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You find yourself standing in a shower trying to wash your entire body with a 1 inch x 1 inch piece of disinfectant that claims to smell like oats or something obscure, but doesn’t, and you’re plugging your cell phone into the base of a lamp.

So I had this whole game plan today - I was going to hit up the zoo, get my walk in, and take some photos of tigers and elephants. From the moment I jumped in my car, however, I realized it felt like a ‘driving’ sort of day. You know, sunglasses on, moonroof open, music turned up. I sped past the zoo exit, and decided to head east out of the city. Thought maybe I’d spend Saturday communing with nature and such, so what better place than Multnomah Falls?

Now, on my way to the falls, I’d decided I was going to hike to the top. It’s something I’d never accomplished before, in fact, never even really came close. The falls are 620 feet tall, and the hike from bottom to top is about 1.2 miles. Hey, I’ve been walking a couple of miles every couple of days, why wouldn’t I be able to do this, right? I made my way to the bridge. First 0.2 miles down. No big deal. Only another mile to the top. Except I noticed why I never really made it to the top the first time: It’s a really tough hike for someone that’s not used to busting it up the side of a mountain at a ridiculous incline that makes your calves want to kick your own ass, in about fifteen seconds.

I was about 40% of the way to the top, stopping to swig some water, when a girl of maybe fifteen stopped and said, “Are you alright?” Not being rude, of course, I said, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and I couldn’t help but wonder as she made her descent, why she’d ask me that. Did I not look alright? I mean, yeah, my lungs felt like they were going to explode out of my chest, to the point I’d rather have picnicware shoved into my eye sockets at about 90mph than deal with the lung thing, but you know. I’m fine. Right? I mean, how often do you see fat chicks busting up a mountain? Judging by the people making this trek, I’d say not too often.

I shrugged chick off, and made my way around a few more switchbacks, before taking another break. It was getting a lot harder, and the reality of making it to the top was really starting to look bleak. Taking another break, I sat down on a rock, guzzling my last bit of water, when here comes a woman, a smidge on the heavy side, with her two children.

“You ever been up there?”
Nope.
“Ah, well. Let me just tell you, it’s a helluva hike. A lot of switchbacks. Gorgeous when ya get up there, but it’s a trek.”
Huh. How much further is it, anyway?
“Oh, it’s a ways. The switchbacks are what keep it long and difficult. Everything’s pretty much at this incline and it gets a bit worse toward the top. Anyway, good luck!”

Right. Thanks. Because now I need luck. It was like the fat was a common bond. Sudden kindred spirits because we shared some extra ass. Gotta tell ya, wasn’t feeling it. And for a moment, I thought about turning around right then. In fact, I’ll be honest with ya. I did. I walked down about oh, twenty steps, stopped a second, looked back at the top, and thought, “What the hell, I’ve come this far, let’s see how far I can get.” Except insert a lot of curse words, some of which were made up on the fly. I believe at some point, ape cock flew out of my mouth.

Not literally. But. You know.

In the end, I made it about 85% of the way to the top, before I realized my body wasn’t going to have any more of it. I knew it was time to stop when grapenuts from hours before, wanted to project themselves across mother nature into a pine tree somewhere, and well. We can’t be having any of that. So I called it a day, pretty proud of the fact I’d made it as far I did, considering the trail is considered moderately difficult, from what I read online. (Yes, when I got home after a lot of stretching and a long hot shower, I looked it up just to convince myself that I wasn’t a total weak ass.)

You know what though? I’m not even bummed about not making it to the top. I’ll make it to the top at some point. I’m pretty proud of the fact that I was passing people who weighed a hundred pounds less than me, hearing them say to their husband, “I just think I’d rather go back down.” Or seeing the girl who is as big around as my right thigh struggling to make it to the lookout point I was at. She turned around and went back down. I kept going.

I think that’s what it’s about, really. Keep going.

…until your pants catch fire from your thighs rubbing together, and the next thing you know, you and your thighs have just managed to burn down 25,000 acres of beautiful forest and destroy the home of many a cute woodland creature.

It’s alright to stop then.

I officially have eight minutes left of my work day, and here I am, writing to you. I’m spending the last eight minutes of my day, here. With you. That says something, doesn’t it?

I wonder how much I can type in oh.. seven minutes now.

Hmm.

I could give you blips of what’s gone on in the last, oh, four months. My nephew, Griffin, was born. I won a photography contest. I’m taking a trip to Montreal in April. (Tabarnac!) I recently got back into contact with Gloria. I got a roommate that is polyamorous, and I’m telling you, that shit’s better than Guiding Light - I can’t stop listening to her stories about how her main boyfriend is dating H, but she wants to marry her main boyfriend, but that’s not going to change anything in the ways of their arrangement, and then somehow, all three of them wind up in my living room watching movies one night, and wow. She’s great, though - couldn’t ask for a better roommate. Oh, I know there’s other stuff. I’m too busy scoping the clock out, because hey, in uh, look at that. Three minutes, I’m out of here. It’s off to the store, then to come home and start mass amounts of laundry that could likely clothe a mid-size village in Kenya, and clean my bathroom.

This is my life. I know right now, you’re jealous. Don’t even try to hide it, y’all. You, too, wish you could come over and clean the depths of my toilet.

Maybe tonight, I’ll blow up some nazis with G. Nothing says kickass Monday night in Casa Shindley like blowing some nazi’s head off, then knifing his crotch til there’s nothing left!

I’m leaving work now. 4pm, straight up. Happy Monday!

N: so i watched VH1 yesterday
N: and the stupid bret michaels show was on
N: and I got sucked in
N: and my iq dropped like….20 zillion points.
N: the women completely set women’s lib back about 2 million years
Me: lol
N: it’s a guilty pleasure
Me: I don’t know the Bret Michaels show.
Me: What is it?
N: its called ‘rock of love’
N: so he lives in this house with all these girls…
N: and he’s trying to find ‘love’
N: so the girls do challenges and stuff to win ‘dates’ with him
Me: Dear God.
N: dude, i’m telling you
N: it’s so offensive…and yet…i can’t NOT watch.
N: he was the lead singer of poison, right?
N: and these girls are soo…pretending to be into him
N: and he’s pretending to be into them
N: and its a trainwreck but it’s beautiful
Me: Does buddy with one arm come over?
N: no
N: LOL
N: that’s def leppard
Me: OH!
Me: I’m all, “Buddy with one arm.”
N: “Ain’t lookin for noooothin but a goooooood tiiiiiiiiime!”
Me: Wow.
N: Yeah.

I don’t know about you, but this whole hour forward thing is kicking my ass.