Tag Archives: stories

The Pantyhose Roll-volution

The other day, one of my friends asked me if I ever wear pantyhose. After nearly choking on my lunch and exclaiming “Oh God, no!” I explained that there was no reason for me to wear pantyhose, since I’m not a bank robber, the Duchess of Cambridge, or a pregnant woman trying to avoid varicose veins.

I will admit that Spanx is an incredibly cute name for pantyhose, but it’s still pantyhose.

I remember the days when my parents would force me to wear pantyhose to church or fancy events. The worst part was having to get into those things.

Pantyhose

They were so tight. It felt like I was squeezing a condom onto a watermelon.

That wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was dealing with the top of the pantyhose. The band would cut into my stomach, thereby creating these unflattering rolls of fat. I might as well have been a chain of sausage links.

“They’re a perfect fit for you,” my mom would say.

They were a perfect fit for a fetus, not me.

“They make your legs look nicer.”

Apparently ham hocks stuffed into matte nylon casings looked nicer than my natural legs.

My mom used to wear pantyhose almost everyday for work, and we tried to tell her that her legs looked better without it. Even the cat agreed, but she never listened.

Then one day, our old cat Speedo couldn’t take the sight of it anymore, and he took matters into his own hands:

SpeedoDestroyerOfPantyhose

Please do your part to save a cat. Ditch the pantyhose. Who’s with me?

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Adventures in a Dormant Volcano

On a nice summer weekend, I presumably lost my wits, thereby consenting to a 20-mile backpacking trip with a group of friends through a dormant volcano on the tropical island of Maui. Haleakalā crater has been dormant since the late 1700’s. For those of you who may not know, a “dormant” volcano is one that is sleeping, but not dead. Yes, that means it can awaken at any moment. Thank God it decided to continue sleeping while I was hiking through it.

Our adventure started with a treacherous descent from an elevation of 10,000 feet through loose cinder and sharp lava rocks, through an area referred to as “Sliding Sands.” It’s not typically what people envision when they think of Maui, as it is more reminiscent of another planet entirely. We weren’t wearing Sharon Stone-like bikinis and sipping mai tais on the beach (sorry to disappoint you Paul Turney at Woggins Writings): we were wearing incredibly un-sexy G.I. Jane-like hiking gear and sucking liters of water down, while focusing on not spraining an ankle. All I had in my emergency kit was baby wipes, a tweezer, and some band-aids, so a rolled ankle would have constituted a major disaster, considering I am no MacGyver.

SlidingSands

Above the clouds, hiking into Haleakalā crater through Sliding Sands.

SlidingSandsTrail

Hiking the trail into Haleakalā crater through Sliding Sands.

ValleyThroughSlidingSands

Hiking through lava rocks at Sliding Sands.

After Sliding Sands leveled off, we enjoyed the unique terrain and started to see quite a few amazing, native silversword plants. To our surprise, many of them were in bloom, which is a rare sight to see. I know this is one of the favorite places of Liza Pierce at A Maui Blog, so I’m sure she’ll enjoy these photos.

BloomingSilversword

Gorgeous silversword plant in bloom.

Being about 5 miles into our adventure at that point, it was time to stop for lunch. I unwrapped my sandwich and peeled a banana. As I began devouring my meal, a huge wasp started doing laps around me like a shark circling a wounded seal. I froze and watched in horror as the gigantic bee got closer and closer. At one point, it looked like it was going to land on my arm, and I screamed and started flailing my arms around like a back up dancer for Justin Bieber.

One of my fellow hikers shouted to me “They are attracted to moisture! Drop your banana and stay still!”

Since I’m so good at following instructions while panicking, I chucked my sunglasses, sandwich and the banana into the cinder and started running in the opposite direction as the bee. Hey, at least it worked. The bee began to hover over the banana peel, and I was able to get away. Phew. FYI- the crater was full of wasps, so although I dodged a bullet that time, bee mania was pretty much an ongoing theme. I know Michelle Gillies at Silk Purse Productions would completely empathize.

The journey continued. We made the rest of the trek down to the Palikū cabin, where we were greeted by lush mountain ranges and a nene goose (a friendly, native bird that inhabits the crater).

Paliku

The rugged ranges at Palikū.

PalikuMist

Palikū, where the clouds come up Kaupo Gap and meet the steep cliffs.

PalikuSunset

Beautiful sunset at Palikū.

Nene

Greetings from a nene goose.

We were just so excited to finally arrive at the cabin. Our legs and feet were ready to give out, and muscles were hurting in areas we didn’t even know existed and could feel pain. Unfortunately, there were no hot showers or mineral baths awaiting us. The cabin had fresh running water and bunk beds, but that was about it with regard to amenities. The Ritz Carlton it wasn’t, but after hiking for 10 miles, we were just thankful we had a place to sit down and stretch out.

If you look closely at the picture below, you can see our tiny Palikū cabin toward the middle left of the photo. It’s that miniscule white dot at the edge of the open meadow at the base of the mountain range. Yeah, that thing. That was home sweet home for a few days. And the lovely outhouse next to it that smelled like a freshly baked manure cake was ours to call home for a few days too.

LookingDownPalikuAndKaupoGap

Looking down on Palikū and Kaupo Gap.

Our luxurious Palikū cabin.

Our luxurious Palikū cabin.

The nights in the wilderness at Palikū were definitely an interesting experience, where being the city slicker that I am, the others had a good laugh at my expense. I used at least 30 antibacterial towelettes and baby wipes to scour the outhouse toilet seat, my mattress cover, and parts of my body which inevitably got coated in cinder dust. I also found myself highly skilled in holding my bladder for hours at a time. There was no way I was going to get up at 2 o’clock in the morning in the pitch black for a long haul to that dreadful outhouse.

And truthfully, we wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything. We felt fortunate to get the opportunity to go on this trip. The experience forced us to get out of our comfort zones and abandon modern conveniences like technology and electricity. After spending a few relaxing days gaining appreciation for the natural world, and being able to bond and socialize with others without interruption, we mentally prepared ourselves for what lay ahead: the 10-mile hike out of Haleakalā crater… uphill. We had to go 7 miles steadily uphill, and then finish with another strenuous 3 miles up a steep and narrow trail called the “Switchbacks.”

LavaRiverMars

Lava fields that made us feel like we were on Mars.

SunnyScottSwitchbacks

Our friends making their way up the Switchbacks.

Surprisingly, we made it, and all in good time. We survived our adventure in a dormant volcano, despite not having pack mules, internet access, or hot tubs. Shoot, my friend didn’t even have soles on her shoes, as they separated and fell off before she even made it to the Switchbacks.

All things considered, we hiked like champs out of that crater, setting our minds on the frosty beers that awaited us in the cooler in the car. Nothing motivates parched and exhausted hikers like ice cold beers. I motored out of that crater like a Clydesdale going after a dangling carrot. As if I was Wyle E. Coyote chasing The Road Runner with my newest ACME gadget. When I got to the car, I slumped into an Eddie Bauer camping chair and popped open a brewski. And that was all, folks! Until next time, Haleakalā!

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One Smart Sister

Although my big brother would argue that I’m really just a sister of average intelligence, alliterative blog titles are so much more catchy. Besides, “One Retarded Brother” just didn’t have as much of a ring to it. Yes, critics, I know that the term “retarded” is no longer politically correct and is considered derogatory. That’s kind of the point.

This, my friends, is the face of a genius little sister. 🙂

First, I’d like to say mahalo to Michelle Gillies over at Silk Purse Productions for nominating me for the Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award (check out her blog… she is very witty, and I like witty). Michelle, the doggies are so excited to receive another award. If you were here, they would lick your face (and smell your butt). Luckily you live in Canada and will be spared such frivolities.

sisterhood

After receiving the Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award, I had some time to reflect upon sisterhood and what it means to me. I don’t actually have a sister, so everything I know about being a sister, I learned from my brother. I adore my older brother. He is the best big brother anyone could ask for, and I just can’t say enough about that dingleberry.

In the spirit of the lovely Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award, I’m supposed to share some things about myself. Instead of telling you how much I detest socks with sandals, or how I frequently choke on my own spit for no apparent reason other than a defective epiglottis, I figured I would share some things I’ve learned from being one mean mischievous smart sister.

  1. You can resort to violence (when no one is looking), and capitalize on your cuteness. During a fight with your sibling, hit as hard as you can while no one is around. Pull hair if feasible. When someone discovers you both, act like an innocent fawn tiptoeing through the tulips. Pout. Make your eyes as large as physically possible. Make your bottom lip quiver. Try to get tears to well up in your eyes. Think of something terrible if you need a crying prompt, like the time your cat died.
  2. You can always blame it on your sibling. Be smart about it. Don’t just point at your sibling and triumphantly yell “It’s his fault!” after an incident. Cower away from everyone and act as if you are having an anxiety attack. When everyone rushes to you out of concern, stutter “It-it-its hi-hi-his fau-fau-fault!” and then burst into tears if you can manage it.
  3. You can use blackmail to get what you want. When you see your sibling smoking with his friends, make a mental note. The next time your sibling refuses to let you have a bite of his cheeseburger, nonchalantly say “Do I need to tell dad about the time you…” Trust me, you won’t even need to finish that sentence before you are savoring that cheeseburger.
  4. You can use the child abuse hotline to your advantage. If your sibling starts to yell at you, and threatens to hit you, simply shout “I’m dialing!” If your sibling looks confused, clarify that you’re now old enough to know how to use the phone, and you have the child abuse hotline on speed dial.

I bet Michelle Gillies is really regretting passing me this Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award now, eh? 😉 Don’t worry, I’m redeeming myself by passing the honor to one of my blogger sisters, Addie over at Betwixt and Between, who happens to be way cooler and nicer than me.

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Camping Is… for Other People

One of my most memorable camping experiences occurred about 10 years ago at a popular campground in Northern California. I recall that after my friends and I drove around for miles through a remote redwood forest, we finally found the perfect spot. We parked the car at the campsite and proceeded to unload all of our gear and food.

After a few trips to the car to unload our supplies, I noticed a seatbelt twitching back and forth in the car. When I got closer, I realized that there was a raccoon sitting in the driver’s seat. Luckily, his legs were too short to reach the gas pedal; otherwise, that could have made for quite an interesting 911 call…

Frantic Caller (Me): “Oh my God, our car was just stolen!”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, please calm down. Did you get a look at the person who stole it?”

Me: “Yes, but it wasn’t so much a person per se. The culprit was really fluffy and stood about a foot tall. I know this sounds crazy, but it was actually a raccoon.”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, let me get this straight: you’re calling to report that a raccoon stole your vehicle?”

Me: “Yes, that’s correct sir. A raccoon just sped out of here with our car and our camping supplies!”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”

Anyway, so there sat a raccoon in the driver’s seat of our car. My friend rushed over to the car, swung the door open, and out jumped this raccoon, running like a raccoon out of hell into the forest with half a loaf of our bread. The most mind-blowing part was that the raccoon (we’ll call him Mr. Belvedere) seemed to be civilized and have manners. Mr. Belvedere hadn’t just ripped open the bag of bread as I envisioned a savage, rabies-ridden vermin would: he actually took the time to take the twisty tie off the bag and take out individual slices of bread one by one while killing time in the car.

Later that evening, as I struggled through one of the most uncomfortable nights of sleep imaginable amongst rocks, pinecones, and creatures of the dark, I heard a rustling noise outside my tent. Heart racing, I pointed my flashlight in the direction of the noise and laid eyes on what appeared to be rascally little Mr. Belvedere. Only this time, he was sitting on top of my cooler, meticulously unwrapping slices of Kraft singles with his tiny, oddly human-like hands and fingers.

Well, at least he didn’t get the Cracker Jack’s! Um… hey, wait a minute… where are the Cracker Jack’s?! He’s lucky he’s cute, or there’d be hell to pay!

My friend tried to make the best of the situation and get me re-energized about camping, so he started telling me things like:

“You don’t see that in the city.”

“That raccoon was awesome.”

“There’s some amazing wildlife out here.”

“I like how it’s so rustic.”

Riiight. Rustic. A fancy way of saying that we voluntarily gave up wonderful modern conveniences like electricity, hot water, and toilets in order to suffocate each other with our own smells in a tiny microcosm of re-circulated air (commonly referred to as a “tent”). Also a fancy way of saying that if we didn’t slather ourselves in toxic insect repellant and lock up all our food, we would be violated and pillaged in the night by mosquitoes and the aforementioned “amazing wildlife.”

A couple years later, I must have suffered some type of brain injury, because I actually agreed to go camping again. This time, we ended up near a scenic lake infested with mosquitoes. It was so horrible, I couldn’t even pull my pants down to go to the bathroom in peace. As soon as I did, hoards of mosquitoes swarmed my butt cheeks, covering them like sprinkles on a donut. This forced me to have to multi-task (and by “multi-task,” I mean that I had to go to the bathroom and swat mosquitoes on my rear end simultaneously while trying not to pee in my shoe). It was awesome.

How nice. But, I don’t miss YOU.

If you haven’t already, y’all should try camping sometime. If you are fond of the idea of being homeless and out of your element, it’s definitely a fun way to spend a weekend… for those of you who are clearly insane.

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Weekend of Champions

This could be me!
Photo courtesy of: kpopstarz.com

Holy crap on a cracker! The Silva Gang was honored with another award! Gosh, I’m so giddy right now, I feel like the little Korean dude in that Gangnam Style video!

Thank you to Cassie Behle for the One Lovely Blog Award! Cassie is hilarious, an awesome writer, and my blogger bestie who continues to redefine life’s perceptions… one glass of wine at a time.

As a recipient of this award, I’m supposed to share something about myself. Since I’m incredibly thankful that you read my extremely sarcastic blog on a regular basis, and I want you to come back, I’ll keep it brief so as not to lull you into a deep sleep. Besides, there isn’t much I can tell you that you probably don’t already know.

One random fact that I will share with you is that my ancestors hail from the Planet Goo Gone in the majestic spiral galaxy called NGC 4414. I’d tell you more about it, but I want to avoid any sticky situations related to a full disclosure. Ha, just kidding (but how cool would that be?!).

What I was going to say is that I absolutely despise camping. Yes, despise. I pretty much avoid anything with the word “camping” in it. I’ll be writing all about it in my next blog post, so stay tuned! I also dislike artsy fartsy films, overly emotional films, or films with exceedingly cryptic plots. I’m more of a Lord of the Rings and Gladiator kind of gal, and not so much a Memento or Crying Game kind of gal.

As for another blogger I’d like to pass this One Lovely Blog Award to…

…I love you all (I really do)!

This time around, please join me in congratulating Harper Faulkner over at All Write! HF is a super funny guy, and I’d like to thank him for all the laughs!

Lady Antebellum performing in Hawaii.

In other news, I saw Lady Antebellum in concert in Hawaii this weekend, and they were fabulous! The only thing that wasn’t fabulous was that Darius Rucker and Thompson Square didn’t bother to show up! I know! How rude! The hubby and I were looking forward to seeing them on tour with Lady Antebellum, but they just didn’t have any aloha for us.

Neither did the middle-aged couple sitting next to us at the concert apparently, as they didn’t even hesitate to park their overweight derrières in our seats before we got there. As they stuffed their faces with nachos, we literally had to point out the seat numbers and show them our tickets to motivate them to budge. To make matters worse, they reverted to ignorance as an excuse, and they gruffly remarked: “Well, we didn’t know! It’s so dark, we couldn’t see!”

As I stood there pondering life’s pressing questions, particularly why these people’s parents didn’t use birth control, they started packing up their belongings and vacating our seats. It made the whole experience that much more worth it when I squeezed by them and managed to whack the lady in the face with my gigantic purse (yes, that would be the purse that the hubby refers to as a feed bag). She gave me a dirty look, and I said to her “Oh, whoops! Did my bag hit you? Gosh, it’s so dark, I couldn’t see!”

And that, my friends, is how the game of karma is played.

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