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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.

Some people in Portland wanted to set a world record with the most amount of people doing Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” zombie dance. Apparently thousands of people in 80 cities worldwide, participated in this event that took place on a certain day at the exact same time. I wish I would have known about this - I would have totally done it!

I just wanted to say one thing, and it’s totally me rubbing it in your face:

Branden and I are going to see Tool in concert. We rule. You don’t. Nyah!

Not a huge deal, but one of the crappiest photos I’ve ever taken, with my cell phone, no less, got published! Kinda nifty!

Sweet mother. 106F? Around 40C for all you Canuckheads out there that read my rig? Dude. That’s just not even right. Soul melting hot is not my cup-o-tea.

I am literally sitting in front of my window unit. Just installed this baby this afternoon, sometime between when my flesh melted away from the heat and the time I wanted to jab picnicware into my eyes just to take my mind away from the hell that has become Oregon in the summer. Anyway.

Window unit installed. Thank God. It’s still hot as hell in my apartment, but something tells me I could get used to whipping up my shirt and having the cold air blast against… Oh. Right. That was outloud. Sort of. You know what I mean.

If this is what it’s going to be like all summer, I’m totally ready for fall.

Yesterday was my official day of being unemployed. Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you officially - the branch I was working for decided to close twenty-two of twenty-four offices, and my branch was one of the ones to go. Luckily, I got a decent severance package, some savings, and unemployment to fall back on, should I need it.

It’s amazing how much time is really in a day. I feel like I have to rush to get everything done in the morning, and by 10 a.m., I’m left sitting here thinking, “Oh. It’s only ten. Well. Hrm.” I think this whole process has helped me get my motivation up. I’ve gotten into my walking kick again, I’ve been cooking a ton, particularly italian food (let me just say proschiutto wrapped asparagus rules, thankyouverymuch), and have spent some time taking photos. Oh, and job searching. There’s that, too.

I think being unemployed in Portland, Oregon mid-May has got to be the best time in the entire world to be jobless. The sun has been out every single day, temperatures in the low to mid 70’s. Ugh. It’s been perfect, and I’ve wanted to spend every single moment outside. My pale ass even has a bit of a … tan going on. Insane! I have been wanting to do more than play World of Warcraft, which I think is awesome. I haven’t actually sat down to play the game in nearly three weeks. I’m thinking about cancelling my subscription for a while. It’s been nice doing other things.

It’s kind of strange. I worry like mad. I’m just like dad in the sense that I’ll ponder, rehash, ponder some more, worry, worry, worry some more, then maybe, I dunno, worry about things. Being unemployed would seem like something you’d stress over constantly, but I’m not, for some reason. I feel very at ease, and very relaxed for the first time in a while. I’m not sure why, but I’m certainly not going to worry about it. Things feel good right now, and I’m happy about that.

Quite awhile back, I wrote a post on my operations manager being a fraud. I have since become employed with a different company, but was always curious to know what happened to him. The history on Stone, Sylas, PJ, whoever you want to call him, can be found here. I’ve had a number of people comment or e-mail me on my prior post regarding this idiot, so I thought I’d let you know that Stone was finally snagged by the FBI a few days ago, in San Diego. Apparently he may be sent back to Seattle on charges of fraud.

Wanna know something funny? A gal e-mailed me and told me his nickname that ol’ Stone used to call himself, was (God, I’m almost embarassed to say it..) Pimp Juice. Notice the last sentence in the article:

Phillips was arrested by San Diego police Thursday at an equipment leasing company where he’d reportedly been working as vice president of sales. Our sources say Phillips was working there under the name “P.J. Stone.”

Guess you aren’t so pimp anymore, are ya, sucka!

I know us folk up here in the Pacific NW don’t get snow or ice very often. But really: How dumbass do you have to be to think slamming on the gas pedal in your big, tough SUV will somehow allow you to regain control? Wow.

At least, that’s what I read this afternoon regarding the “BIG ONE OF 2007!!!” storm we’re supposed to have. Seriously, we’re talking about one inch in the city. The northwest doesn’t get snow very often, so I can see how it could be portrayed as some epic event. I couldn’t help but giggle, however, when I read terms such as ‘the region will receive a full scale assault of bitter cold’ and ‘be prepared for a regional invasion.’ Full scale assault? Invasion? Sounds like somebody in the weather room is bored…