Y'all Want a Boiled Peanut?

This weekend, in an effort to keep my emotional sanity, I drove to North Carolina to visit my friend, Maren.  For weeks, I've been laboring under the impression the trip was a 10 hour drive.  However, when I started my trip yesterday, my Garmin estimated 15 hours.  I verbally abused it, made it recalculate my trip five times, then called my dad to have him plan a route, but wouldn't you know it, it took me 15 hours with traffic.  That stupid Garmin is always right and it pisses me off.  I thought about calling Maren several times along my route to tell her "never mind, I'm heading home..." but I've never been to NC and since she was willing to feed and house me for free for two days, I sucked it up and finished the trip.  

The agony to arrive would have been worth it just to meet her crazy southeastern boyfriend!  He talks a mile a minute in this thick southern drawl, and asked me all sorts of personal questions while spilling his guts about the skeletons in his closet.  I was mesmerized.  He made me taste Dukes mayo at midnight after I arrived, which I guess is THE mayo of the south.  Then, he convinced me to eat a roast beef sandwich fifteen minutes later slathered in the stuff.  I was mildly surprised to realize that anyone who forces me to eat mayo, then a sandwich after midnight, is my friend for life.  I'm not kidding.  I have Kevin's back now.  

I woke up this morning and after teaching Maren how to store pictures to her cloud, she drove me all over the Saluda, NC area.  Guess what?  For a split second I thought I had found the place I thought I may leave Rhode Island for:

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  I seriously considered moving immediately, especially when we drove past the Bat Cave Baptist Church.  However, there were no bats, no bat cave, no Batman, and like 10 buildings in the whole town, half of which were shuttered.  Oh well, at least I have my memories.

We then walked around Hendersonville and saw loads of peanuts in various forms and even tried some ice cream by an ice cream eating bear:

Plant all the crazy bears you want in an effort to distract me NC but it still wasn't Reed's Dairy.  Sorry.

We then hiked Chimney Rock, which Kevin's dad thinks looks like a penis.  I didn't think it looked like a penis or a Chimney, but it was most definitely a hike - and not the sweaty nature walks I've been dabbling with in the North.  (That's what southerners call New England.  True but also hilarious)!  Here Maren and I are at the waterfall at the top of the final 499 steps:

And me enjoying the view of Lure Lake, which I think looks like a river...

Verdict?  Holy crap it's pretty down here. What incredible adventures I've had over the last four months!  These gorgeous fifty states the good Lord has blessed us with are astounding!  The different food, people, accents...  I feel blessed to have the means to experience them.  I wish my hubby would stop dragging his feet and get my house sold.  There's a whole world waiting for him if he'd just join me.  That, and boiled peanuts and Cheerwine...

Quit Hiking Already

A few weeks ago we got a new patient from another practice.  When I went to meet her, it turned out she was from Boise.  I hugged her and it was glorious to feel a connection to a fellow westerner and better yet, an Idahoan.  She gave me some sage advice that she has learned about summer humidity in New England:  "embrace the gross."  Her husband added, "shower in the morning and again in the evening."  

Now that it's the end of July here in Rhode Island, I finally understand the "gross" my patient was talking about.  I am constantly wet and/or sweaty people.  Constantly.  It is the most unreal and uncomfortable feeling I've ever experienced and when it's muggy, I just cannot get it to go away unless I am indoors with the AC running.  I've been to places with humidity before, but only for a quick visit. This long term nonsense is bizarre.  I take cold showers now because otherwise, I feel the same as out of the shower, just with more water around.  I try to hide out in grocery stores and the laundromat for the free AC.  I also don't go home when I'm on call for the same reason.

I sweat so much that I can only drink one Diet Dr Pepper a day.  I'm just so thirsty all the time that only cold water will do.  It's ridiculous.  Let me also illustrate why Diet Dr Pepper in the summer here is less satisfying:

I filled that glass to the top with ice 10 minutes prior and even with the big gulp I took, look how fast my ice is melting!  I fill my Diet DP up with ice so that I can have maximum frostiness, but the ice melts so fast, it waters down my brown elixir faster than I can drink it.  It's a major conundrum.

You know what else the humidity does?  Makes outdoor exercise miserable.  I do it anyway because I'm fat and would be fatter without it and because I'm on a budget right now and dropped my gym membership.  I've been "hiking" all over Rhode Island and Massachusetts and it's been gorgeous and miserable all at once.  I often find the scenery on the "hikes" out here to be breathtaking and there tend to be lovely little extras along the way.  Like a cemetery I found, or ponds and streams.  Today I walked to find Monument Rock in Massachusetts but was a bit disappointed:

What?!  Your major sightseeing piece is vandalized and is so small?!  Come to Idaho and I'll show you some monument rocks.  For crying out loud this is practically a pebble!

As long as I'm complaining, I'd also like to find out how a hike is classified over here because grade obviously has nothing to do with the decision; they're all level!  Most seem to be classified as moderate, but in my opinion they're nature strolls.  You want to see a moderate hike?  Come to the mountain west and I'll show you a moderate hike!  Plus, you'll sweat in the west, but there's no moisture in the air so for the most part your sweat will dry in a reasonable amount of time...  I digress...  I've wracked my brain for what bumps a hike from easy to moderate in the east.  Is it based more on how long it is?  Or how hot and sweaty you'll get?  In that case, I'd like to propose a new classification system that I hope mainstream New England can get behind:

Easy:  At the end of this "hike" your armpits and basement will be mildly sweaty but you physically will be comfortable.

Moderate:  At the end of this "hike" you will be generally sweaty with the greatest concentration accumulating in your armpits and basement.  The AC in your car will dry you appropriately.  

Strenuous:  At the end of this "hike" your armpits and basement will be dripping.  Find a secluded spot, remove your undergarments, and go commando for the rest of the day because you will not feel dry again until tomorrow.

The hike to Monument rock with my revised classification?  Strenuous.  I've been in the laundromat with my diluted beverage for an hour and I'm still so slimy I'm worried someone will notice my butt crack sweat on the bench when I get up and will ban me from coming back for life.  Maybe I better start "hiking" at the mall...

What Do You Know Joe?

I am not a fan of big crowds but am an avid people watcher.  I used to think the best place to spy on people was in crowds - used to - until I moved into my apartment here in East Providence.  I have now realized that I just needed to find a place with a couple of prerequisites to make my hobby a way of life:

1.  Have several windows that look out onto a shop owned by your landlord

2.  Make sure your landlord is married to a guy named Joe

3.  Make sure Joe spends most of his time in your landlord's shop

4.  Make sure you spend all your spare time spying on Joe while he's in your landlord's shop

Make no mistake, I find Joe fascinating.  He's quiet, has a weird Rhode Island accent mixed with another accent I can't place, and he smokes a lot.  Oh, and he comes over to mess around with a dump truck he owns and leaves either the dump truck or his personal vehicle running - for hours.  I'm not totally sure why Joe is so intoxicating to me, but I think it's partly because I can't figure out how many more hours he can possibly spend banging on his dump truck while his own truck runs in the yard.  Does he get side tracked by the banging so forgets he wasn't going to stay long?  Have all the cigarettes deprived his brain of oxygen so banging on the dump truck for hours feels right?  I just don't know.  

Sometimes Joe comes over and dicks around on other stuff like the riding lawnmower his son uses to mow the grass.  It sputters and snorts and I get a kick outta watching Dean take 2 years to mow on that POS as it bucks him around the yard.  I can't help thinking that if Joe stopped banging on the bed of the dump truck and invested quality time with the mower, Dean could ride more smoothly and in style!  I also think if my mom was over here she could have that lawnmower purring like a kitten in one afternoon, but then I wouldn't have anything interesting to snigger about once a week.

This is my kitchen window where I do most of my spying on Joe:

And here was the view from said window today:

Sometimes Joe stops banging on the bed and messes with the engine instead, and every day that truck seems to be facing a different direction, though I've never caught him driving it anywhere.

I was particularly bored today so I did a lot of Joe spying.  In addition, I was getting pretty lacksidaisical as the day wore on so I think Joe caught me peeping on him several times.  I don't want him to know how creepy I am so I decided to spy on him for a while from my bathroom while taking a leak:

See that small little opening?  I was pretty sure he couldn't tell I was spying anymore and placed my phone in the crack to watch him smoke his 100th cigarette while going into and out of the garage a dozen times:

It was satisfying - until I realized my basement was getting sore from sitting on the John for 39 minutes.  I turned my back for two seconds to shift position and look!

 

He disappeared!  I wonder if that's why he leaves either his car or the dump truck running; so he can make a quick dash away from my prying eyes!  Oh well, his personal vehicle is the white guy you see there so I know he'll be back.  Probably tomorrow.  For more hammering.  And smoking.  Did I mention I find Joe fascinating?...

There's an Emoji For That

I have two teenagers who refuse to communicate with me effectively unless it's assisted by technology.  Just a few short years ago, I had no idea what an meme, a vine, or an emoji was, but unfortunately, my stupid teens have corrupted my low tech life.

In addition to memes and vines, my girls also introduced me to Snapchat.  I originally planned to use it as a way to keep an eye on my kids, but hate to admit that I now use it nearly as much they do.  I use it to communicate with my teens in all sorts of inappropriate ways like this:

And this...

Since moving to Rhode Island, I also have the pleasure of visiting with my girls through endless text messages.  Hannah sent me a meme the other day and I responded with, "ha ha that's funny."  She then insinuated my understanding of proper emoji use was subpar...  Oh just read it yourself:

Do you see what she did at the end?  She absolutely blew my mind!  I had no idea drawing a pic with emojis was even possible!  We traded a few more insults like this one:

Then I texted them to my friends Kareena and Sarah.  Their minds were also blown.  Given that we couldn't let some snot nosed teens best us, Kareena came up with this:

  

I loved her dusty spider web vagina, BTW.  And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Sarah came up with this:

I was astounded.  So were the teens!  Hannah, who started the whole thing, thought it was incredible, and she was right!  It wasn't until the next day that Sarah admitted it took her forever to figure it out and that she had done it while playing at Rigby Lake with not enough attention to her sunblock:

Poor gal.  She may look miserable, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for others to help them keep ahead of their idiot teenagers.  I've made lots of sacrifices for the cause too but I just can't remember what they are right now.  Wish I had an emoji to say that...

I'm Hot Too...

Shortly after I moved to Rhode Island, Jared took my hive of ladies over to a friend of mine, Amber, who lost her colony last year.  There was just no way I was going to try to transport those lovely creatures across the country, but it made me sad to give them up nonetheless.  When the transfer happened, she was nice enough to send me pics, but it made me cry.  I realized a few days ago that this move has been extra galling because I haven't been able to keep myself busy tending to my flowers, my garden, or my bees.

A couple of days ago, Amber sent this text:

I nearly wet myself because I knew exactly what was going on!  Those ladies are "bearding" my friends and it can mean they are hot!  I then began to list lots of strategies for giving them more room and/or helping them cool off and then reminded her it's also ok if she does nothing at all.  Before I got my first colony, I researched bees for two solid years so I would be prepared for when I finally brought some girls home.  I still hate being stung, but I love watching those gals and am constantly amazed at how great those little insects are. 

You know who else wishes they could "beard"...?  Me!  It's starting to be more warm and muggy in Providence and as such, I've been so sweaty, that by the time I go to the laundromat each week, my laundry basket and sheets smell so funky, I wonder if that's what a junior high jock strap smells like!  Today, I needed to wash my funk and was dreading going to the worst place on earth:  the laundromat.  When I arrived this afternoon I actually had the time of my life!  My deeply held detestation of laundromats was premature my friends!  The AC was heavenly, my Diet Dr Pepper was cold and luscious, and this employee cracked me up:

She's doing someone's laundry and bitching to everyone about how hot it is today and that she called into work to make sure the AC was working before she would leave her house. I cannot stress enough that her Rhode Island accent is what gives her ranting most of its flavor.  I sat on my bench, listened to Pandora playing underneath the crazy complaining, and had the most exquisitely comfortable and hilarious hour and a half of my life.

When I walked back into the heat, my poor soul cried a little and I wished I could run back into the laundromat and "beard" until closing time.  I sent some good mental vibes to Amber's bearding ladies who used to be mine, and made a silent vow not to hate the laundromat anymore.  However, I can't guarantee I'll remember that vow once the weather cools off again...