yourself? Heck, go ahead and try to cram all you've got into the back trunk of your car, then you'll really see who you are****. Try to pack a U- box with your family, and I promise, you will bond (if you survive.) And you will never look at your sweet, dear old Dad the same way. Yep, U-box packing DEFINITELY reveals new aspects of certain personalities, things you never suspected could exist.

Finally, we managed to cram most of our stuff into the back of the car. And discovered many interesting facets of my personality. Including how I could somehow manage to squeeze my beanie pillow into a hole a little wider than my arm. Yow, now that requires some mad skillz*****. I've also developed the ruthless side of my personality, too. When it comes to packing, it's every man for himself. Spare no quarter, show no mercy. In a way, our cramming of the Honda exemplifies Darwin's law of Natural Selection. Only the fittest and the most conniving (as well as the most OCD ) will have his or her possessions passed on to the next dwelling. Survival of the fittest, domestic style!

This is Quiet Girl, signing off.

-Shhhh...you can still cram things into the car while everyone is sleeping....

*I still swear there is SOME law of science to explain how everything, neatly packed in my suitcase when I arrived at Estes Park can no longer fit in when I leave. It's fairies, it's got to be. Or, Ian. Yeah. When in doubt, blame the little brother.

**Yeah, the vacation I kinda didn't mention. At all. But I promise, when I have some time to gather my thoughts, I'll blog! I'll post! I'll write a SMCNP'n novel about the rockies!

***Or moaning, accompanied by dire predictions of inexorable doom, about how that would never fit, how the trunk couldn't possibly close, and how I told you so, we needed that space for the sleeping bag.

****Warning- this is not a nice, friendly, saintly side to your personality. CRV packing often reveals your worst possible personality this side of the universe. Side effects often include stress, slight headaches, dryness of mouth, depression, and neurological breakdowns. If you experience any of of these symptoms, good luck.

*****I know, I know, I spelled it wrong. But c'mon folks, I'm making an effort to relate to my brother. That is- im m8kng n effort 2 rel8 2 mi bro.

Reality III

Ahhh...

Finally getting a breather from the road! We unloaded our bags yesterday and will be staying in Estes Park, Colorado for around 4 more days. This is such a nice little town. It's not as bare and shabby as what I saw in Alamosa, it's small, but has character. 'Quaint', I guess. It reminds me a little of SanFransisco.

We're staying in a lovely little condo, right above a Starbucks (yeah, Dad was really happy), with a Japanese restaurant on one side and an antique store on the other. Right across is the library, and behind the stores is a brook/river/creek (what's the difference, anyways?)/Body of water moving rapidly downstream, so last night, we enjoyed Udon noodles* on the riverside.

Overall, the condo is very nice, the appliances modern**, but the room has a distinct smell of...something***. It's like coffee, or caramel, or chocolate, or toffee, or maybe chocolate coffee caramel toffee....the smell practically assaults you when you enter the room. Not surprising since we're right above Starbucks, but it's still pretty weird.

And that's about all worth mentioning-- Although can I emphasize the Udon noodles enough? And Japanese food? And California Rolls? And Thai food, and Korean food, and Chinese food? And Chocolate?

In my defense, it's close to my lunchtime! But we are so going to Japan next summer...

This is Quiet Girl...shutting up****

-Shhhh.......nom nom nom swallow.

*UDON NOODLES! I'm like, salivating right now. That meal totally cinched it for me- we are SO going to Japan next summer, even if I have to break a few bones to get my way. :) Nah, I wouldn't do it. But I've thought of it. Very seriously. Very, very seriously. Very, very, very...

**Especially the sink. I mean, the sink is like, epic. I've never seen a sink like it before. I asked Dad if he acknowledged the epicness of the sink, but he brushed it off with a comment about how the sink was made in China, so of course, it wasn't really that great. Of course, Mom loved it. Talk about patriotism...just kidding. :)

***Oh yeah, and whenever we step out, we're right across from a therapeutic massage place, so the smell just trips you up and SMACKS you in the face. It's really suffocating.

****Although that may require several bowls of Udon Noodles. Why AM I being so food centric? To those of you who may not know me so well, I'm not really that weird. Most of the time. But I suppose you should just gauge that for yourself, huh?

Breathe I

Right now we're in Alamosa, Colorado, and the temperature is a lovely 82 degrees. It's gorgeous here, I mean, we're staying in a tiny little place, kinda smaller than Edmond, but above the Wallmarts and Subways, the mountains stand out against the sky like paper cutouts. They're huge, majestic, and so raw. They accomplish something that the ornamental pear trees in Edmond could never do. These mountains make me feel like, I don't know, maybe I've come home again. They're not staged, or pathetic, like the trees planted in neat little rows, or the perfectly manicured lawns. They're not tamed Nature. When I look at them, I feel so in touch, so raw, so natural. There's something in the mountains, a bit of rebellion, perhaps, a feeling of eternal self. I'll never be able to tame a mountain, and no matter how high I build any city, I can never block out the Mountains. This is their land.

Switching randomness, yesterday we visited the Great Sand Dunes, National Monument. Talking about simply jaw-dropping, I'm now putting Great Sand Dunes up there on my list. I was writing a sarcastic letter to my friend about how boring it would be (I mean, Sand. Dunes. Sand Dunes. What can you possibly do?), but when I got there, it was just amazing.

Picture Coloradoness. Beautiful, blue, rocky mountains, grass, trees, hills, and then right in front of the mountains, this mass of sand! It's more random than a spontaneously combusting alpaca (thanks, N).

Wow. My mind just went blank and I stared. Then the five year old in me kicked in and I gravitated towards the sand. After we crossed Medano creek, I'm not sure what passed between us, but we started up the dunes and began climbing.

One thing that stuck to me during the climb were Dad's words: With every step, all our troubles were sinking away into the sand. It was just us, and the sand. Somewhere in our trail of footsteps, the journey to the top became a journey of self discovery. And as the wind whistled around me, I felt my thoughts stopping. Slowing down, atrophing. Every step was an effort, we couldn't rely on the ground anymore, it sunk beneath our very feet. And I stopped thinking. Just kept climbing. So when my mind finally shut up, my commentary zapped away, the problems, worries, and trivialities of my life seeped away, I found myself. I found a sea of nothingness. And it was quiet.

We didn't make it to the top, but I will someday. I left, with a promise to return, and two shoes full of sand. After the trudge, the struggle, and every drop of sweat, I felt I had earned every grain of sand that had slowly seeped into my shoes. And I made a new friend. Something I never realized was the constant noise in my brain. Talk, talk, talk, sarcastic comment, injured suspicion, even my ongoing commentary. But when I finally shut up, I found myself. It wasn't really like meeting a new friend, or reuniting. I kinda felt whole, I guess. like I was one piece again. Like I was myself.