jMcJohnson

I was aware of spring break before I moved to Florida, however, I never really understood it until recently. As you probably know, Ryan works at a very popular beach bar here in FTL, and during spring break, the normal out of control scene goes into hyperdrive. We had friends in town a few weeks ago, and we went out to see Ryan play. All I can say is, you have to be very drunk and 21 years old (at least mentally) to REALLY get into it. I get the beer bonging, the yelling and screaming and even the trucker hats. I think the guys get crazy in the typical way dudes have gotten crazy since the beginning of time. It’s the women that confuse me.

Very early in the night we went out, a girl was called up onstage at the bar to be in a beer chugging contest against a frat guy. Cool. Sounds like fun if you’re half-retarded (or 21). The guy leading the “activities” onstage (not Ryan) asks her if she’ll show him her boobs if she loses. She says okay.

Can you guess what happens next?

Yeah. She lost. In more ways than one. First, she is an extremely slow beer chugger. Second, she (without hesitation) showed her cans to a pathetic, balding, thirty-something dude who probably can’t see his penis under his beer gut.

Why? Because getting naked in public has become (for young women) socially acceptable. To modern girls, it sends a message that they’re fun, easygoing and WILD, in other words, just what every guy is looking for. Ever seen those “Girls Gone Wild” commericals? Ever notice the weird, drunken, faraway look in their eyes as they flash total strangers (most likely guys with the same penis/beer gut problem I mentioned before)? Look, I’m not so old that I have forgotten what it’s like to be in college. I enjoyed college. Maybe too much sometimes. But I can’t recall an occasion where I or one of my many attractive girl friends felt like showing their boobs to a bunch of random/gross strangers was the logical thing to do.

The problem is, these girls don’t understand the Secret of Boobies. It’s fairly simple. Guys like boobs. Girls have boobs. If you show them to every guy you meet that asks to see them, the power is gone. You are now a Girl Who Shows Her Boobs. You have given the power away. You show them to a few select, deserving men over the course of your life-then YOU have the power. You call the shots-not Mr. Beer Gut/Penis Man. It’s like looking at a dirty magazine when you’re a kid. At first, you are delirious with amazement at what lies before you. But after a while, you begin to realize the limits of the human body and it all sort of gets a little…boring. You’ve already seen it. You’re ready to move on. So are the bar full of drunk morons you just flashed.

Don’t these girls have any other ambition? Really, does this seem logical:

1. Flash boobies to the clientele of LuLu’s Bait Shack.
2. Cure cancer.

Of course not.

Look, the bottom line is, I love boobs. I have a pair myself. Please understand, I am NOT anti-boobs. I am Pro-Boobie Power! So I say, girls, enjoy spring break. Get drunk, dance on a table, sing “Sweet Caroline” with your friends. But, for the love of women everywhere, leave your shirts on.

My life-long hobby is worrying. One of my earliest childhood memories (I really don’t have many) is being about six years old and waiting for my Dad to come home after work. I knew that most of the time, he was home when both the little hand and the big hand on the clock were on the number five. When the big hand moved onto the six, the Launch Sequence in my head began. WHAT IF? What if he got in a wreck? What if he was robbed by some bad people? What if he left us and is never coming back? What if a dragon ate him? (hey, I was six) This went on and on until he arrived, and I could run to the door and throw my arms around his legs and weep REAL TEARS and tell him that I was so happy that he hadn’t died. The sweet ecstasy of relief from worry was burned into my brain. My parents actually though it was funny.

This was a cute ritual when I was six. Now that I am almost thirty, it is less cute. Much less cute. I have transferred all that glorious anxiety to worrying about two major (stupid) things: a horrible tragedy befalling someone I love and my health. Also, I have really fun out-of-the blue waves of terror for seemingly no reason.

Here’s the thing. All the major losses I have experienced in my life have been totally unexpected. Parents’ divorce? Totally unexpected. Grandparent deaths? Majorly unexpected. Getting dumped in my youth by a couple “serious” boyfriends? Most of them, unexpected. Thus, I have equated “unexpected” with “awful tragedy.” I hate surprise parties, roller coasters, people jumping out and scaring me, horror movies, etc…I just have this intense need to BE PREPARED for the WORST THING at all moments. I also read the last chapter of books first.

It’s a bad habit.

In my mind, worry insulates me from surprise, because if the worst happens, hey, I was already expecting it.

In reality, my worry does nothing but drive me and the people around me CRAZY. It has ebbed and flowed over the years, but at this point in my life, it has set up camp in my psyche, and has no plans to leave anytime soon.

The older I get, the more uncertain everything seems.

I understand logical thinking. I know that worry will never prevent something from happenning. Rationally, I get it. But in my mind, if I don’t have something MAJOR to fret upon, I feel very uncomfortable. In fact, my anxiety is organized in my mind in various levels. There are my current situational worries, the things I worried about in the past that turned out just as badly as I expected, and (my favorite) the “old faithful” worries (death, disease, being left alone, war, etc…) that are always the back of my head just in case nothing is currently occupying my mind.

As I type this, I understand how fucked up it sounds.

It has removed a significant amount of joy from my life. I haven’t been on stage in almost four years (something I wasn’t great at, but really used to enjoy). I have had to leave events that I was really looking forward to (or I white-knuckle my way through them) because I am feeling unbelieveably uncomfortable. Trips, unless I have complete control of the agenda, are very hard for me. I have had a major problem going after things I have wanted in life because the voice in the back of my head is always whispering. “what if you fail? you’ll make a fool out of yourself! you know you can’t do this!”

Sometimes I fantasize about all the things I could have done I if I had focused all my anxiety energy towards achieving the things I have wanted in life. That’s probably the thing that makes me the most sad. You know those statistics that say people spend like, four years of their life in the bathroom? I could spend that on anxiety, easily. Maybe more.

I don’t put this out there so people will feel sorry for me. I have knowledge. I understand positive self-talk. I know it won’t change until I change it. Anxiety, like a lot of other “problems” can be a sort of security blanket you hate, but begin to identify yourself with. That is my biggest mistake.

There are a lot of major changes blowing in the wind around here lately, and no room for that identity anymore.

I’m starting to get it.

So today was the day I promised myself I would return to the gym. The same gym I haven’t been to since DECEMBER. I froze my membership, and hey, $10 a month to not exercise seemed like a bargain for the last few months. But I could feel the Coldstone and California Pizza Kitchen and jellybeans creeping up on me, so off I went. (Also, it didn’t help to watch a bunch of old home videos of myself last weekend and watch in horror as my neck slowly ate my face.)
So.
I laid out my workout clothes last night so I wouldn’t chicken out. I went. And it was…ok. So in lieu of anything else interesting happening in my life right now, I’ll tell you about it.

1. Halfway into my treadmill experience, as I watch Carrie glisten with sweat and glide swiftly over the 8+ incline on her machine, I find myself at a 4 incline making about a 17 minute mile. (Keep in mind, Carrie LOVES working out. She likes feeling good and sweating and all that crap. I exercise purely out of fear. Fear of fat and an early death; and hey, I’ll be honest, even that can’t motivate me sometimes.) Anyway, halfway through, I realize my heels are bleeding a bit. I guess when you only wear your tennis shoes once every three months, they can give you blisters, go figure. My super cheep ankle socks have slipped down to an unreachable position, and thus, I either have to stop and fix them, thereby extending my workout, or just bleed. Here’s how lazy I am: I decide to just bleed.

Yeah, I know.

2. The weirdest part of working out in South Florida is the gym demographic. I go to a chain gym, fairly popular all around the country. There are three types of people that work out there: super skinny chicks with big boobs wearing what I basically regard as underwear to work out, buff, gross meathead dudes, and people over eighty. Honestly, today while sitting on the ab machine I had full view of a guy with a walker working his lats and a dude on oxygen doing squats. I’m suprised an ambulance doesn’t wait around the corner from the gym. Maybe it does.

As for the girls, I can’t imagine (even looking the best I conceivably could) EVER wearing a freaking dinky sports bra and booty shorts to exercise in. These girls wear makeup like they’re headed to the Oscars directly after their workout. Of course, I have to deal with the fact that compared to most of the girls at my gym, it is possible that people think I’m homeless and only pay my membership to shower there. Here’s what I wore today: some black pants I’ve had since HIGH SCHOOL and a blue t-shirt with the neck cut out (Flashdance!) and a sunflower on it that says Kansas. I’m pretty sure I got it at Goodwill a few years ago. I don’t wear makeup and my only accessory is a rubber band. Sometimes I feel like I look like I would smell (I don’t, trust me, I barely break a sweat). It’s possible I could collect change in a cup outside after I workout. Maybe I’ll try that tomorrow.

3. I thought I would weigh myself after I worked out, just as a comparison to my scale at home. I would say I am of average size. Not fat, not skinny, just…average. Nothing to be ashamed of. Normally I avoid the locker room at all costs (WAY too many of those weird older women who love to blow dry their hair in the nude) but today I was feeling brave, so I slipped inside. I saw the scale…and I freaked out. I had a very strong flashback of getting weighed in gym class and everyone trying to hear what the person in front of them weighed. There were skinny/old women in various stages of nudity all around me. I was sweating. The scale is right in front of a mirror (great idea) so what do I do? Do I weigh myself? Do I just walk out? Do I strip and begin to blow dry my hair? No. I decide to pretend I have something in my eye. Yeah. I take off my glasses and look in the mirror and poke around like I’m having a problem. Then I leave. What? I do stupid shit like this all the time. I fake some casual activity rather than just do what I need to do so I can (in my mind at least) avoid embarassment. Geez. What the hell is wrong with me? Like any of those elderly women/bimbos care what I weigh. They are likely too busy thinking about fiber/adultery.

I guess there’s always tomorrow…if I go back.

Just kidding!

Impressive, Joe. Impressive.

So, last night Ryan and I made up a fun new game that I thought others might enjoy…No, not that!
It’s called “Country Music Secrets,” and it does require a basic knowledge of country music (which, come on, admit it, most of you have) So, here’s how it goes: At any point in the day/night, you turn to the other person and let them know you need to tell them something. The you brush back their hair (if you are married to a girl or a long haired hippie) and whisper a couple lines from a country song. Here’s some examples from last night:

“Get down, turn around, go to town…boot scootin’ boogie”

“I ain’t goin down till the sun comes up. I also ain’t givin in till I get enough.”

“Papa loved Mama.”

Usually, the shorter the better. Also, if your partner for this game has sensitive ears, all the better. This may not seem like a lot of fun on paper, but give it a shot and then try to tell me you didn’t have a great time.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Saw V for Vendetta today-it was really fantastic.

Have you seen it?

So, my posts have been sporadic at best lately-life has been interesting, but more on a personal level…not so much on an internet-chattable level.

I did get tipsy TWICE this weekend, which is two more times than I got tipsy maybe all last year. I blame the visit of Jeff and Emily-they are clearly a bad influence. We all went to watch the horrors of Spring Break in Fort Lauderdale unfold at Ryan’s bar last night, and if it weren’t for the Coronas, I’m not sure I would have made it. Drunk people are significantly less annoying when you’re drunk too. I just learned that. Unfortunately, I took no pictures. Also unfortunately, Carrie and Em did, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing me doing something horrifying on their blogs soon enough…

We saw boobs, two chicks make out, and Tramp Stamps galore. It’s hard to watch Ryan and think “that’s his job.” I guess some people are firefighters, some people file papers, my husband helps people funnel beers and knows every popular song ever written. That’s my man.

I will try to be more interesting this week, I promise.

It may or may not involve my new friend Corona.

So, Friday morning my internet took a dive AGAIN, for the second time in a month and a half. I could not warn you all that I would soon be at Disney World, and to prepare yourselves mentally for that happy event. I was thinking that when I returned, I could give you a great update with sweet pictures, etc., but I let Ryan take the camera on his weekend trip to Salina (why yes, we are still married, only vacationing separately).

So this is what I have.

I call it “Why Buy The Hat When You Can Photograph It In The Gift Shop For Free.”

Here is just a taste of all the cool stuff we got to do in NC last week:

We drove to Savannah on Wednesday night. When we arrived around 1 am, we realized that we were planning on spending the night and we had no idea where to go. We ended up at a Travelodge right outside of Savannah, where we were informed that we potentially got the last room available in the area. It was the honeymoon suite (Yes, the Travelodge has a honeymoon suite. No, I’m not sure why.) It had a king-size bed and a skanky jacuzzi. Climbing into it fully clothed seemed like the only way to avoid contracting ghonnorrea from it.

I saw this on an electric box in Savannah. I’m not sure what it means, but I hope it’s a secret message to someone.

This was the cemetery we visited in Savanah. The wall had about thirty stones anchored to it. They were really beautiful and old, and lots of them described the person who had passed in great detail. The cemetery was beautiful and only mildly creepy; mostly it was the tombs filled with like, eight children that were really weird.

Notice the hand and can of lighter fluid in the upper left corner of the picture. This is known as Howard’s Country Pyrotechnics Show. If the fire got a bit low, Howard knew what to do. God save you if you happened to be staring at the fire when she doused it. My retinas are still burning.

This was taken just down river of the first waterfalls we saw. This place was so beautiful and peaceful.

Ha.

Look at my vest for God’s sake. I’m carrying a walking stick and wearing a freaking hat. I am standing in the middle of a raging river. Who the hell am I?

The waterfall we hiked up the side of a mountain to see. It was worth it, but if you ask my lungs, you will likely get a different answer.

One of our final stops-The Squirrel Shoppe. We only saw ONE live white squirrel on the whole trip, and it ran away before I could abduct it. Needless to say, I was disappointed. But I did get to buy a bottle of water with a squirrel on it for 75 cents.

In closing, I would like to list for you a sampling of What I Ate On My Winter Vacation (and one thing I didn’t eat, but wish I did). Brace yourself.

1/2 box Honey Nut Cheerios
4 Cherry Pop-Tarts
Smore’s (four times)
Chocolate Cake (three times, once for breakfast)
A T-Bone
Garlic/Tomato Pizza
Two Salads (drowned in Hidden Valley Ranch)
Hush Puppies
Fried Okra
Nerds
Bottlecaps
Twizzlers
2 Shamrock Sugar Cookies
Fried Onion
BBQ Pork Sandwich
1000 Diet Pepsi’s

And I did NOT eat the regional Wendy’s “Carolina Classic.” That’s two burger patties, cheese, chili, and COLESLAW. Oh! The humanity!