DO YOU WANT KARATE?!

As a girl who rides three different highways to work on a daily basis, I can’t tell you how much I’ve come to value the digital travel time displays that have been popping up all over the place. You know the ones - the big boards hanging over the highway that display the approximate travel time to a certain exit or junction to let you know whether you’ll end up at your destination on time or if you’ll be 15 minutes late to work. I also imagine parents love them; whenever they’ve got kids who’ve seen the Simpsons one too many times. “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?Are we there yet?Arewethereyet?Arewethereyet?AREWE–” “FIVE MINUTES! SEE THE SIGN? IT SAYS FIVE MINUTES UNTIL WE ARE THERE PLEASE DEAR GOD SHUT UP.”

Anyway, the signs are useful. For example, I know by looking at the first one whether or not I’ll be stuck in traffic for a few minutes before I can get onto highway #2. (Thankfully, I’ve gotten a happy “Less than 3 minutes” message the past week and a half or so.) Not that I can do much to avoid a traffic snafu there, however, which is why I like traffic advisory board the second. If it gives me a travel time of 11-13 minutes, I’m golden. Even 14-16 is okay. But on the rare (very rare) days I sneak a peek and see “20-24″ or, god forbid, “32-35,” well, that means I’m getting off at the next exit and sneaking through the back roads to catch highway #3 at a different on-ramp. Due to loads of construction, the junction between highways #2 and #3 can back up RIDICULOUSLY far, making me WAY beyond late to work. So knowing whether or not to jump ship early has saved me from tardiness on… about two separate occasions.

It got me thinking about how boards like these could be used in other situations, too. Like “TIME UNTIL THUNDERING DOWNPOUR WHILE YOU ARE DRIVING TO THE GROCERY STORE” or “TIME UNTIL RAT POOP” or even “TIME UNTIL THAT ANNOYING COWORKER LEANS OVER YOUR SHOULDER FOR THE FIFTEEN MILLIONTH TIME THIS MORNING ASKING A RIDICULOUSLY BANAL AND POINTLESS QUESTION.” Then there are personal advisory signs that you can wear around, like, “TIME UNTIL I FLIP OUT AND KILL SOMEONE” or “TIME UNTIL SPONTANEOUS JAZZ-BROADWAY ROUTINE IN FRONT OF BOSS’ DESK.” The possibilities are endless, and think how much conflict could be avoided if you were wearing a sign that read, “TIME UNTIL I CALL YOU A BITCH TO YOUR FACE AND THEN IT’S ON: 6-8 MIN”

The world would truly be a happier place.

PS:

So, no update yesterday (because I am TOTALLY the paragon of regular posting) since I was busy running around Tampa for my baby sister’s high school graduation. I’d like to get all poetic here, make everyone teary-eyed with my flowery descriptions of the ceremony and the fact that my sister has completed a large milestone in her young life, but I can’t. Because that thing was the most fucking BORING graduation ceremony EVER. That graduation ceremony (and the memory of my own) is the reason I didn’t walk when I got my bachelor’s. Let’s recap:

Tuesday, I ended up taking a half-day at work and beating evening traffic, leaving here at 1 pm and getting home around 3-ish (with a brief stop for lunch in there.) I hung around with my sister, we went and got our nails done, she made me watch a ton of videos from her drama club awards ceremony - she won a shit-ton of awards, was Artistic Master for the year, is currently the highest ranking Thespian in the school with more points than anyone else… in short, she kind of rocked the hell out of drama club, culminating with a win of the coveted Director’s Award, a huuuuge trophy bestowed on basically the most kickass drama club student by the teacher that runs the whole shindig. And since my sister absolutely idolizes this man, she went kind of apeshit when she won. It was cool.

Dinner was the usual affair; Mom and stepdad tried to ignore the two of us, who were throwing sarcasm and other witty quips around. My sister’s started this thing where she’ll mimic others’ statements, but preface each one with ‘you wish…’ This leads to hilarity - for example, sister, mother, and I were standing around in the kitchen and somehow, we’re talking about an imposed height limit of 5′5″. I laughingly claim I’m that tall (I’m not) and they look at me and laugh, as I’m currently shorter than my mother because I’m leaning on the counter. “You’re shorter than me!” says my mother, to which I indignantly reply (because she’s 5′2″ and I am DEFINITELY taller than that,) “I am not! I was bent over!” My sister, brain-mouth-filter nonexistent as it is in me, chimes in, “You WISH you were bent over!”

Cue us laughing like crazy and repeating that line for the rest of the night as my mother looks on in disgust and accuses us of having our minds firmly in the gutter. But what can I say? She’s 18 and I have the maturity of an 18 year old sometimes. And also it was funny.

Wednesday saw me getting up at the ass-crack of dawn (seriously, I woke up earlier than I do to go to WORK) so we could get from our house to the USF Sun Dome by 9 am in Wednesday morning rush hour traffic. That was awesome. Then we sat around for an hour watching people bicker over the ethics of seat-saving and jockey for the best position to capture all two hours of their graduate sitting in a chair and the two seconds it took to walk across the stage. I was in charge of the camera, a decent Fujifilm FinePix prosumer… thing. I used the manual settings but was sad that it wasn’t a DSLR because my control was limited. Then I spent 20 minutes trying to explain aperture sizes and shutter speeds to my mother, who just could not understand that bigger number = smaller aperture. It’s okay, I didn’t get it either at first.

It was a typical high school graduation - every speech ended with the words ‘we did it’ and the salutatorian interjected a little humor… she was discussing taking risks. If George Washington didn’t take risks, would he have become the first president? If… some other historical figure hadn’t taken risks, would he have done whatever he did? Then it got funny - If Harry Potter hadn’t taken risks, would he have ever defeated Lord Voldemort? If Derek Zoolander hadn’t taken risks, would he have ever discovered that there was more to life than being really, really ridiculously good-looking? If Captain Kirk hadn’t taken risks, would he have ever gone where no man has gone before? If Marlin the clownfish hadn’t taken risks, would he have ever found Nemo? And etc. It went on a little too long to actually be funny after the first few, but that was the gist. Then more speeches, then AN HOUR AND HALF of watching graduates walk across the stage.

AN HOUR AND A HALF. Then it was over, she had her diploma, hooray for everyone. My mom had forgotten the memory stick for the camera, which meant I could capture exactly six photos without compromising quality, so I had to ration - one photo of her sitting down at the ceremony, two of her walking across the stage, one of the setup as a whole, and two family photos - one with just the girls and one with stepdad, too.

Then we went to lunch at PF Chang’s, which was the first time I’d been there. It was delicious and then I had to drive alllllll the way home, this time NOT conveniently missing rush hour traffic. And now I’m at work, and I have all of today and all of tomorrow before getting a day off, which sucks hardcore but today is PAYDAY so w00t, and thus concludes my too long and probably really boring Wednesday recap.

THE END.

Well, it’s Monday.

The good news is that I worked yesterday, so it doesn’t feel like Monday. The bad news is that I worked yesterday.

See, I needed this Wednesday off because it’s my baby sister’s high school graduation, and I would have to be dead to miss it. Unfortunately, due to short staffing, our bosses are only approving one request for time off per day. So if there are two people who need, say, June 4th? Better hope you get it in before the other person. And unfortunately, I was beaten to the punch by a woman who needs to see her daughter graduate from pre-k. Don’t even get me started, but let’s just say that this is another reason that I hate children from the very depths of my soul and will never, ever, enjoy hanging around someone under the age of 16.

Begging and pleading for the day off didn’t work, as she took the 5th off as well, which is another day I wanted because driving 2 hours for graduation and lunch and driving 2 hours back to get home and get up early for work the next day is not exactly my idea of fun. However, with my plans stymied by a fucking 4 year old, I had to get creative and switch shifts around. So I begged one of my coworkers who’s scheduled for Sunday to switch with me and take my Wednesday shift. An agreement was formed, I may or may not have performed sexual favors in order to persuade this person to give up part of their “weekend” and I have Wednesday off. To spare myself driving there AND back in awful Florida traffic on the most boring highway in existence, I’ve decided to drive home Tuesday night, straight from work, since I’m an hour closer from work than I am from where I live. The added bonus there is that I can sleep later on Wednesday morning instead of getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to get home in time for the ceremony. And also, free lunch. If by ‘free’ you mean ‘an extra tank of gas, dammit.’

So that meant that Saturday was my only day off - and it was spent productively. I went to the bank and got my hair cut by my new favorite stylist, since my other one’s dropped off the radar and I was desperate to have my shaggy mop whipped into shape. I’ll probably go back this week for color, I hate my natural boring brown.

Working Sunday was… actually not bad. My phone was pretty quiet all day, there were only 5 people in the office, and I had tons of time to focus on all my projects and side things I needed to get done. I wouldn’t really mind working a Sunday-Thursday schedule if they’d let me, save that I’d miss my pretty much unofficial ‘pajama-only sunday bad horror moviefest’ that I’ve got going on with Steen. And with my MAJOR acquisition of 15 amazingly-bad-sounding horror films, my Sundays are full for the next month at least. I leave you now with a list of the films I’ll be enjoying for weekends to come:

Redneck Zombies
Alien Blood
Blades
Blood Hook
Bloodspell
Buttcrack (you read that correctly.)
Drawing Blood
Frostbiter
Garden of the Dead
Igor and the Lunatics
Rockabilly Vampire
Sucker
Tainted
Teeth (a movie about vagina dentata. AWESOME!)
The Nightmare Never Ends
Unspeakable

aaaand…

Zombie Island Massacre.

Tax rebates fail to spark consumer spending.

No offense to the government and all the brilliant economic analysts working for the government and all, but um… this isn’t a huge surprise. Like, at all. Sure, the majority of Americans are consumer whores who line up at 4 am on Black Friday just to get electronics and other things they don’t need for ridiculously cheap (coughnotthatI’veeverdonethatcough), but when gas prices are rising, food prices are rising, the job and housing markets suck and people’s incomes are dropping? Yeah, give people some money and they’re going to say ‘fuck you, responsibility, I’m gettin’ TiVo!’ Um, no.

No, most people are probably going to put that money either into savings or towards bills, because if you’re a responsible adult, paying off some of the debt hanging over your head feels way better than picking up that iPod. At least, to me it does.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I slapped my entire refund into my savings account and booby-trapped Temple of Doom-style it should I ever be tempted to use it. I’m holding onto it right now because I might need it for moving costs (please God don’t make us move, knock on wood, etc) and even if I end up not needing it for moving costs, that refund will go a long way towards paying down a credit card or perhaps taking care of my entire 6-month insurance premium at once. Even though I really want a Sony e-Reader. But I have a birthday coming up, and if I bat my lashes at mommy and daddy and tell them that it’s ALL I want (which it is), they might decide to put aside their mutual enmity and go halfsies on my future electronic baby. My spending has really cut down as gas prices go up and more and more of my tightened budget goes towards filling my tank as I look for a job that’s not an hour commute, but my baby sister graduates from high school this upcoming Wednesday and I’m thinking of getting my hair cut (for the first time in six months) and possibly colored with the spoils. It’s a trade-off - spend part of this bonus, save all the next one. I know myself well enough that if I tried for total cold-turkey on personal grooming, I’d end up flipping out one weekend and buying a small island or something. (HA! I wish.)

On the subject of personal grooming, my favorite part of the article linked above?

“Estee Lauder Cos., the maker of Clinique and Bobbi Brown cosmetics, said its full-year earnings will be higher than it estimated in February.”

Estee Lauder, if you weren’t aware, also makes MAC Cosmetics. So to Estee Lauder I say, “You so owe me.” I guess it just goes to show that even if we’re in a recession, women still have to look gorgeous.

Lemme just brush some of the cobwebs off this thing, one sec.

*dust explosion*

*cough cough hack*

*violent hand-waving*

*cough*

Anyway, hi. I’ve been a terribly bad blogger and totally destroyed my resolution to see if I could update once a day for six months in a row (hint: I can’t, apparently. Not that I’ve had anything worthwhile to say.) But like any good twentysomething, I’ve got an excuse! I’ve been utterly swamped at work, which is when I generally update. To give you just a hint of how I’m slowly being dragged under, consider this: In our department, each person has one-two special projects to do weekly on top of our regular job duties. This helps everything run smoothly without overwhelming any one person, while simultaneously freeing up the higher-ups to do the heavier stuff. It’s cool. Except when I become the department’s bitch, doing the work of a fulltime admin on top of my own duties. How many projects have I been given to complete on a weekly basis?

Six.

Yeahhhhh. Suffice to say, I haven’t even taken any of my regularly-scheduled 15-minute breaks (two a day) in the last two weeks, as I’ve been utterly consumed with getting all this crap done.

Now, I don’t mind. Usually. After all, I am the one who wanted more leadership responsibilities, and I am the one who’s going to fully take advantage of this in my resume while I’m applying for jobs that don’t require a two-hour daily commute and $60 monthly in tolls. (Seriously, getting a job closer to home would save me at least $100 a month in travel costs alone. Ugh.) However, this does sadly mean that updating at work is going to be a thing of the past, unless it miraculously becomes much less busy. (Hint: not happening.) Update at home, you say? Yeah. I could. When I’m not busy talking about balls with my roommates and assorted friends.

However, while I try to give this blog an overhaul in hopes of doing something with it that isn’t just a daily explosion of disjointed thoughts and word vomit, updates are now going to be coming Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I know all two of you who read this are just devastated, but that’s the way it’s gotta be until someone decides to sponsor me as a blogger and pay me a million dollars a year to sit around in my pajamas at home taking pictures of my dog.

This weekend, I saw the best movie ever. I know I seem to reference zombies a lot in my blog, but I love them so much. Besides, how can you blame me?

But first, the rest of what I did. This weekend was ’sit around and do nothing’ weekend, which was awesome. saturday included a lot of sitting around and not doing anything - I made it a point to avoid changing out of my pajamas. Some television was watched, things were downloaded, Steen (who summarized things much better than my word vomit here) and I discussed our mutual hatred for Craig and Matt on Hell’s Kitchen. Then she and Boatshoes peaced out for a graduation party and I resumed my original plan of not doing anything.

Coincidentally enough, the neighbors next door (four just-graduated students) were having their graduation party Saturday night. They’d been responsible and given us warning and we laid out our demands (no parking on our driveway, in front of our house, etc, no beer bottles left in our yard), and while it seemed to be so far holding up, what the girls didn’t manage to do was correctly convey their address, as I was interrupted from my very important doing-nothing by a knock at the door. A very demanding knock at the door.

I meandered my way out there and pulled it open to be faced with an impatient-looking suburbanite. Normally, when you’re the one doing the knocking, you’re the one who should introduce yourself or at least tell me what you want. Instead, she stares at me until I ask, “Can I help you?” “Leila?” she asks demandingly. “No,” say I, “no Leila here.” “This is the right house,” the woman tells me, as if I haven’t been living here since October. I’m fed up at this point, so I just say, “No, it’s not.” Then I shut the door and lock it and return to my lounging.

Sunday was much the same as Saturday, except I got dressed with the intention of getting an oil change. It didn’t happen, as I realized I’m crazy, but not crazy enough to go to WalMart on a Sunday and spend 4 hours for an oil change, not when I can drop my car off at one of the seven lube places near work during my lunch hour and have it done then. So while I did go to a WalMart yesterday, it was only to the Neighborhood Market around the corner for milk and snacks, as Steen and I ended up declaring Sunday another pajamas-only day as we watched terrible, terrible movies.

Getting back to my original point, this Sunday revealed to us the BEST. MOVIE. EVER. Ready for it?

ZOMBIE STRIPPERS.

No, I’m not kidding. This film, featuring Jenna Jameson as head zombie stripper, was so poorly done it had to have been intentional. There was a not-so-subtle political subtext to the movie, but that was ignorable in favor of seeing dead women pole dance. Let me just say that I have a completely new respect for Jenna Jameson after seeing this film, and that if I’d seen it in Walmart’s $5 bin, I totally would’ve purchased it. After all, it’s not every day that you get to see Ms. Jameson take off a woman’s head with a pool ball shot out of her vagina.

No, seriously, I’m not kidding.

We also watched The Deaths of Ian Stone, that movie I’d wanted to see during Horrorfest but couldn’t due to scheduling. It was okay, as far as Horrorfest movies that aren’t funny go, until the plot went abso-fucking-lutely sideways and turned into some bad Matrix knockoff, complete with red and black pleather and tiny little sunglasses. We watched 27 Dresses, which was okay. I’m not a Katherine Heigl fan but I felt reallllly bad for her in this movie. She was almost likeable. Then we watched Zombiegeddon.

Let’s just say that when a film has Uwe Boll - fucking Uwe Boll - telling you how bad it is… well, that means it’s bad. I mean, unbelievably bad. The kind of bad that makes 40 minutes seem like 4 hours. The writing was atrocious, the plot - where Satan created zombies because God created man in His image, and zombies could choose to look either like zombies or like normal humans (why would you want to look like a zombie, seriously), and only one bloodline could fight zombies and survive, and something about tigers, and some corrupt cops who shoot people for no reason - was nonexistent or so jumbled that it might as well not exist, and the dialogue was total shit. The makeup guys didn’t even bother to cover up hands/arms/necks, so the zombies were normal-human-colored except on their faces. (Okay, some of them had body makeup, not all of them. Satan had a really nice tan to complement his pasty, cracked-skin face.)

The only redeeming feature of this movie was the shower scene, featuring someone’s hick girlfriend who got time off the prison chain gang to do this cameo. Totally not sexy. She gets jumped from behind and it cuts to the tiled wall of the shower, onto which someone from off-camera slopped a whole bucket of fake blood. It was so ridiculously bad that Steen and I had to rewind the movie in order to see it again, absolutely cracking up.

Forty minutes in and we just couldn’t take it anymore, and Boatshoes was kicking us off the TV so he could play in his CoD4 tournament. Then I went to play the Sims (2!) because I have new expansion packs that are tasty and delicious and went to bed way too late because 6:45am came wayyyyy too early.

But seriously, you all need to go see Zombie Strippers. Cinematic magic, I’m not lying.

Driving to work today and guess what I saw, pedaling her bicycle to elementary school?

A little girl, couldn’t've been more than 8 or 9 years old, sporting a Louis Vuitton backpack (the backpack-purses with the cherry blossoms on them) and talking on a cell phone. Seriously. I’ll give you a moment while you scoff and try to get over your disbelief.

Because I seriously did see this. First of all, who gives a damn 8 year old Louis Vuitton backpack? What the hell happened to Jansport? When I was in middle school, I was lucky if my mom would spring for the $40 Jansport over the $10 Walmart backpack, let alone drop a couple hundred on a fucking designer purse-backpack.

Secondly, what the hell 8 year old needs to be talking on a cell phone at 8 am? Who the hell is she talking to? You know what my first cell phone was? It was a fucking go-phone, except I didn’t get one of the neat Nokia tracfones or whatever. No, I got a pay by the minute plan with my mom’s old Qualcomm that looked like a damn cordless handset. I was SIXTEEN. It was for emergencies ONLY. You can be damn sure I never got caught with that thing in class, it was a monstrosity.

I’m glad that parents these days can afford nice things for their kids, sure. But for the love of Christ, fucking police up your shit! Eight year olds DO NOT NEED expensive designer backpacks and cellphones to chat on WHILE RIDING A BIKE to school. That kind of behavior is going to turn this child into the kind of teen/coed who chats constantly on her cell while driving her dumbed-down 350Z or whatever sports car is popular at the time that daddy bought because Princess said it was the cool thing to have and he never learned how to say no, and that just makes me sick.

Fucking kids today.

Today’s entry brought to you by a kid who was raised to work hard for the things she has and to appreciate them, dammit, especially when she paid for them herself. Also known as bitterness and jealousy.

Which may or may not have been a significant portion of my job employment history.

1. If I greet you with “Thank you for calling COMPANY NAME HERE, how may I help you?”, you are not supposed to ask, “Is this DIFFERENT COMPANY NAME HERE?” You are supposed to LISTEN to what I say when I answer the phone.

2a. If my greeting includes a “How may I help you?”, do not answer me with any variant of, “I hope you can help me…”

2b. Also, do not respond to ‘How may I help you?’ with a generic statement and then a long pause as if I’m supposed to do something with that. (Example: “How may I help you?” “Um, yes, I have a PRODUCT NAME HERE.” AND THEN NOTHING. Congratulations, you have a product. What the hell do you want?)

3. Do not interrupt me in the middle of asking how you are, how I can help you, or if I’m answering a question that YOU JUST ASKED ME. I get it - you’re important and in a hurry. However, if you talk all over me, all you’ll succeed in doing is shutting me up until you’re silent and then re-starting from the beginning.

4. If I ask you how you are and you respond and then ask me how I am, that’s not just a rhetorical courtesy. Allow me a second to give you a generic answer.

5. Phone numbers begin with area codes, and I need that in order to pull up your account. For the last time, PHONE NUMBER =/= ZIP CODE.

6. ENUNCIATE. If you’re chewing on a mouthful of food while on the phone or just sound like you are, make sure you’re speaking clearly because otherwise our conversation will just sound like a lot of “Mumblemumblemumble.” “What?” “Mumblemumble.” “I’m sorry, say again?” ad nauseum.

7. Pick a good time to call. Not on your way out the door, not sitting on the subway, not hanging out at your kid’s noisy ballgame and not - I repeat, NOT - on the toilet. I promise you’ll get better service.

8. Make sure you’re talking to the right person and right department before spewing out your life story.

9. A proper closing to a phone call is either a ‘Thank you’ or a ‘goodbye.’ Do not just hang up.

THE END

Well, I’m dead tired and trying to survive until 5:30 when I can go home and pass out like a narcoleptic, but I’ve got things today that need to be said.

Well, thing, singular. (See, I have knowledge of English, too!)

Last night, I broke out the Happy Dance for a very special occasion. Ladies and gentlemen, after long years of toil, of blood, sweat, and tears, sacrificing her firstborn child for overrides and honing her predatory parking spot-hunting instincts, after scouring the internets for the best book deals available and scraping for whatever cash could be found on buyback day, after como-ing her está and knowing that embarazada doesn’t mean what you think it means…

STEENFACE has graduated from college!!!!

Now, allow me my moment of superiority here. I graduated in December. So I can talk down a tiny bit when I welcome Madame Steenface to the ranks of the degree-holding, still not working in your desired field, trashy-novel-reading, what-the-hell-do-I-do-at-night-now? slackers. After all, she’s (marginally) taller than me and (indisputably) older than me, making me AGAIN the baby of the house and its shortest member. But goddamn it, I get to take the lead on this one. For once I emerge triumphant!

*ahem*

Anyway, seriously, congratulations. I’m thrilled, if you weren’t tipped off by the way I grabbed your hands last night and jumped up and down with you squealing like a pig in mud puddle (nice visual there, right?) Get ready for the supremely uncomfortable nylon gown and the skull-crushing mortarboard cap. Prep a spot on your wall for that degree that won’t come until July. Buy a bitchin’ frame. And, finally…

Start planning a party already!

Short entry today because I’m finding it increasingly difficult to move my arms. Seriously, even my fingers are sore.

Basically two-thirds of the weekend equaled awesome, one third not so awesome but I can deal with it. Friday night, I went out with my buddy McRachelston and her boy Joshie to see their friend’s new band (called Black Ship Sky, check them out on Myspace because I’m too lazy to find a link.) We were going to eat at Tijuana Flats downtown, except Tijuana Flats downtown didn’t exist anymore. So Rachie and I went to the Wall Street Cantina and had delicious chimichangas while ignoring the drunkies behind us who’d wanted our table and were pissed when we didn’t move (seriously, dudes, there were like 8 free tables you could’ve jacked, get over it). Then it was on to the name of the bar that I’ve forgotten but which was awesome.

On Rachel’s recommendation (which consisted mostly of, “The bartenders made it… it was called an Astro something? It had grenadine in it.”), I had a beverage called an AstroPop, which did indeed resemble its namesake with the blue and red and a white, sugary-tart rim. I still don’t know what was in it (except grenadine) because the waitress didn’t know and I haven’t googled it yet, but I do know that it was delicious and provided us with “flavored rimmer” jokes for a good ten minutes.

After an interminably long wait, as the band went on significantly later than we’d been led to believe. They were awesome and I had a good time listening to the music, though I felt bad because I kept nearly dropping off to sleep. I’d had an early morning and didn’t nap before going out, so come 12:30, 1:00 am I was getting heavy-eyed. I definitely recommend going to one of their shows, however, because they’re pretty bitchin’ and you will enjoy the music.

I crashed on the way home, woke up long enough to drive myself back to my place and fall into bed until noon the next day, which was delicious and something I definitely needed. After a late “breakfast” and some hunting around for my favorite pants, it was time for Rachel and I to go rock climbing at Aiguille Rock Climbing Center in Longwood. I’d been a few times to the rock wall at the university gym a few years back, but it’d been a while since it’s kind of crappy there - you have to have one of the staff belay you, and you can’t just go with a partner and belay each other unless you go through this ridiculously complicated class. (Seriously, it’s not that hard. Take up the slack, lock shit down if they fall, let ‘em down slowly when they’re done. Is not rocket science.) Here, they assume you’re not a dumbass college kid who’ll hook an autobelay up to his belt loop and try climbing that way and recommend you bring a partner.

I got to skip the required class because I’d climbed before; Rachie gave me a brief refresher on the knots but really, they’ve got the first figure-eight knot tied in the rope for you already so all you have to do is trace it once more and tie a safety knot, which I pretty much remembered on my own. Then it was climbin’ time! I like the walls there because, unlike the university walls which have only one route per side, each wall here has several routes mapped out with colored tape. If you’re awesomer than me, you can choose one color and test yourself that way, and if your passion for climbing currently outweighs your ability (like me), you can just use whatever the hell you want to claw your way to the top. Some of the walls make it easier on you because they’re on a slight incline, which means you can pause without tiring yourself out if necessary (a trick I missed the first go-around).

Now, I have to admit, I only mastered one wall of the four or five I tried, but I got… near-ish to the top on some of the others and one, a three-sided “chimney” with far too few handholds, completely kicked my ass. It’s a really great workout, though, and already I’m making plans to drag Steenface and Boatshoes along with me for another visit.

As soon as I can move my arms again because they’re currently in the process of falling off. Owwwww.

…Okay, so it wasn’t that short after all. DEAL WITH IT.