the story of gerty mcnasty & my jerk uterus

Twenty-nine. 

I am twenty-nine glorious years old.  My facebook feed is filled with chubby-cheeked babies, classic poses by brides on the beach at sunset, status updates about pooping in toilets, and comments about the rat race / work / coffee / bosses / zzzz..... Sorry, I nodded off.  Anway, I enjoy seeing those people with their poofy white dresses, drooling infants, and white picket fences because it means that they are doing what makes them happy.  Getting married, repopulating the earth, collecting shiny items to display in expensive houses... It's all very wonderful.  For them.

I have one hell of an imagination, those who know me can attest, I'm a total weirdo.  However, I cannot fathom myself living that life.  I don't want a stroller that could double as one of the Transformers and costs as much as a plane ticket to the Middle East.  I don't want to work a job I hate (or even merely tolerate) to pay for shit I don't need and a house I can't really afford.  No offense, dear friends and family, nor judgement... just not my dig. 

My feed also occasionally dons the view from Machu Picchu or a dare become reality.  I have been fortunate enough to have collected fantastic friends who randomly move to foreign countries on whim, backpack entire continents in search of the best food, are true artists at heart, and remind me constantly that life is freaking beautiful.  They have even inspired some of my insane (and recently updated) Bucket List items!  However, a major surgery was never on that list. 

Exactly three years ago, I sat down and signed my name on the dotted line to have my insides looked at because I was constantly in pain and my flat little tummy would go from 'pilates video' to 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' in an moment's time.  What they found was endometriosis.  I also found out I was born without my right ovary, which I later began telling people that is why I fall over when I drink.  So, my solo baby-maker paired (ha) with this disease that is eating away at a handful of my organs, I was looking at a five-year window for popping out carbon copies of myself, unless I wanted to contract NASA to come in and make magic happen.  I might be paraphrasing...

"Happiness depends upon ourselves." -Aristotle

I had just ended my engagement after a five-year relationship, I had just started doing corporate marketing for a fantastic company, and I was 1,500 miles from my family.  I wasn't in a position to make any major decisions and thank sweet Lady Godiva that I didn't. Anything involving the human body deserves both objective and subjective thinking, and time was about to become my best friend. 

Flash forward to this semi-sunny week in July of 2013.  I am single, working at a non-profit helping people save their homes, planning the big move to Japan, and just aced my last class that has been plaguing me for ages.  I am also now scheduled for a massive, life-changing surgery.  This is about to get personal kids, but let me tell you why I am choosing to divulge this information before I throw all my lady cards on the table:

We are all in this game together.  Things like race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and the rest of the identifiers don't matter: we are all human.  If I can't be there to help someone else who is hurting and alone, I am doing this world a disservice.  If someone reads this- whether they reach out to me or not- and is encouraged or relieved, even if only for a moment, I have done something.  Complacency, apathy, and indifference are the true evils in this world.

Back to my lady cards.  My uterus is trying to kill me.  That whiny bitch throws a temper tantrum every month because she made me a beautiful present- this egg- and I don't do a damn thing with it.  So, that Jezebel burns down the house.  My single ovary is working over-time because her twin got hammered and never showed up.  She's exhausted, freaking out, and running out of eggs, so she's pissy with everything around her.  The rest of my organs are frozen in fear, wondering how messy this is about to get; there could be a riot on the horizon.  My abdomen is making that face people make when they are thinking, "Don't do it, bitch.  Don't you dare, oh, hell no!  That look pisses off my bratty uterus, who then decides she's going to get back at everyone north of her by literally throwing herself into the chaos that she started.  Bitch, you don't belong here.  Where is your passport?  You don't have one!  Deported!  Cue: Riot.

Yes, I understand that anthropomorphizing my internal organs is morbid.  So is the fact that my best ladybird gal-pal and I both only have one ovary and so we gave them best friend names.  Mine is Gerty McNasty. 

The bottom line is that my quality of life is not where I want it.  It is 2-3 months of no traveling, no playing, and none of the good stuff every time a doctor has to go in there and clean up my stupid uterus' non-baby-mama-drama.  I am collecting scars like it's the 90's and they are Pogs.  (Yep, I went there.)  I'm always exhausted, I feel like I'm 59, not 29.  I cancel on my friends constantly because I cannot muster the energy to socialize.  I hurt every day.  Every.  Day.  There are no tests or scans for endmetriosis.  Pain is not a direct indicator of damage done.  There is no cure.  There are no pills or drugs that can fix it.  There are shots out there for temporary, chemically-induced menopause, there are birth control pills for suppressed symptoms, and there are surgeries for cauterizing the lesions and implants.  Until they slice me open and poke around inside of me, they have no idea what the hell is going on in there.  I'm basically a piñata.  A piñata filled with bitchy organs.

My initial surgery to remedy my internal civil war was scheduled for September, but was quickly moved up due to complications.  Yes, I did my research on both the procedure and my doctor.  The procedure is called a hysterectomy (uterus).  I decided to keep my cervix for personal reasons, plus it is like Switzerland: neutral and just here for a good time.  My doctor worked on my sister a few years back and has a great track record.  Her bedside manner doesn't suck, so I gave the thumbs up.

Update: I have decided to retain Gerty and wait on the oophorectomy... Trusting God on this one... 

The idea of being a mother is mind-blowing, and I have the utmost respect for those who do it, especially alone.  I also do not believe that the traditional definition of being a mother is the only truth by any stretch of the imagination.  If my body is telling me that putting a baby in my belly isn't my path, then I need to listen up.  Besides, I can just collect little kids from all my favorite countries as I travel.  I would be thrilled to collect the whole set: The Multigrain Family.  Who knows, perhaps I can get a 2-for-1 deal if I buy in bulk.  I need to call Angelina Jolie and see if she can put in a good word for me.

Kidding...

The majority of my life has revolved around children: nanny, swimming instructor, Sunday School teacher, youth leader for my church, English teacher... I love kids.  Each of those positions required me to teach, lead by example, touch a life, and make a difference; is that not the definition of a mother?  I have to look at this pending surgery as a list of Pros & Cons, not as removing my ability to be a nurturing mother, because I have been doing that my entire life.  When I was 4, I fell at pre-school and split my chin wide open (yes, I have a scar from that as well).  The school called my mom to come pick me up and, upon arrival, she found me with one hand propped up on my knee with ice in-hand, holding my bloody chin, and the other arm slung around another child with a book.  I was reading to him while I waited to go to the doctor. 

This post is me putting my arm around anyone out there who is dealing with a disease, condition, or decision in their life.  Whether it is your jerk uterus, punkass balls, or some other rebellious non-reproductive organ... I got your back.  The bottom line is this: You must be true to yourself.  You cannot give a half a damn what anyone else thinks.  Yes, it is important to discuss this with family and friends, gain perspective, etc.  However, in the end, this is my body, my jerk uterus, and my life.  Comparison is the thief of joy, kids.  I can't compare my one little bastard ovary to my overly-fertile friend's dynamic duo; I'd go positively mad. 

The hardest part of this whole process is trying to talk to people about it- like my doctor- who don't know me well enough to pass judgment.  When I went to talk to my doctor about it, she said this little gem to me:

"What if you meet the man of your dreams?"

Shut the front door.  Really?  If the man of my dreams doesn't want to be with me because I can't make a tiny human in my loins, then he is not the man of my dreams, I assure you.  Those of you who have been a reader for a while know that I lack a filter, so I fired back with a smirk:

"What if I meet the woman of my dreams?" 

Checkmate.  She stopped talking and started listening.  People need to stop spoon-feeding societal standards to others like it is the only acceptable form of sustenance.  I have felt judged, like I am a freak and heartless, all because I would rather live my life for me and be happy & healthy, rather than spend mountains of money and stress non-stop over making my DNA hook up with some dude's and in a hot rush. 

"But Amie, what about in vitro?"  Why would I spend tens of thousands of dollars to maybe get pregnant?  A lot of women end up with four freaking kids when they mess with that stuff!  For that price, I could fly to Kenya, go on safari, adopt a child, feed the orphanage for a week, and buy a gift for the lady who is having four freaking kids because of in vitro.

"But Amie, what about a surrogate?"  Hmmm... "Hey, lady, hold my baby.  For 9 months.  Oh, and then go away, because it's mine.  Gimmie.  Wait, change their diaper first."  Aside from the aforementioned monetary cost, this one is still tricky.  I'll keep you updated.

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a guy and just trying?"  Trust me, that crossed my mind.  Oh, and I tried that.  Though it would be a very enjoyable experiment, the result- you know, the important part- isn't a goal.  This is someones life.  I don't want to bring a person into this world just because I might be able to. 

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a girl and just trying?"  Nice try.  

The hardest part of this procedure for me will be losing a part of me that is vital to feeling feminine.  I'm tall, I have some curves (thankfully in the right places), and I have the mindset of a twenty-something dude.  I need to feel pretty, delicate, sexy, and feminine... So they're going to take out what essentially makes me a woman... Rad.  My family has been supportive, providing as many hugs as they do questions.  My bosses let me put my head down on my keyboard until I have a page and a half full of the home row keys on my screen.  My close friends offer a full glass of wine and a full bottle of Advil whenever I make it off the couch. 

Despite all that jazz, it has been quite lonely.  I know this isn't the easiest subject to deal with, and bitches be crazy, but I would like to feel I have managed to have a pretty firm grasp on all this.  So, dear friends and strangers alike, if you run into me or end up sipping whiskey with me on a Tuesday night, please don't freak out.  I don't expect you to know what to say or how to comfort me, just be cool like the fuzz is watching and all will be well.  If it will help, here is a solid list for those who couldn't buy a clue with a $100 bill.  

  

Guidebook to Amie's Hysterectomy 

x  Don't pity me.  

✔ Do buy me a drink.  

x  Don't avoid me.

✔ Do ask how I am doing. 

x  Don't let me get bored... Entertain me.

✔ Do just tell me, "I'm here".  That'll do, pig. 

x  Don't forget how hilarious I am on pain killers.

✔ Do come visit me.  Seriously... We can color and watch Disney movies...

I don't expect anyone to understand what I am going through, even another Hyster Sister.  This is an incredibly personal journey and I am lucky to be doing it at a transitional point in my life.  Yes, I am saddened by this, yet another jagged turn in the road that will change my body for the rest of my short but powerful life.  Simultaneously, I am honored to be trusted with such a massive task and given the opportunity to shine through as a positive soul.  I am nervous that I won't be the same afterwards.  I am more nervous that I will be exactly the same afterwards.  More than anything, I am excited.  I am excited to be pain free.  I am excited to never have "that time of the month" again.  I am excited to be freed from my chains.  

Let's recap what we have learned today, class: 

• My uterus is a jerk.
• I am a gypsy.
• I like mismatching children.
• I don't care what gender you are.
• I named my only ovary.
• I use inappropriate humor as a coping mechanism.
• I'm pretty funny.
• I want to watch movies with you while I am high. 

So, as I awkwardly stumble into this adventure, I try not to spill my drink & I thank everyone for their support, patience, kind words, and offers to carry my hypothetical future unborn children or lift me off the couch.  August 28th will be yet another insane moment in my life... Cheers to many more.

xx.a



machu picchu, tube dancing, and weird meat

Lista...

Peru never held a strong draw for me, even with Machu Picchu being the most sought-after world wonder to date. I had heard that the beaches bordered lackluster deserts (which is mostly true) and the major cities left something to be desired. When my good friend and co-worker, Rachel, informed me that Machu Picchu topped her bucket list, I knew I was in and in for it.

A few friends had been traveling south from Quito for the last few weeks and were meeting us in Cuzco, Peru where we would prep for our four day trek. Two American and four Canadian girls decided to bike, raft, climb, zip line, and explore the Andes mountains and have out journey culminate at the top of Machu Picchu.

Streets of Peru

Rachel and I boarded a night bus from Quito to Huaquillas with high hopes and full backpacks. I advise all adventurers to avoid Huaquillas with every ounce of energy possible. Aside from the attempted kidnapping at the border, it's a dirty and tasteless town that leaves you wanting a half dozen showers and saying a Hail Mary despite your chosen religion. For those of you who know me, I prefer to write about the places I love and avoid the negative, but this merited mentioning.

The Sexy Seis

After we avoided kidnapping, robbing, and God knows what else, we finally secured a ludicrously overpriced taxi to deliver us safely (fingers crossed) to the bus terminal (which didn't exist) and found a reputable bus line to get us the hell away from the border and to the sands of Lima. We were greeted by a double-decker bus with semi-cama (reclining) seats and a wicked view from the massive front windshield. We were off. Again.

Peruvian Ceviche

Lima, here we come! Just 22 more hours... It felt like scene out of "Swingers" when Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau head to Las Vegas from Los Angeles and they start out stoked and fade into a lackluster hoot every once in a while.

After 33 hours on a bus, Rachel and I snatched up the first hostel we found to be both reputable and affordable and scrubbed ourselves to the bone. We wandered around Lima proper, which was lovely, and kept away from downtown, which was dirty and best seen from the bus, as well as the outskirts, which were tin-roof huts stuck into the sides of the dirt hills. The coast line was well kept and consisted of cliffs, art, gorgeous landscaping, and plenty of tourists.

7 months...

Lima, though lovely, was well experienced in a day a we went for a cold beer. We scarfed down multiple-meat burgers topped with fries and tried the local brews. Calling it an early night, we enjoyed sleeping in a fully horizontal position for the first time in three days.

Cuzco, here we come! Just 22 more hours... That sounds a little too familiar. This time, in the back of the 2nd story bus, we posted up and watched another three movies poorly dubbed in Spanish. This trek from Quito, admittedly, did not commit the sin of eighties action movies that consist of Jean Claude Van Dam and an endless amount of dubbed groaning and killing women with large breasts. Aside from the young porter who developed a minor obsession with my feet during our ascent to Cuzco, it was a solid trip: We had arrived.

Cuzco, Peru

We booked our trek through Loki Hostel in Cuzco and met our Canadian counterparts around noon, where we woke them from their hungover slumber around noon. Excitement buzzed that evening as we were briefed and surveyed our trek mates.

Day 1: Spinning Wheels & Paddles

Abramalaga Bike Ride

We ascended to 4250 meters on Abramalaga Mountain and mounted our bikes. We were about to drop 2000 meters over 50 km and the views were stunning. The warm sun ripped through the thin air and tinged our skin as the wind cooled us. We bounded around curves, splashed through natural streams, raced each other over gravel and dirt roads, and we're constantly awestruck after every turn. Little black butterflies danced around us and our faces hurt as much from smiling as our arms did from the two and a half hour ride.

delish.

We loaded up our gear in a small mountain town and devoured some local cuisine accompanied by black corn, pineapple, & cinnamon juice. Dirty, tired, sweaty, and ready for more, we headed to the Urubamba & Vilcanota rivers to cross another beauty off my bucket list: whitewater rafting. Hell yes.

Our guide, Sagá, was a Chilean man in his mid twenties who put up with touring gringos for a paycheck and a chance to live his passion on the river every day. Paddles in hand, we strapped on our helmets and climbed into the giant blue and yellow rafts that would serve as platters to the 3+ rated rivers for dinner. Sagá briefed us on safety regulations and informed us about the dangers that laid ahead, much to his dismay, the our raft nodded half-heatedly and looked to me. Yep. Guess who was dubbed translator for the duration of our trip. Accepting the challenge of translator (and someone who took a sophomore Spanish class in high school a century ago), I managed to tell a bunch of strangers ad a few friends what to do while spinning down a river in Perú. I even managed to convince Sagá to let us tackle some of the more difficult rapids and spin us around in circles! It was most definitely one of the highlights of my trip.

A former resident's depiction 

After we finished, we were driven into the sunset and up a pitch black road to a clearing in the bushes, where we were promptly kicked out and told to strap on our hiking boots once again. Wait, what? We wandered up a steep path by flashlight and iPhone light, panting and hungry, until we reached a little shack with a small monkey tied to one of the door frames. We gathered our breath and played with the mischievous little bugger and fed it sweet sesame peanuts. As we all started to unstrap our packs and take of our shoes, our guide announced in hesitant English, "Ok, guys, let's go... Only fifteen more minutes!" Famous. Last. Words.

Day 2: Morning view

Forty-five grueling, uphill minutes in the pitch dark of the Peruvian jungle later, our surprise hike was over an we had reached the home stay. Exhausted and all-around pissed off, the group stared our guides down as we hung our wet clothes to dry. A delicious dinner was served as the three British boys offered to help our Señora, and we all collapsed onto our wooden benches. Food was devoured at such a rate that we could barely mutter a "Buen Provecho" but everyone seemed in good spirits and had high hopes for tomorrow.

One by one, the girls wandered off to bed, hoping to recharge for tomorrow and keep the mosquitoes at a distance. The Señor came out with his guitar and joined us in a beer while the guys and I played cards with another female traveler. We took turns teaching each other card games and listened to the Señor and one of our guides play poorly tuned guitars and saluds every few moments.

Day 2: The Cliffs of Insanity

Sta. Teresa Valley

When the sun rose the next morning, we emerged from our respective habitations and were left without words. The figureless hike last night left us with sore muscles and one hell of a view. We scarfed down breakfast and readied ourselves for the big hiking day. Frank, who was born on the very land we were trekking across, grabbed a half dozen achiotes from a nearby tree and sliced them open. They proceeded to paint our faces with the seed pollen, claiming it was a natural mosquito repellent, and then slathered themselves in our American-bought chemicals. Whatever.

Achiote

They dubbed me an Andean Inca Princess. Ha. I, in turn, painted his face like a 5th grade pottery project. Disfrutas, homie. Let's go, day 2! We continued our hike up and away from Señor and Señora, expressing our gratitude and leaving just a little part of each of us with them. every corner we turned brought surprises: coffee plants, coca leaves, random giant fruits, millipedes, massive snakes, papayas bigger than my head, and cliffs that drop off into oblivion. We plodded down carefully places steps, dug our boots into cavities scaling up mounds of dirt and rocks, and followed obediently as the path wound tightly around ancient cliffs. Frank explained the traditions and offerings that took place in order to appease the three animals: the snake, the puma, and the condor. 

Great peril...

As we explored the Santa Teresa valley we took turns leading our Puma Family. Pictures cannot do justice to the lands we trekked, but that did not stop us from trying. We teetered down into canyons and hiked the Bilkanota riverbed, had water fights in the streams to battle the almost equatorial heat, and snacked on local grown fruits like Sawinto coffee and bananas as part of the circle of life.

¡Vamos! Let's go! ¡Rrisintu hatumich! Spanish, English, Chichewa... All put a pep in our step as we marched on to night two in a small, Peruvian town, praying there was no uphill night hike. We scooted down the winding path to some thermal spas where we sunk into hot mineral water absorbed every second of relaxation we could. The vies from the pools was the sole item that superseded the pools themselves.

The Pumas

We were dragged from the pools kicking and screaming to a small restaurant where the long, wooden benches were lined with alpaca rugs and Saltado Carne greeted us and we celebrated Shannon's birthday and found the only discoteca within a hundred miles. We went, as Frank called it, "tube dancing" which was actually a bunch of drunk gringo guys taking turns trying to outdo each other on a pole in the middle of a small dance club, but was sufficient enough to give us all a slight hangover the next day... Guides included.

 Day 3: Zip, Zip, and Away

Since Frank and Renaldo we're sufficiently hungover after drinking games and the discoteca, we skipped the three hour hike first thing in the morning and we took a van to the zip line local. Strapped in and stoked for something besides hiking, we climbed a vertical route to the first line of six. One by one we glided across the canopies, lush, green mountains rising up on every side of us and the stream winding intricately below us. Birds darted up and around as the incredible silence was only broken by the whir of the line and the wind in our ears.

Pulling your leg...

After we reluctantly stripped off our gear, devoured another delicious lunch of comida típico, we hiked a few hours around the base of Machu Picchu. We followed the railroad tracks through the jungle to Aguas Calientes, our final stop before the grand finale. Exhausted and riddled with homerun fever, we matched into the pseudo-Aspen town at the base of Machu Picchu. Luxurious hotels, hostels, and countless restaurants and shops lined the paved roads of the touristic city. The pavement and pavers felt strange beneath our blistered and worn feet, as they'd only known rocks, pedals, dirt, and mud for three intense days. We welcomed the stranger beneath our feet, battled with scalding hot and ice cold showers, and tried our best to sit up straight at dinner. After a ridiculous amount of food and some briefing for the big day that would follow, we were all settling in to the worst of the three hospitalities thus far. Running water aside, we all longed for the first homestay that followed the night hike from the first night. 

And then there was Day 4.

Sunrise over Machu Picchu

Day 4: Machu Picchu & Every Man Left Behind

Sufficed to say, our new guide relieved Frank and Renaldo but that was the extent the word "relief" was used for that day. Hugo, though very funny, left us all to find our way to the top of Machu Picchu at 4:30 am. My team of Pumas managed to make it up to the top alive and well about the time I was delivered by bus. My body had decided it had put up with enough and it wasn't sufficiently healed from my appendectomy from a few months back. Deciding my body knew best, and I too having been left my Hugo the Ridiculous, meandered in to my sweet Bucket List item and decided to make the best of every second by following other guide groups here and there and staring at the sun directly until an Inca God spoke to me... Ok, maybe not the last part.

Sun rising in silence

I sat on the compressed dirt that surrounded the stone sun dial at the second highest point in Machu Picchu and gazed silently at the insane dichotomy of the ruins. Old and new, clean and dirty, organized and mysterious. As the sun rose over the mountains in front of me, the chatter stopped and all that could be heard was silence broken by the shutters of hundreds of cameras around me. No one spoke, as it is a sacred and revered time and in a sacred place. Worth every penny, every sore muscle, every hour on a bus getting down there, and every sacrifice made.

Before dawn....

The friends made on this trip were a definite plus, as our group dynamic was untouchable and obviously envied by other groups. The weather was absolutely perfect every single day, especially the last day. The adventures were wonderful and irreplaceable. Taking the train back from Machu Picchu to Cuzco sealed the trek as one of the best experiences of my life; and I've done some pretty cool shit.

7:30 AM

I know I learned more from this adventure than I have yet realized, but I will wait patiently for these lessons to unfold in time. One of the Seven Wonders crossed off, a few Bucket List items completed, and a few steps closer to an intangible state I have yet to identify... Plus, Peruvian ceviche is amazing. I also managed to try alpaca (very similar to beef) and cuy (guinea pig, not as delicious as I had expected) which crossed off a few from my "Let's Eat Meat" list (yet to be published).

The Pumas

Weird meat, big rocks, and tube dancing aside, I know how fortunate I was to have been able to not only experience this, but to do it alongside so many wonderful people.

Hello, Bucket List...

Andean Inca Princess, signing out...

xx.a

P.S. I'm eating one of your relatives tonight.

somewhere between champagne and backpacks

I like to make movies in my head.  I also like to sound insane by admitting really strange things and blabbing them somewhat incoherently on a blog that I have managed to trick countless readers into following.  Yeah, so, movies... I like to close my eyes while lying in bed and listening to the sounds of the city and imagine myself in places halfway round the world.  I imagine myself, for example, in Dubai, running my fingers along the sleek glass of the Burj Al Arab Hotel as it glitters under the UAE sun.  I begin to feel the hot sand seep into my sandals as I wander the beaches and take in the slight, compassionate breeze.  I listen for the Arabic, Malayalam, and Urdu words that float through the air and into my ears like foreign lullabies that sing to sleep my worries of the unknown.  I breathe in the smells of nearby shishas being shared by friends and colleagues, smells of grape, peach, and apple call me to come inhale and taste their sweet smoke.  Shawarmas, ghuzi, hoummus, and lamb cause me time and time again to overeat, as the taste is too compelling to not have just one more... 

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. –Martin Buber

I see myself walking around markets and trying new foods, sharing experiences with new friends, and writing home to old ones.  Then, I remember where I am at that moment.  Whether I am lying in bed, riding the bus to work, walking through a park, or sipping wine on a patio... I am in Quito, Ecuador.  Six months ago, I was making movies in my sweet little hometown of Corona, California and dreaming about things I didn't even know that I would miss one day.  I dreamt of salsa dancing with Latin men, eating succulent chicken and steamy rice dishes, learning to speak Spanish, drinking ice cold beers in tiendas, and being surrounded by the bohemian spirit.  

I must constantly remind myself to be grateful for what I have, as I am not only currently living my dream but living another soul's dream, by chance, and how dare I take that for granted.  However, this fact will not keep me from dreaming, but will keep me grounded.  I find, once again, my life is a balancing act.  I refuse to let anyone tell me (or anyone else) what balance should be stricken, but I will concede that there need be one.  Some people are unable to live in the now and bury their heads in the sands of the future, finding themselves, one day, middle aged and no better off than they thought.  Some individuals refuse to look at any day but the one they reside in, giving no thought to what lies ahead.  I see merit in both of these approaches, but cannot help but dance slowly around both until we all are swaying together.  The dichotomy that both defines and frees me is what keeps me with my heart, mind, and eyes open.

I just celebrated my four month anniversary here in South America and have had a few revelations while lying on the grass watching the clouds move or cooking eggs and vegetables while listening to the rain fall... I have a gypsy spirit. I am always looking for an inexpensive plane ticket or some special on a boat or train that can deliver my spirit somewhere new and enriching.  I have lost almost all attachment to the things I have left behind in my parents' home and find myself missing people (and food) above all other worldly things. My gypsy spirit beckons to me on the regular, though I cannot honestly say that I always understand what it is she wants from me... However, I try and nourish her as often as I can.  The question has now become, "What nourishes my gypsy spirit?"

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.  -Marcel Proust

I find that when a backpack is strapped to my back and the ground moves at my discretion beneath my feet, that is when I am the most free.  I find myself dancing on the inside.  I live for the feeling of the unknown, the rush from adventure, and the newly sharpened perspective of a place or culture.  I love the independence of the road, the freedom of the sky, and the defiance of the sea.  I know what I take with me is all I need, the music that I find along the way will guide me as a soundtrack, and wherever I land there will be someone to share a cold beer and a story with. 

There is a small part of me that misses some of the comforts and, dare I say, luxuries... I am a sucker for a cold bottle of champagne and a hot bubble bath.  I don't care if it borders on a cliche from a Julia Roberts movie; I will surround myself with candles and soak in bath salts until I am drunk and pruned.  What is it about champagne and all that is associated with it that plucks at my heart strings?  I am not accustomed to luxuries, so it cannot be that I am spoiled or entitled... Is it security?  Perhaps.  The last 10 years have been more inconsistent than stable, by far, and the concept of stability is a folly, at this point.   

I have found that I now crave change more than ever, which contradicts my initial beliefs of stability being the answer to my pseudo-problems.  After just a few months in Ecuador, I was searching for mini-vacations to satiate my lust for travel and going to different bars and restaurants in an effort to diversify my days.  Instead of getting to know new friends over coffee, I prefer to take day trips with them or try something new and crazy.

I went to Colombia for Carnaval this passed February and stayed in a sweet little hostel a few minutes walk from Old Town. The freedom I felt as I rocked in an old, wooden rocking chair with my bare feet on the mosaic tile floor of the community courtyard was liberating. I am so fortunate to be sipping fresh Colombian coffee on the Caribbean coast, exploring one of the most misunderstood countries
In the world, and living, not only my dream, but countless others' as well. The beds were mediocre, but acceptable, the family running the hostel rarely wore shoes, and there was no hot running water. Why on earth was this heavenly to me? Where were the big, white fluffy bathrobes? Where was the huge jacuzzi tub? Where was the massive, luxurious bed? Why was I not missing any of those things?

These questions are not limited to this experience, nor my travels. I have little preoccupation with marriage and zero concern about my biological clock ticking. According to society, that makes me a gypsy and a weirdo... I'll take both with a smile. Though I truly miss my dryer, I have grown accustomed to hanging my laundry to dry. I feel as though my newly adopted lifestyle has altered my perception of what is normal and what is a luxury. A few years back, normal was having a fridge full of food, having a bathtub, and being able to flush toilet paper. All of those are now luxuries. I count change now, saving every coin I find, knowing it could add up to a bus fare or an almuerzo, whereas I used to give all my change to the neighborhood kids or into the family's communal beer bottle bank. I've not become money-hungry by any means, but I am definitely more careful than ever with my spending.

So, I've fallen in love with my backpack. I've traded my dreams of grey walls and throw pillows for dreams of conversations in a foreign language and stamps in my passport. What of my champagne? I am still a classy broad in need of romance (of my own, personal definition) and a a human being in need of comfort. Can I love both my backpack and my champagne? Must I choose? I believe that it can be both... I can stand on the top of a mountain, backpack in tow, and sip my champagne with sweet satisfaction. I have spent the majority of my adult life bending over backwards for people in my life, sacrificing career and self, it's my turn to find the balance I desire: I want champagne and a backpack.

My life is befitting of dichotomy. I work hard and I love harder. Dressing up and going out for a night on the town is as enticing as watching movies in bed while eating pizza. I find contradictions within my dichotomy... I feel at home in cities I've never been before. I find some of my best friends are people whom I spend a few hours speaking to while lying in a park. My favorite things to write about are experiences that leave me without words. Perhaps, my home lies somewhere between champagne and a backpack.

xx.a

kicking the bucket: death be not a player hater

I want to do that before I die! 

That phrase has almost become almost as cliché as they come, being muttered by drones wandering the cubical mazes making a theoretical list (ok, some people actually make a list) and never crossing a single adventure off of it.  I've begun to wonder as the drones wander... Do they make these lists as a crutch?  Do these idlers and settlers use the classic "Bucket List" as a way to have hope that their lives will magically one day turn into something fantastic?  Newsflash, kids, good things don't come to those who wait.  Great and mind-blowing things come to those who get off their asses and open the door themselves.  There is something to be said for patience (it is a virtue, after all... and we should all strive to be virtuous, right?) and not being too hasty, but where is it written that we need to wait until our retirement to live life until it hurts-so-good?  I wouldn't want to be a senior citizen trying to climb 530 steps to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral and have my hip pop out!  Though, dear readers, I did manage this climb on the one day it was sunny in London and I was wearing a skirt.  (You're welcome, German tourists, hope it wasn't too distracting from the centuries of history and culture surrounding you.)  

I started asking my most interesting and dearest friends if they had ever taken the time to sit down and pen out their "Bucket List" out.  A few had compiled a tangible list, to no surprise, and I was fortunate to have them share their sensational, albeit some nonsensical aspirations with me.  A few souls admitted it's on their notepad in their iPhone (good God where would we be without them?) for constant editing.  There was a scattering of surprises, though, that caused me to stumble when they shrugged their proverbial shoulders when admitting they hadn't put much thought into it or muttered, "There are things I want to do before I die." Oy. 

Some of the entries were outstanding.  My sister's boyfriend and my dear friend, Chris (who specifically asked to be credited with his), wants to live in a tree.  No, really.  He also wants to stay in the Hobbit Shire homes in New Zealand.  I applaud his remarkable and distinguished list, as it reminded me that "Travel Asia" isn't enough when it comes to figuring out my list.  One of my favorite people on the planet, Benton, rocked my world with some of his entries, though I shouldn't be surprised as his mind is one of evil genius married with eccentric splendor.  Only he could come up with having his outgoing message recorded by the voice of NPR, Carl Kasell- classic Benton.  What threw me was his final submission: he wants to be struck by lightening. My initial reaction surprised me; I was exhilarated.  What a rush!  The ultimate 'To-Do' is death, really, so this should probably be his last, but he most likely considered that while assembling his list.  Richard, an old friend and stellar soul, has a concise and well thought-out list; his entries ranging from playing catch with his father on the Field of Dreams at Cooperstown (family sentiment) to scuba diving with sharks and moving to Las Vegas for an entire year.  I love the variety and brilliance of some of the tasks these amazing people came up with.  I decided to dive a little deeper.... into something they call, "The Inter-Web". Some up-and-coming thing all the kids are using.  We'll see if it takes off. 

Skydiving, 2nd time, 2009

 think there is a substantial difference between "The Bucket List" and some things you wouldn't mind doing.  These things should incite riots within you, raising exhilaration to new heights when you discuss it or- gasp!- make plans to cross it off your precious list.  For example, I have been to both Disneyland and Disneyworld, and one day would like to visit TokyoDisney, but I must admit it is more because of my ridiculous obsession with Japan than it has to do with Disney.  If I am in Paris or Hong Kong, I won't prioritize spending my money or time wandering around a theme park.  Therein lies the key: prioritizing. Everything on my Do-It-To-It Bucket List is prioritized from this point forward!

Granted, I wrote one when I was 15 or so, then again at 18, but they have fallen victim to Spring cleaning or mistaken identity of a grocery list, one would think.  In this age of ludicrous technology, why not pry into random individuals most private desires, much like you are doing to mine?  I might as well make sure there is nothing I am missing out on!  I first and foremost had to grab something tangible to put these hot little ideas down on.  I know myself, I am a list maker, and if I am going to make these dreams of mine a sweet reality, the list needs to be as tangible as I desire them to be.  (Besides, that gives me something to scrapbook later!  Oh, in case we haven't met, I'm a massive nerd.  Alright, back to my list.) I started by making two separate lists: Badass Adventures That Made Me Who I am & You Jealous and Adventures That Won't Happen If I Am Sitting On My Sweet Ass.  Admittedly, that's a bit wordy (even for myself, the Wordsmith) so I simplified: Things I Have Done and The Bucket List, respectively.  I wrote as much as I could, as quickly as I could to get things rolling along before picking the brains of random people all over the world.  

Himeji, Japan 2006

I found that most individuals ambitions revolve around accomplishments, such as Masters Degrees & eliminating debt, and travel.  As I found myself scrolling quickly through blogs, lists and forums it hit be: I've done almost all of these.  How fortunate am I to be scribbling furiously in this bright lavender ink (I keep it real) over the Benn-There-Done-That side of this experiment?  I did manage to find a few I hadn't done or even considered, one I even added to my own list.  It felt amazing to fill the blank pages with my adventures and accomplishments, even the smaller ones we often forget about, like witnessing a sunrise from its inception or getting slap-you-in-the-face-drunk. Conversely, there are some things that I just cannot bring myself to put on my list, but you bet your ass I will proudly put them on my list of accomplishments should I ever find myself in that position: getting arrested, streaking or breaking someones bone.

Playing with baby tigers, 2010

One of the most inspiring people I have ever met was only in my life for a short while before she left our advertising agency to travel the world and increase her badass levels to incomparable levels. Laurenne Sala: author, freelance writer, creative director, comedian, producer, story teller, cultural guru (my opinion) and general hottie.  She uses words like 'vagina' and writes up mock-interviews with God, calling him a douchebag because he won't get off his Blackberry.  She traveled the world because she damn well felt like it and she's on of the most genuine people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  Her blog is the highlight of my day, and with a name like Humans Are Funny can you blame a girl? She wanted to attack life, not sit back and hope the right people meandered into her office at the right time.  She puts herself out there, breaking pretty much all the social standards and rules we try to abide by, and she does it with a gorgeous smile and no shame.  I feel fortunate to have someone as such a stellar example of someone taking life by the balls and forging her own path, not giving half a damn about what others might think she is "supposed" to be doing. 

The thing I hate the most about advertising is that it attracts all the bright, creative and ambitious young people, leaving us mainly with the slow and self-obsessed to become our artists.. Modern art is a disaster area. Never in the field of human history has so much been used by so many to say so little. - Banksy

Don't worry, Banksy, she plays for both teams. Advertising and art, that is... Hopefully she forgets she gave me permission to use her in this blog because I can't bring myself to delete that.  Maybe humans are, in fact, funny... Regardless, Laurenne was brought into my life for a specific reason, as she has never been far from my mind and I see her wearing an attitude rivaling the one I am tailor-making for myself at this point in time.  Laurenne reminded me of my list, and I am fortunate enough to say that I have inspired a few others, in my asking, to make theirs and start making plans. 

Every body dies, but not everybody lives.  I'm not going to allow death to be my greatest adventure, I want to welcome it with a smile and an eased sense of satisfaction.  Hopefully, as the title of this entry boasts, death will not keep me from my list of adventures I am about to share with you.  Please note, it has been simplified greatly because listing every place I want to visit would be ridiculous.  More will be added... 

Adventures That Won't Happen If I'm Sitting On My Ass

See the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) 

Go whitewater rafting   May 2012, Peru

Go scuba diving

Ride a dogsled 

Attend an Olympic event 

Learn to Salsa dance in South America  November 2011, Quito Ecuador 

Visit all 7 continents

Visit all 50 states 

Celebrate New Year's Eve in a foreign country  Montañita, Ecuador 2011-2012

Finish learning Japanese 

Sing karaoke solo  6/5/13 Gunpowder & Lead, Miranda Lambert (Thanks, Mom!)

Write a book 

Use a fire extinguisher 10/28/11 Thanks, Nik Cherwink! 

Finish learning guitar 

See the 7 Wonders of the World

-Machu Picchu, Peru   05/27/12

-Great Wall of China, China

-Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt 

-Taj Majal, India 

-Christ the Redeemer, Brazil 

-Stonehenge, England

-Colosseum, Italy

Play one song at an open mic night

Move overseas   Ecuador, 2011

Drive on the Autobahn 

Set a World Record  32,673 Luche Libre masks worn @ Angels Game 5/10/11

Attend a World Cup match

Attend Coachella  April 15-17, 2011

Attend Burning Man 

Go sailing

Paint a self-portrait 

Participate in a Japanese Tea Ceremony

Attend an opera 

Float down the Amazon River

Ride a unicycle 

Write with a quill 

Seal Island in South Africa

Ride an elephant in Thailand

Be in two places at once  Mitad del Mundo, Ecuador 2012

Milk a cow

Attend Carnaval in South America Carnaval de Barranquilla, Colombia February 2012

Ride in a helicopter  

Go on an African Safari 

Drink Guinness in Ireland  Study Abroad, May 2005

La Tomatina Festival in Buñol, Spain
Sakura (Cherry Blossom) Festival in Okinawa, Japan
Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany 
Mardi Gras in New Orleans, LA
Hot air balloon ride 
Brew homemade beer Amie Ann Amber Ale - Sept 2011
Visit a nude beach 
Climb Sydney Harbor Bridge in Sydney, Australia 
Visit every country in South America 
Fill up a passport before it expires 
Learn to surf  North Shore, Oahu - Dec 2012
Save someone's life
Live in Japan
Fire a flamethrower
Join the 100 Club (countries)
Volcano Boarding in Nicaragua 
Cage diving with sharks 
Dine in the Sky 
Swim in the Dead Sea in Isreal
Death Road in Bolivia (I assume cycle... We shall see...) 
Wing Walking 
Go snowmobiling 
...
BAM. Let's do this.
xx.a