Toying with the Idea of Moving Again (I Know)

I know, I know, it sucks. It smells of the ridiculous. It's costly. It's a pain in the ass. And each subsequent move gets more and more difficult for me to find a decent, happy job.

Oh yeah, and I'm not getting any younger.

I'm still dying, longing, hoping to return to New Zealand, but it seems to be becoming more and more of a distant dream. It just costs so much, and getting a job like Beau had the first time is not likely (or really, desirable). We continue to get the job notices a few times a week, but nothing that promising has popped up.

I was looking at my resume the other day, updating it for more job applications, when I noticed that since Thailand, it kind of looks like my "career" has slowly gone downhill. I went from being director of a school, pretty impressive (though truly less impressive than it sounds), to a grants manager of millions in international aid (still sounds cool, but still less impressive than it sounds), then followed by various low to mid-level administrative jobs, and finally to my current situation of administrative temp/retail chump. It was pretty depressing. And a bit of a slap in the face.

Beau and I are pretty much of the same mind -- we still really do want Missoula to be a success. We just want both of us to have decent, full-time work that is steady (and health insurance would be nice!). We keep plugging away at it. We have our bouts of depression and despair, then we pick ourselves up, grit our teeth, and at least pretend we're happy and upbeat and looking on the bright side. I know that sometimes even when you pretend, you kind of fake yourself into believing it. Sometimes. But the reality is that we're not much farther than when we first got here. We're simply treading water.

And as each month drags on, it gets harder to be optimistic. The school year is approaching, and Beau has resigned himself that no High School Biology teacher job is going to open up within a 100 mile radius after all, and he'll have to return to substitute teaching. Fun.

My current temp job at the university was extended for another month (for the second time), which is good, but again, bad, since it means continued temp work. I know that when it goes permanent in early September, I will most likely get the job, but although it would be nice to have a permanent full-time job, the reality is that this job is so much less than I should be doing. And the pay is pretty sad. I see so many positions at the university I long to do. They are mid-level and usually connected to advising and involve more interaction with students, more decision-making, more responsibility, etc. One of my bosses here keeps telling me I really need to be doing something where I am using my "skills and talents more fully." Trust me, I agree! I keep applying for other things, but my hopes are not what they once were. Usually, if I could at least get to the interview stage, I usually got the job. That no longer seems to be the case, since I've had three interviews at the university in the past couple months that have resulted in nada. Zip. Loser-zero! Oh yeah, and Shop-n-Smile is becoming more and more unbearable. My new boss is most likely bi-polar, and with people quitting left and right, I often find myself doing the work of two people in half the time. I hate it there.

So, although half of me is still chugging along, looking for work, sending out cover letters, half of me is just thinking, "GO where the work is!" It just gets to the point where you want to be some place where you can have a good, decent job, no matter where that is (something I would not have agreed to before, since where I live is so important to me).

It feels like somewhat lowering of standards, giving up one what you believe in, but then it also feels like just being goddamn pragmatic and wanting not just to survive, but to thrive. For the past several years, I've really wanted to live somewhere with great natural beauty - part of the big draw to New Zealand - but I also considered other places like Maine, Montana, and North Carolina when I was thinking about this. Now, that kind of thinking seems like a luxury.

This brings me to Missouri. The whys are a few, and some personal. There is family there that Beau has missed tremendously, apparently more than I ever realized, which has affected his happiness. I have never had those kinds of ties to family, and so it is hard for me to relate (and what makes my traipsing around the world easier than it is for others). Overall, I liked Missouri. 1) It was gorgeous in the Spring, with dozens of different species of birds flittering around, rivers all over the place, and nice green grass. 2) It was very cheap - we lived in a 2-bedroom house with a huge backyard for a little over $400/month. 3) Location-wise, it's right smack in the middle of the U.S., making visiting friends and relatives a lot more realistic than it is Montana (including the accessible Kansas City airport which has nice-n-cheap Midwest Airlines flights!).

What I did NOT like about Missouri was: 1) Living in a tiny town with a bunch of extreme right-wing, fucking stupid, often prejudiced people, who often declared that the fact that I "had all my teeth" was a sure-sign that I "was not from there." 1B) ...which also included living 30 miles from anything resembling a city (or a job that didn't involve me working a literal roadhouse). 2) The summer's were hot. Real hot. Like melt your eyebrows off your face, hot. But I guess extreme climates are what I am destined for. And 3) the "antics" of Beau's ex-wife who is as mean as a wounded wolverine and just about as cuddly.

Returning to Missouri would mean 1) Moving to at least a mid-sized city like Columbia or Springfield, and NOT moving back to some small town that offers no job prospects. This will also eliminate surprise visits from said ex-wife, though I'm sure she'll still be within road rage driving range. I'll install live traps around the perimeter of our house 2) Can't do much about the summer 'cept buy an air conditioner. 3) See #1.

We've both been to Columbia and Springfield, both towns that I liked very much (the former more than the latter). They have the #1 and #2 biggest universities in the state as well, and I've already been checking them out. Last week I applied for a job that really got my juices flowing in one of their international programs departments, which has me all excited, despite the fact that being out of state might make my chances a bit less likely.

But again, this is something to be realistic about. Though Missouri has a much bigger population and tons more "smaller towns" surrounding Columbia and Springfield to teach in, will Beau still be able to get one of those positions? The school year is going to start soon and there might not be anything left (we're looking). There's no use packing up and moving to Missouri if we're going to be stuck in the same boat we're in here (a damn leaky one). So, for now, it's just something that we're keeping our options open for. If we could both get jobs, then there would be no question of moving there, but this continuous fractured career thing is getting a bit tiresome. No use trading one bullshit state for another.

It's just something we're toying with....I'm just saying!

In Case You Were Wondering..

Just in case you didn't get enough Harry Potter (and its still swirling around in my head, constantly)... And in case you were wondering how the characters really ended up (I really wanted to know what their jobs would be, personally. The kids things is kinda ho hum). You can read a little bit of that in an interview with J.K. Rowling here where she fleshes it all out. I love how she envisioned sweet Luna to be.

Again, the article contains SPOILERS, so be warned.

Finished, Phew! -=SPOILERS=-

It took me four days (seemingly three days longer than the rest of the universe), but during every lunch hour, every 15 minute break, and the tiny bit of time while blowdrying my hair or 'hanging out' in the bathroom, I read...and read....and read.

As predicted, I'm full of overwhelming emotions, strong opinions, and a general sense of contentment. The book was wonderful (with a few things I'd like to scream about), and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Some more thoughts are below. But only go there if you're prepared for spoilers. You've been warned.

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On Harry Potter and the Death Hallows (A+)

Overall, I loved the book, and the last four days have been very happy, exciting, touching, and sometimes, anxiety-ridden ones for me. I'm sure I made good use of my high blood pressure medication. And as I said to a friend, work was only something I had to do in between opportunities to read the book.

I thought it was beautifully written, and I agree that J.K. Rowling has definitely matured and improved her writing style since the first book, though I still think every book is a pure classic (and came to love Book 6 much more after the second reading - the first time I found it disappointing - simply serving as a bridge to Book 7).

I'd like to give a big fat shout out to her also for her action scenes, particularly those of Harry's repeated just-barely-escapes from the various "bad guys," of which there were MANY. I found all of these to be well-written, exciting, and easy to conceptualize in bright, magnificent colors. They were downright fun to read and had me panting and gasping with every line. Bravo!

My biggest gob of praise though goes out to the author for her use, to use a term we all learned in high school, of making the majority of the main characters, so incredibly ROUND. No one, particularly Dumbledore, the almost saint-like figure from past books, has clean hands. This is, after all, a war, and everyone has a past which they all seek to hide while simultaneously enduring personal guilt and remorse like prison sentences. Nearly every loveable "good guy" in the book has a moment when s/he is completely unadmirable, unreliable, or just an outright asshole. Dumbledore, Lupin, Harry, Ron, James and Lilly Potter, Sirius, Xeno Lovegood, etc. all are "good" people who have their moments of darkness, for their own reasons (justify them if you will). It made the book, and the characters, so much more real to me, and signifies the "maturity" I mentioned earlier. These are all people, good people, but people nonetheless, who live moments of shame and weakness - who are not perfect. The good guys aren't dressed in white with unflappable moral fiber - they are humans who succumb to temptation, and also, have great triumphs.

Continuing on with that, others are redeemed, some more so. Snape is nearly canonized by the end, just when I was beginning to finally doubt my own innate belief in his hidden "goodness," and made all the more sympathetic for his agonizing unrequited love for the beautiful, willful, but truly kind, Lilly Evans. I admit having NO CLUE that the Patronus that appeared to Harry's was Snape's. (Whom I almost want to call Severus now in respect). Additionally, Draco and his parents find some redemption, showing that in the end, even for them, love is thicker than power. Shit, even fucking Kreacher turns out to be a hero, with his own heart-wrenching past and feelings of guilt and loss!

The book is a god damn bloodbath, but the reality is, it's war. And war is full of death and grief. Heroes and villains. And everyone has their own agenda. It is no different here. Kinda still wish she hadn't killed off Dobby. And can you imagine the rest of George's life?? You could write an entire book on that itself. That's going to be one fucked-up ex-twin.

And wasn't Neville just fucking awesome?

Now to the criticism. My biggest complaint: I hated the epilogue. I think Rowling could have simply ended the book as it was, with Harry going off to bed. We could have easily imagined how things would have ended up in the future -- we all pretty much knew, didn't we? Reading the "Nineteen Years Later," it was almost as if it was written by another person. The entire book was dark, exciting, and VERY adult - no longer a children's book in my opinion, in the American/English sense anyway. There's even a Mrs. Weasley screaming out the word "BITCH!" in all caps! And then you read this epilogue which is all sunny and perfect and so very bland. Yuck. I think it was an unnecessary and unpalatable way to end the book, like a long-running TV series that tries to happily tie up all loose ends (like Friends and Charmed did when they ended).

As for the what many other readers had problems with - the role of women in the book - particularly the dismissal of Ginny at the end, I agree. I could go on about it, but others have done it much better (see Fuschia here to read hers - excellent). I thought it silly that by being 16 instead of 17, Ginny was unable to decide for herself whether she could fight, and instead, is relegated to the sidelines for protection (and as I commented off of Fuschia's "womb" remark, to protect Harry's future progeny).

And lastly, my beloved Lupin and Tonks. *sigh* How I looked forward to this book, in a big part because I KNEW that Lupin would be featured prominently. I just assumed that since I know he's sort of the underground favorite of die-hard fans and figured Rowling would not ignore that in the end. So Lupin and Tonks get married, okay, nice, I didn't need for the book to explore that, though it was perfunctory. And then he knocks her up and freaks out because he might have a wolf baby. Ugly, but understandable. But what was so utterly disappointing (besides Tonks limited appearances), is that unlike what Rowling does so beautifully in the rest of the book - fleshing out the characters into real human beings with all their complexities - is mysteriously neglected here. You somehow leave the book feeling that Lupin and Tonks were not granted that privilege. It's not like the movies where you have to worry about it being "too long" and editing out bits that would explain such things. This is one of her shorter books, and I've never heard a single soul complain about the length of a single volume, despite their undeniable girth.

I think she could have added another 25 pages in order to do these two adored characters justice. There's a deep feeling of dissatisfaction there for me, though I'm having trouble articulating it well. Tonks, who as I've said, always was more deeply devoted to Lupin than he to her, joins him, despite an infant at home, for the final battle. The next thing you are notified about are their dead bodies on the ground. Waaah? Even Professor McGonagall (who kicks ass in this book) has more "screen time" as a defiant teacher and a valiant fighter (including the fantastic image of her running down the hallway leading a dashing charge of school desks in attack). In the end, all you can say is, "oh well."

Yet, despite the bitchings of above, I adored this book and relished every page. It was a delight to read and worth the wait. How wonderful it will be to see this book come to life on the screen, hopefully in much the same way as OotP which I thought was very well-done. Only about a three years wait, eh?

The Misadventures of J. and Beau: Wedding Ring Retrieval

Yes, we went back to the river in hopes of retrieving the ring.

We were leaving our apartment when our really nice neighbor Neal offered to let us borrow his own fishing net. "Wow, great!" I said imagining something in the way of the elusive butterfly net I had been unable to acquire. When he emerged, I tried desperately to keep a straight face, as he handed over one of those tiny little nets you use to capture your goldfish in a 10 gallon fish tank. "Erm," said Beau. Yeah, I'm sure that'll be JUST GREAT against the current of a major river. Thanks bunches! Nevertheless, we accepted it gratefully and continued on. Beau went out to our storage unit to retrieve our two massive inner tubes, only to find that one of them (his) exploded impressively, leaving behind a waste of rubber. We went back to the sports store we bought the tubes at -- I went to a different part of the store to check out their nets, while Beau went to buy a new inner tube.

When I returned, sans new net, Beau pointed to a small inner tube leaning up against the counter. "That's yours," he said. My brow furrowed. "It looks kinda small," I said. "You said you wanted a smaller one, he said, "that the last one was too big."

This was true. My original tube was so large, that it was hard to just relax in it since the hole was bigger than the crux of my shoulders and knees. Shrugging, but still unsure, I picked up the tube and started walking toward the car. "Remember the woman who looked like she was drowning her inner tube? That's going to be me," I said. The previous week we had seen a woman who had been precariously teetering atop a tube that was just barely peeking above the water. She was not a small woman, but it was not a large tube either. The effect had been rather comical.

We reached the water and headed out. It was early morning since I had to work at Shop-n-Smile later in the day, so it was still cool, not fun tubing weather. Beau hooped and hollered as the water inched up his body. I was too scared to sit on my tube. I put it over my head and down my body, and found, that it stuck right there on my hips, like a giant fucking rubber tutu. I glared at Beau. Finally, resigning myself, pulled it off, placed it back in the water, and gingerly eased backwards into the hole like you're supposed to, and, nearly toppling over, found my ass stuck inside the center of tube, the rest of my body firmly wedged in. I looked like the high school geek who had been stuffed in a trash can by the resident bully. "Great," I said.

Really just wanting to get to the ring-dropped point, we floated along, our faces just an inch from the water as we watched hundreds of rainbow trout swimming by. Like kids, we kept shouting out to each other things like, "Holy cow, look at that one! It's a monster!" We were so intent on the fish that we missed a doe with twin fawns up on the bank, and only noticed her long after we'd passed by. So, it became a joke for the rest of the float - Beau would say, "Oooh look at that fish!" and then I would snap my head up and scan the shore for deer.

Continuing along, I pointed and said, "Wow, look at that bird on the edge of that log. It is so beautiful, what a brilliant color blue! What is that?" I asked Beau. I always expect him to know every item of flora and fauna in existence.

Squinting he said, "Oh, I dunno, maybe a Stellar Jay. Not sure though." Beau continued to muse on what bird it could be. I continued to fawn over the brilliance of its color.

As we finally approached and began to pass it, we both grew silent as we realized just what kind of bird it was.

"Ummm."

"Uhh, that looks like a beer can."

"It is."

"Uh huh, the great 'Stellar Jay.' Don't you mean the great 'Pabst Jay,' or perhaps the great 'Michelob Jay?'

"Shut up."

We reached the general area the ring had been lost in, and met our next difficulty. We both thought once we reached it, we'd easily orient on where it had been dropped, but seeing as how the river was lined with trees and rocks, finding that ONE tree and ONE rock suddenly seemed difficult and confusing. One of us thought it was one, one thought it was the other. We put on our goggles and mask and each began to look, but it became clear very quickly that it was a lost cause. Despite record temperatures, the water still seemed deep and now there seemed to have been an increase in silt, which made the water more murky and covered many of the rocks. After 20 minutes I called off the search. I didn't feel nearly as bad as I had the weekend before, probably because I knew now it really was pointless. Oh well.

We continued on with the second half of the float, me still bitching about my diminutive tube. "You said you wanted a smaller one!" Beau protested. "I know," I yelled back, "But I didn't mean for you to buy me a lifesaver!" Beau then offered to trade tubes, which we did, and as he boarded the tiny tube, I watched in a mix of horror and glee as he flipped, ass over teakettle, into the water. I must have laughed for a full ten minutes after that, each time I pictured his green butt flying into the air. Oddly, he did not find it so amusing.

Continuing on, a man living next to the river dove in with his dog. He said hello and we asked him what time it was. "Oh, about 2pm. Well, after that," he amended. I gaped. As we floated silently onward I whispered, "There's no way it's after 2pm, no way." This was alarming to the both of us since I started work at 4pm and there was still the logistics of finishing the float, driving one car back to the other car in the other town (Lolo) and then driving back to Missoula, showering, and going to work. "He must be wrong, why would he fuck with us like that?" I continued. But Beau was distracted. "Your shoulders look really red," he said, "Real red." This was also alarming, since I tend to be the kind of person for whom the burn magically appears hours after getting out of the sun. If it was already showing itself this brightly, it meant I was in for one helluva burn. Wonderful.

A few minutes later when some fishermen in a boat were rowing by us, we asked them the time. "2:17," one said.

FUCK!

ONCE AGAIN, as in the past two floats, we stood up, grabbed our tubes, and began our usual frantic, splashy march down the river. "I can't believe we're going through this again! I can't believe it's after 2pm! How can that be? It was morning when we left?" Obviously, we had entered some sort of time warp and lost hours of time. There is no other explanation.

We finally made it out, and made the boomerang trip back to Missoula, where I quickly jumped in the shower so I wouldn't have to go to Shop-n-Smile looking and smelling like Swamp Thing (they frown on that). Getting out of the shower, my shoulders and back displayed what could only be described as an abstract art sunburn. Since I actually HAD put on sunscreen, but had not been able to reach my back/shoulders, there were different slashes, chunks, and curvatures around which my skin was burnt to an impressively glowing red. And it just radiated heat. Lovely!

So, I did my shift at Shop-n-Smile, the whole while feeling hot, nauseated, and dizzy. I drank about five glasses of water, each time my mouth becoming cotton dry a short time later, and finally just bought and downed a bottle of orange juice, thinking it was vitamins and electrolytes I needed. It certainly helped.

And I'm certainly a big fat dork.

Found on Myspace!

So, I used to teach elementary school in Bangkok, my favorite and longest-running being my 6th graders (whom I began teaching in 4th grade and followed them up). I absolutely adored them, and several still email me, though I left Thailand nearly four years ago (shit!) now.

Today, I got a "Friend Request" on myspace from one of these students - who is now a 15 year old girl. Uh oh.

My myspace page isn't so bad. It's not raunchy, there's no pics of me in a bikini, and I'm not a friend whore. I don't even blog on it, since obviously I do that here, and I do not advertise there about here. But I still never imagined my page being seen by anyone else but other adult friends. Okay, I'm fucking naive, I know.

She's a wonderful student - super bright, a very talented writer, eccentric and interesting, kinda like a cross between Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger (since we have Harry Potter on the brain). Although I am happy to email with my former students, I've always limited contact to keep things (somewhat) professional. I don't join all the groups and lists they send me, I never give them my cellphone number (though they repeatedly beg for it), etc. But for some reason, I feel like rejecting this student on myspace would be unnecessarily cruel. Yet, I'm not sure it's a good idea either. I do post bulletins (usually just the endless 'get to know me!' lists), but otherwise my time there is pretty benign.

Now I'm just going back and forth, but I guess I'm wondering what you think. This is the one student who has kept up writing me the most, who sent me a gorgeous, giant photo montage of all my former students with their notes of congrats after I got married, and one who continues to email me updating me on other students and seeking my advice on her life. And we talk about books, a favorite subject of mine. I'd feel terrible to reject her in this way, but... I dunno.

Thoughts?

The End of an Era

Yes, I am a Harry Potter fan. A gigantic, enthusiastic, at times, obsessive fan. I step away from it for awhile, but when I come back, I am completely saturated with it, happily. I love each book, though am more attached to some than others (3 and 5). I am waiting for my book 7 with as much anticipation as most big events in my life, and also with apprehension, knowing I will finish the book, probably within days if I don't work too much, and then will feel a great sadness that it's all over. I'm also terrified that some asshole is going to post some unavoidable spoiler and fuck things up for me, like one of my students did for Order of the Phoenix when she said, "You know Sirius dies, Teacher J.!" *mutter*

It's funny, I sometimes get a little freaked at my attachment to these books, and yet, though I am WAY more attached than most people I know (it kind of alarms Beau a bit), my perusing of the internet, and of some other more heavily-involved friends' blogs has reminded me that I am NOWHERE near the disciple of some. I don't know every finite detail of each book, and though I have a strong attachment to certain characters (Lupin, Tonks, etc.), I just don't have these others' loyalty. It almost makes me feel like I'm not a true fan, and maybe also, a little relieved that I'm not.

I have delved into hundreds and hundreds of various types of "fan fiction," including -ooh- slash, which I think is the area where the real die-hards lie. There are message boards, conventions, thousands of websites (Mugglenet is king), and tonight, there will be parties. Reading the newspaper this morning, there are about six or seven events just in Missoula alone, which is saying something.

So, I really do want to talk about it, and the characters, with that pure enthusiasm that only true geeks posses, but I'm not sure I want to dive into that world. It's such a commitment! I saw Mugglenet advertising for writers, and although I think it would be fantastically fun and a good way to keep my writing up, it also freaks me out since a) you have to devote a LOT of time to it, and b) it's one of those areas where if you fuck up ONE detail, 10,000 HP fans will jump all over your ass, feigning great offense. But I'd like to do it because after reading quite a bit of fan fiction, I found myself indignant at many of the "good" stories. I didn't think they were all that great, though some had interesting plots, indeed. This is not just because I am a writing style and grammatical snob, but also because, as in a story yesterday featuring Snape as the main character, I kept thinking, "Snape would never say that! Snape would never do that! He doesn't even TALK this much!" Now, I know, who am I to be the judge of that? I'm just one fan out of 20 gazillion, but I feel like I have an idea what is "probable" and "believable" in a character's actions and speech. It made me want to write my own stuff more.

Anyway, it's celebration time! Wooo hooo! I'm so excited!!! I kinda wish I hadn't pre-ordered and that I'd just gone to our local Barnes & Noble and gotten a copy right away. Oh well, I have to do that real life thing anyway. Can't wait to see how the book ends and how our wonderful cast of characters choose to ride off into the sunset. Hooray for Harry Potter!
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Friday night, both Beau and I got off from our respective retail suck jobs at 10pm and I asked if we could just go over to the local Barnes & Noble to check out the festivities. This is one of those times when your "beau" does something for you purely because they know it gives you joy, despite the fact that it holds nearly no interest for him/her beyond a mild academic curiosity.

There were several people lingering outside, but the store was open and we went in. It was pretty full, though not as packed as I had imagined. People were simply milling around, many young children or teenagers in black robes or striped socks and scarves. Everything was just so...mild. I was pretty disappointed. I thought there would be much fanfare, games, contests, I dunno, confetti, someone on a microphone MC'ing the "event." To be fair, there were SOME things going on. One corner of B&N hosted some puzzles kids could play, they were handing out large, plastic Harry spectacles, and you could get a small ticket for a drawing that a monotone voice would ooze over the loudspeaker about every 15 minutes, droning out the matching numbers. I just thought there'd be...more.

After about a half hour of wandering aimlessly, Beau and I ended up in one of our favorite sections: cookbooks, where he was perusing the beer and winemaking volumes. The maps were behind us, and he took out a large map of New Zealand, unfolded it, and we just peered at our old home on the north island. "There it is," I said, my fingers tracing along the old routes we used to drive regularly to the next two towns. We both kind of sighed nostalgically as he folded the map back up and returned it to the shelf.

At that point, I thought we should just go. Since my book was pre-ordered and there wasn't much going on, there didn't seem to be any reason to hang out any longer. I'd just have to wait until Saturday or Monday. Sadly, it never arrived Saturday, and I resigned myself to expecting it Monday. Again, avoiding the internet and newspapers' Harry Potter headlines.

Sunday morning after watering the garden, I stopped to pick up our mail which I hadn't done Saturday. It's all bills and crap anyway, so mail doesn't hold the same magic it once did for me. As I opened the box, a key was there. "Oh shit!" I said. Keys are used to open up larger boxes where stuff that doesn't fit in your regular mailbox goes. I opened it up, and sure enough, there was my fucking Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows book! "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!" I hadn't checked the day before, because UPS always delivers to our door, only the post office has access to our mailboxes. I have no idea how the UPS guy managed to do this - I had been tracking the package online and had gotten the ambiguous and disappointing "In Missoula" answer with no hint that it was on its way. The only thing I can think of is that the UPS guy arrived at the same time as the post office guy and asked him to just stick it in my box.

DRAT! A whole day of Harry Potter wasted!

So now I am floating gently, happily, hypnotically in my Harry Potter world. I am reading as if each word is oxygen, giving me life. Every chance I get to sneak in a page or two, I do. I even resorted to sneaking into the photocopy room, copying a few pages, and then reading them at my desk, as if I'm reading some important document. I'd feel guilty about this if it weren't for the fact that BOTH my bosses left for the entire week and BOTH left me with NOTHING to do (despite the fact that I asked them to before they took off). I even take my bookbag with me to the restroom and read a few more pages there. Yeah, I know, TMI.

In a couple more days it will be over, and I will be filled with a lot of emotions, but hopefully most of all, contentment. It'd be nice if another book, another series will come along someday to fill me with such excitement again. Until then, I think we'll all be left with a little hollow space where our love and excitement for Harry Potter resides.

Happy Birthday, Beau!

Happy Birthday, my beautiful Beau! Today is a very special day for me, because it signifies when you were brought into this world, and how it has been a better place ever since. It truly is a celebration - a day to celebrate that you live and breathe and walk upon this earth. I am so thankful you are here, and I hope the upcoming year brings you the fulfillment and security that has eluded you of late.

And you really are the biggest goober, EVER. Like, to infinity!

Love you!

More Avatar Fun - Paloozahead!

So, through friends at myspace, I found this fun way to make an avatar of yourself....Hooray!

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com

And now for Beau....shake what your momma gave you!


Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com

Click "Play" for some Crazy J!

The Misadventures of J. and Beau: How J. Totally Sucks

I am a terrible person. Or maybe just a stupid one. Or both.

Or, at least I was last weekend. But the guilt lingers...

We were thrilled to discover we had the same days off this weekend, and decided to go tubing again, this time much earlier to give us the chance to really relax this time.

Ha!

All started out fine. We were floating down the river for about an hour. The sun was hot, but the water was nice and cool. More beautiful birds were spotted, this time including the impressive-looking osprey, as well as more screeching giant blue herons and a bevy of other feathered folk. We only saw one other group of people the whole time we were floating. Nice.

At one point the river slowed a bit and I was sitting right atop the tube enjoying myself. My wedding ring, which is a very thick Scottish wedding band of knotted silver with a thistle on opposite "sides" was itching and irritating me a bit. That happens once in awhile, I guess because it's such a big ring, and normally I just pull it off, rub my finger a few times, and push it back on.

You can probably already guess where this is going. Not really giving it much thought, I pulled the ring off, rubbed my finger a few times, and started to slide it back on again. Just as the ring touched my finger, *whooosh* it dropped like a lightning bolt straight into the water.

I wish I could convey to you the complex terror of that moment. It's amazing the 10,000 things that can fire through your brain in less than one full second. Shock that it's actually happened. Horror that your wedding ring is now at the bottom of a river, a not-so-likely place to ever be retrieved from. Despair as your tube is already floating away from the dropped location. Anger that you were so stupid. Guilt that you were so reckless. Fear that that's just it, it's gone. And an indescribable emotion, a kind of GO GO GO NOW adrenaline of action that kicks in. I immediately (though it felt like minutes had gone by), dropped through the middle of my tube into the water, only to immediately discover that at that point in the river, the water was all the way up to my forehead - just my incredible bad luck since the majority of the river ranges from about 3 inches to 4 1/2 feet in depth. (I am 5'8).

After screaming at Beau, who was behind me aways on his own tube, and immediately knew something was very wrong, I began a desperate attempt to make my way back to where I thought I had dropped it. This was incredibly difficult since a) the water was so high at this point and b) the current was fairly strong. I was literally on my tippy-toes, digging them into the stony bottom, trying to work my way back up the river. And of course, I was bawling my fucking head off since I knew it was most likely already a lost cause.

Beau caught up, and we began the search. One small piece of luck is that the river is incredibly clear, but the depth darkened the water somewhat, and with the current constantly push push pushing you on, it was this horrible game we were playing. I stood there, anxiously trying to stay in one place, holding a tube in each hand while Beau scanned the bottom as best he could. This went on for about 10 minutes, until he suddenly shouted, "I see it!" I felt like my heart burst out of my chest and flew skyward. I couldn't believe the GOOD luck! He dived, but came up pretty quickly. With the current pushing you by, as soon as you see it, you're past it. But now, there was hope!

We tried to mark the location as best we could and regroup. I also began to try and search the bottom, though knowing the ring was resting on a place too deep for me to stand made things especially rough. We kept it up though, and Beau thought he spotted it again, dived again, but came up empty-handed. It was maddening. I then devised a method, where I would walk upstream to where I could actually get solid footing, mount my tube, and then float toward the believed-resting place of the ring, my face practically in the water as I went by, eyes darting back and forth wildly. Beau would call out, "You should be passing it about now" and my heart would just clench as I scanned for flashing silver. The first couple times, nothing, but around the third time, I actually spotted it too! I could hardly believe it - but there it was, the large, super-bright silver circle shining in the water like the god-damn Lord of the Rings ring. I dived, but couldn't see a thing, and was immediately pushed past it. I desperately grabbed with both hands, and surfacing, opened my fingers with some anticipation, only to see rocks and dirt spill out between them.

Roller coaster highs and lows, over and over again. Hope, then despair. It was awful. Beau continued to scan and I continued my float-by technique. We would both each spot it again, but with no luck. It was more totally exasperating to know it was there, so close, and not be able to snatch it, than it would be to just simply never seen it at all and thought it gone forever.

After a time, the light began to fade, and Beau urged me to give up the search. I kept asking for "one more pass" and made a few more "final" ones. No luck. Finally, I had to face the fact that we had to go, and we mounted our tubes and began to float again. I felt so low, and guilty. What a fucking stupid thing to do! It was just one of those things you do out of habit, with hardly a thought, but of course, you don't do that while on a RIVER! I felt like an idiot and a bad wife. And just like the previous time, the darkness began to catch up with us, and we considered exiting the river again for another railroad tracks walk, but we stuck it out, and if I hadn't been so completely miserable over my ring, would have found the rest of the float quite enjoyable. We saw more herons, and at one point, a young buck was in the water just across the river from us. He stared at us as we silently floated by, staring back at him. And despite all, I had to giggle when Beau said, "He's got a nice little rack on him." It was a lovely (and naughty) moment, but unfortunately marred.

And after what seemed like forever (I just wanted OUT of the river), we made it to the bridge and crawled our way up some rocks and to our car. This entire time Beau was nothing but kind and understanding. Not once had he gotten angry with me, and kept saying, "It was just an accident." I have to hand it to him - I think I would have been emotional if he'd dropped his wedding ring into the river. Accidents are accidents, yes, but that doesn't mean they can't be upsetting. Or stupid.

The next morning I got up and went to Target, where I purchased a simple, sterling silver wedding band. It's a nice, temporary ring, though when I could (should) get a new one is beyond me at this moment. And of course, it's not MY ring, my special ring. I really would like to go back to the river to try again, this time equipped with a face mask and, I dunno, a net or something, especially since we had the drop site well-marked. Also, the repeated 100+ degree temperatures we've had will have lowered the water level somewhat by next weekend, but I know it's probably even more unlikely we could spot it this time than last time. Still, I have hope.

Make Your Own Simpsons Avatar!

To plug the movie, this website: www.simpsonsmovie.com/main.html lets you make yourself up in the image of a Simpson's character. Here's me:

I know, I'm hot.And I added Beau, too.

Photos of the Day: Sexism, Goats in Trunks, and Ducks a la Moto

A few photos to gasp, laugh, or if you're so inclined, get all fired up at...

From the fantastic blog that is The Sneeze:

From various people on Flickr:

The goat seems fairly calm about the whole thing...


and strangely, so do these ducks...

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - A-

--= SPOILER ALERT =--

I just realized that some of the info below might be considered a spoiler if you've never read/seen Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix or Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I guess I just assumed since there's such a small group of people who read this, and they all seem to have read/are greatly anticipating the movie/book to come out, that it'd be common knowledge. BUT, just in CASE it's not, below are things you might not know yet, nothing earth-shattering, but still, so alert alert...
-----------------------

I haven't done a book or movie review in awhile, and I'm not sure it's something most people will care about, but I like to look back on them for myself, to see what I was reading/watching at the time and how I interpreted it.

I was REALLY looking forward to seeing Order of the Phoenix. I'm a complete nutjob over the books, and always will be. Watching my 4th graders in Thailand, of which, nearly NONE of them had ever read a book for enjoyment in their life, gobble up Harry Potter with the enthusiasm only a child can freely express, will remain one of the greatest joys in my professional life forever. But also, I just love the books for myself, and can almost match that 10 year-old enthusiasm.

I was pretty exhausted when I went to see this movie on a Friday night at 11:30pm after about 13 hours of working, but I didn't want to wait another day. And to put it simply - I LOVED IT! I did! And I would love to see it again very soon, something that is pretty rare for me. It was appropriately dark, the plot was good, well-acted (good job to Daniel Radcliffe for showing Harry's growing angst), and just plain entertaining. Of course, no movie, without being a marathon mini-series, could include all necessary elements of a 900 page book, but this movie made sure to include all the key ingredients. I find myself only wishing for small details or expansion of present ones to be added, such as:
- (missing) Lilly defending Snape during the memory where James is a real dick to him.
- Expansion on the coolness and colorful-brightness that is Tonks.
- More Remus Lupin (just 'cause he's my favorite and I love him).
- (missing) The sexual tension between Ron and Hermione (where WAS it in this film??).
- (missing) Lucius Malfoy's spotting of Sirius Black (in dog-form) at the train station.
- (missing) That the prophecy could (have) be(en) about Neville as well.

Things that I loved:
- Tonks
- Luna Lovegood and her spacey, lovely self (could have used more of her social-awkwardness as described in the book)
- The fight scenes, particularly the great battle(s) at the end, but also including opening Dementors scene (I never get enough of the invocation of a Patronus!)
- The Aurors (love them all)
- The Occlumency lessons between Snape and Harry
- Gary Oldman as Sirius Black, because like Alan Rickman, he kicks ass in EVERY role he does and brings a certain gravitas to a film already filled with hyper-talented British actors.

And I know I'm supposed to love Ginny because she's cool, smart, secretly-talented, and obviously Harry's love interest, probably forevermore...but I just can't get into her. I guess it's because she was so annoying in Book 6, particularly at the end with that sage-like acceptance of Harry needing to be apart from her (didn't seem to fit her personality at all). Maybe that will change in Book 7. Which I will be reading in 5 days!

Shit, I better hurry up and finish (re)reading Book 6, (Half-Blood Prince). But that's made a slight bit more awkward since when Beau and I were playing around, he ACCIDENTALLY knocked the book into the toilet where it immediately blew up like a water-logged tampon. You think carrying around that big book was a pain before, sheeesh, now it's a literal (damp) tome.

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 3: Swing, Fall!

The next day we spent a little bit of time at the lake, which was blessedly free of the obnoxious crowd. The water was nice and cool and it was a beautiful day. After having a nice pancake and egg breakfast (with a somewhat less-impressive campfire), and washing off a bit in the scenic water pump, we packed up our dust-covered Honda and were off again. This time we headed to Libby, the nearest town. I was curious about Libby, since Beau had mentioned it a few times. But driving into it was a bit of a disappointment -- the town is just depressed - run-down, dusty businesses with the paint chipping - you can't quite tell if they're open for business or closed for good. It did proudly proclaim itself the "City of Eagles," fortified by the prominent featuring of various GINORMOUS raptors lunging and diving from overhead signs and posts. I couldn't figure out if I thought it was cool or totally hideous.

Water pump at Howard Lake

Howard Lake on Sunday Morning.

From there we headed to the duel tourist attraction of the Kootenai Falls and the Swinging Bridge, located on the side of the road - blink and you'll miss the sharp turnoff - just outside Libby. Since I have no cute or unlucky story this time around, but the photos are pretty cool, I'll let the photos do the talking. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to tweak them in Photoshop, but they're still pretty pretty.

Kootenai River

Somewhat Scary but fun Swinging bridge. It doesn't exactly feel stable when you're walking across it, but I guess that's part of the point.

Me pretending I was in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. But cool like Indy, not stupid like Willie.

Beau

Well, there was one other thing...on the way back, and entering Kalispell, I couldn't believe my eyes when I spotted a Sizzler to my right! I thought they had gone extinct years back! The only time I'd seen one in the past several years was in Singapore, of all places. I had eaten there, and it was pretty blech. This did not in any way dampen my enthusiasm at seeing this endangered species in Montana.

"Sizzler, OMG Sizzler! Let's eat there, quick, turn right!" I was pretty excited, I admit. As a kid, Sizzler with its 2349 different bars - the salad bar, the soup bar, the kid's bar, the appetizer bar, the pasta bar, etc. - was always my favorite place to go to (well, except for also Monti's La Casa Vieja in Tempe, AZ which is AWESOME if you like steak and cowboys and Roman bread. But I haven't been there in years). We walked in, and just like in the old days, it was packed with senior citizens. Nothing like a buffet with early bird specials to rustle in grandma and grandpa.

So, they still had a salad bar, a couple vats of soup, and a little bit of pasta, but overall, it was not even close to the giant of a buffet it had once been. The soup was pretty yuck (tasted like Campbell's that had been cooking for a LONG time), the pasta was pretty bland, and though I did enjoy making my own taco, the shell was stale. Oh well, at least all the food in the salad bar seemed fresh! *sigh* Poor Sizzler, won't you come back to me?

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 2: Howard Lake

The next day - Saturday - not as early as we planned (it never is), but early enough, we set out on the road north. The car was packed tight with our camping gear (including that BLUE blanket, *wink*), and the cooler was stocked with bottled water and ice. Through a trip to Good Foods (a mutated clone of the evil Whole Foods), we had amassed about 12lbs of bulk food from which I made my own version of trail mix: yummy honey granola, GOOD nuts, dried cranberries, banana chips, and m&m's. No frickin raisins or sugared pineapple or walnuts in this baby! Of course, the four or five bags of trail mix cost about $3000.

We were off to Howard's Lake in northern Montana, near Libby. From Missoula, it is a few hours to Kalispell, which is of similar size, though somewhat different character. We both like Kalispell a lot, though most of my experience of it has been driving through it. We've even contemplated moving here, but what *I* would do for a living is beyond me. In between Missoula and Kalispell is Polson, which I suppose at this point, is basically a tourist town, mostly because it embraces the mind-boggling massive Flathead Lake. Now, I was practically born on Lake Michigan, so I have some familiarity with what a "great lake" is, and Flathead Lake certainly qualifies. Now with Lake Michigan possessing 22,400 square miles and Flathead Lake just 191.5 square miles, you'd think there's no comparison. But when you're driving around Flathead, it doesn't seem that way.

To me, the majority of any body of water's beauty has to do with the effect of the sun. I was convinced further of this when living across the ocean in New Zealand, since I had my morning ritual of staring out the kitchen window and observing with an almost scientific interest its ever-changing appearance. It could be twinkling blindingly in a baby blue; lapping happily in a warm turquoise; or terrifyingly rough in dirty grey. They were all beautiful to me, but my favorite was the rich, peacock-blue color that I just couldn't get enough of. I don't know if it stimulates something in my brain, raises my levels of serotonin, or is just plain pleasant, but when gazing at water that color, I feel hypnotized. I just feel so good.

And very fortunate to me, as we angled around the lake, which stretches from Polson all the way up to Kalispell, the bright sun turned that water just that color blue I adore. Gorgeous.

Somewhat marring this beauty was the sprawling development which seeped into every inch of space along the lip of the lake. As soon as you reach Polson, it begins in earnest. The town jealously hugs the lake with vacation homes, hotels, restaurants and boat ramps. But what tears at Beau's heart, is that it just doesn't end. As the highway parallels the lake on its way north, you see, almost non-stop, building after building in mid-construction. Enormous hotels and bloated family homes. Considering what wages are in this state, it completely boggles my mind how ANYONE is affording to live in these mammoth structures - and there are HEAPS of them! Many Montanans will quickly tell you it's the "fucking Californians" who swoop in, buy up the "cheap" land and build their dream homes upon them (fucking over everyone else whose property tax then skyrockets). I don't know. SOMEONE here has cash. "I used to really love this lake, but it's been overtaken," said Beau.

With the sun beating down relentlessly (I would end up with a sunburnt right arm and thigh from just sitting in the passenger seat for hours), we made it to Kalispell where Beau wanted to stop in a Chinese buffet for lunch. I was skeptical, since I've never been to a good Chinese buffet, but it's just the word "buffet" that draws you in again and again, despite your better judgment. And as I've mentioned to Spongie, I think Thai food has kind of ruined me for Chinese food. The flavors in Thai food are so intense, that when you eat Chinese food afterwards, it's like drinking watered-down Kool-aid. But, it did what food's supposed to do, it filled us up, and we were off again, after a brief stop to pick up some more supplies (we could shop for this stuff FOREVER).

Then we were driving up north, crawling closer and closer to the Canadian border. *waves at Lazuli* Beau began to relax and a look of contentment crossed his face. "I love this country," he said, "I love it out here." For him, it's the towering pine trees you have to crane your neck out of the window to see the tops off, the endless grass, and the backdrop of mountains that never end. And the smell. He often talks about the pine smell out here that he misses so much. To be totally honest, I didn't smell it, though I didn't say so, and at that moment I felt like somehow I wasn't one of the chosen ones.

We finally turned off the highway onto the bumpy, gravely road to Howard Lake. The whole way we didn't see a soul, and every once in awhile we'd make a stop, like at the archaeological site of an old town that was built in 1898 and burnt up by 1910. Besides an interesting sign providing background, the site itself didn't seem to consist of anything at all. It was just another patch of forest. I did see some unidentified berries and picked them. They were like tiny red beads with teeeny dots on them; I believe they were buffalo berries. I had brought two different bird-tree-flower guides with me for just this purpose and was going to take them back to the car to see if they were edible. As a joke, I waited until I was in Beau's line of vision and then purposefully brought the berries up to my mouth. Just as I reached my lips I heard, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, GOOFBALL!?" while simultaneously having the berries forcefully smacked out of my hand, where they sailed in a gleeful arc through the forest, landing silently some distance away. Besides the shock of the smack, and humor at being called goofball at the moment of my potential poisoning, I was also touched. I told you I find everything touching.

After what seemed like a very long time, we reached the entrance sign to the lake. Hooray! Finally! It was after 5pm, so it had been a long day. Our Honda meandered and rocked closer and closer, it was pretty exciting. We were going to camp alone near a giant, secluded lake. We'd cook over a fire, maybe we'd fish, play in the water, who knows? Beau told me the story again about how he had been out on the lake on a boat, not a soul around, and there, right in the water, was a moose! Both a scary and fantastic moment. They're certainly impressive, but not always gentle giants. I thought how great it'd be if *I* could see a moose too!

Just at that moment we rounded the bend and were slapped in the face by the earth-shaking rumble of a generator. An enormous camper trailer was set up at the entrance. A woman (possibly a park ranger) , poked her head out and said, "Are there envelopes in there?" (We would need the envelope to pay for the daily charge for the lake). Beau checked and nodded numbly - he was in shock. The peace of the isolated forest had been dramatically shattered. As we very slowly continued to drive on, we were hit with a continuous onslaught of noise pollution, consisting of barking dogs of all sizes, children running wild, and drunken parents shouting back and forth at each other, and their kids. The place was OVERRUN by campers, camp sights, enormous RV's, etc. By the time we reached the water, Beau's disappointment was so thick, I felt like it had oozed into the pores of my skin. I was heartbroken for him, and a bit bummed out in regards to our plans.

After circling the campsite three times looking for an open camping space, we finally settled at the only one left - one site away from the infamous generator. After getting out, and gazing downhill at the various people and animals milling around, I asked, "When was the last time you were here?"

"Well, it was when S. was 15," Beau mumbled.

"Wait a minute, what?" *J. calculates in her head* "That was 15 years ago!"

"Yeah, I guess it was."

"Oh, Beau."

As you can imagine, there has been some development in the past 15 years, and though Montana may not have grown at the breakneck speed that I've witnessed in Arizona, no giant, gorgeous lake is going to stay Beau's little secret for that amount of time. So, in this day in time, it was time to share the beauty.

So, I pitched the tent (along with air bed and blue blanket), and after Beau created a *cough* diminutive fire, we had a wonderful dinner of steak, brats, beans, and corn-on-the-cob, along with some nice Australian wine.

And despite the crowd (most people had cleared out by the next morning), it is still a rather breathtaking lake, and I am happy we got a chance to see it. It may no longer be secluded, but at least it's now OUR special place.

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 1: Tubin'

This past weekend was our big "First Anniversary Celebration." We've both been pretty excited about it -- for like, forever. It was the first time since March we've both been off from all of our jobs for an entire weekend. It felt like a real goddamn vacation.

We had planned for awhile to go to what I like to call one of "Beau's Special Places." Besides growing up in Montana, Beau has been returning here for the past 25 years, and has camped, fished and boated in all sorts of various lakes, rivers, and streams. I was excited too. Though I am a city girl, I do love isolation (as long as it's not like, endless), and love to be near bodies of water. I was also eager to try fly fishing again. And of course, when you love someone, you're also eager to share in all their special memories and learn of their special places. So, Beau picked out the place -- Howard Lake -- and we formed a plan.

Late Thursday I was to go to Shop-n-Smile and pick up my paycheck - our weekend's entire cash flow. This was due to the fact that our previous paychecks paid for rent and the slew of bills all due around the first of the month. Early Friday morning, we would head out north, cash in hand, car packed up. I called up Shop-n-Smile just to confirm I could do this, and they said sure. But a few hours later, I got a call:

SnS: Hey J., um, because of the 4th of July, UPS won't be delivering our paychecks on time; you can't pick it up until Friday at noon.
J.: Uhhhh
SnS: Here...*reads apologetic letter from UPS*
J.: Fuck.

So, now what? We needed that money for the trip, but didn't want to waste one whole day of our three days, especially since we had quite a road trip before us. Milking the credit cards was not a good option since we were just getting those back on track. So, we got the idea instead to use Friday as tubing day! As the book says, in Missoula, a river runs through it, and as one friend told me, the route is "a beautiful 2 1/2 hour trip!" Nice!

Of course, this just happened to be the record-breaking heat day of all time for Montana. That Friday it would reach 107 degrees. Let me say that again, one hundred and seven degrees! IN FUCKING MONTANA! Due to this, we thought it best if we went later in the day. Right now, the sun doesn't go down until about 10pm, which gives you lots of time for day activities you may have to wrap up earlier in other locales. After we ran 10,000 errands in the oppressive heat, including purchasing two enormous inner tubes, sans air, we headed back home where we collapsed in crumpled, sweaty heaps. It wasn't long before I conked out, Beau first asking me when I wanted to wake up. "When do you want to go tubing?" I asked. "Whenever," was his answer. "Okay fine, wake me up at 5:30pm and we'll go."

This is something stupid about me that I can't seem to learn about living with Beau. 5:30pm to me, means waking up, shaking off sleep, re-pig-tailing my hair, and setting off immediately. 5:30pm to Beau means, continue drinking coffee, continue watching the news, washing those last few dishes, changing his clothes, putting on his shoes (this seems to take about 10-15 minutes), looking around for his car keys, sitting back down at the table to watch some more TV, changing the channel, washing his face, finding his wallet, etc.

Furthermore, I cannot ignore the role of Civ IV in this diabolical situation. Just like me when I'm home alone, Beau likes to have his current game of Civ IV on the computer. The difference between us is our abilities to GET UP and walk away from the game at a needed time. Beau finds this excruciatingly difficult. "Just let me finish off the Germans!" he'll exclaim. I try to be patient with this, because I know how unsettling it can be when there's just...that one....city left to capture. But with Beau, his video form of genocide can take many turns, until I'm contemplating finishing him off myself. And for those who have played Civ, you know that "just three more turns" can turn out to be thirty more minutes, easy.

In the meantime, I am going through an array of negative emotions from ansiness to aggravation to aggression, until I want to pound him over the head with a sledgehammer and drag his molasses-ass downstairs to the car.

I said that I TRY to be patient. I do not always succeed.

Let's just say that by the time our two cars were parked at the gas station and we were s.l.o.w.l.y filling up our ginormous tubes, it was 7:00pm. Beau says it was in part my fault. "You were crabby, so I let you fall back asleep." This is true, but I think he also fails to see how this is not really a good defense on his part.

By 7:30pm we had parked one car at the end point and were just parking another car at the start point, which was in a small parking lot in Lolo, a city 14 miles from Missoula (the one Brad Pitt's character kept gambling and getting the shit kicked out of him in the movie). The lot was just steps from the river, and within a ritzy neighborhood. I can imagine that the residents are just thrilled to have a bunch of screaming, drunken teenagers carousing through their streets every weekend, but by this time of the day, it was just us -- two old dorks.

We were somewhat alarmed to see a sign in the small parking lot announcing that the gate would be locked, (imprisoning our car), at 10:00pm. Doing quick math, with the 2 1/2 hour trip promised by my co-worker, and the 7:30pm start time, we were cutting it mighty close! "Well, I doubt whomever closes the gate is all THAT efficient. He probably won't be here at 10pm sharp! You'll see!" I said with great optimism. We sort of hemmed and hawed for a moment, but neither one wanting to waste the whole day, we set off.

Sure enough, the river was almost bare. There was one small group of people, but otherwise the river was open and inviting. We got in, and after that initial shock of cold faded away, we were off! Well, sort of. Tubing is rarely a swift exercise.

We floated along for awhile, enjoying the ride. There must have been a dozen different birds capering around, from tiny little swallows to a regal bald eagle (spotted by Beau, naturally). We even saw three enormous blue herons at different points, each one screeching in angry protest and taking flight at our presence.

Yet, as we floated along, I couldn't QUITE get to what is the ENTIRE point of tubing - simple relaxation. I would relax for awhile, we'd chat, we'd look at the scenery, which was beautiful, but in the back of my mind I would be thinking, "Can we get to the bridge before it gets dark? What if our car is locked up tonight? I guess we could get it in the morning. STILL."

I'm normally not such a worry wart, but floating down a shallow river in total darkness with all sorts of wild creatures nearby - Hey, there ARE bears! - is daunting. We continued to float - what else are ya gonna do? And it was beautiful, and it was enjoyable, and... we were comical. At different points when we seemed overtaken with doubt, we would slip through the center of the tube, land on the river bottom and commence intense aerobic activity, doing our best to run-walk-jog-trudge through the water. It felt a little foolish, but it's hard to be patient in a meandering river.

*slosh slosh slosh*

Then dusk hit. Besides the reminder of the oncoming night, it also welcomed an onslaught of insects. Particularly, mosquitoes. And if you know me, and my miserable history with the buggers in Thailand (i.e. daily coverings in red welts and my contracting dengue fever at one point), you know I am NOT a fan. If I could perform some kind of spell to instantly rid the world of this blight, I would. Perhaps in our fragile ecosystem they have a purpose - but I know not what it is - and for whatever reason, I seem to be a favorite of theirs. Many a time in Thailand I would be in a room full of people and once the mosquitoes hit, I would end up dotted with painful bites, while most others would remain untouched. It was maddening. The Thais often singsonged, "You have sweet blood, J., sweet blood!" Damn my sweet blood!

Anyway, that went on for about 20 minutes, and after several bites, blessedly lessened. But now the day was descending, and my fears ascending. Beau's too. By now, thankfully, we had started to see signs of civilization on the left side of the river, and some fancy homes on the right. We couldn't be THAT far, but how could you know? The bridge being our end point, it became a game of: "I bet the bridge is right around the next bend!" It was a game we would lose over and over again as it got darker and darker. Fearing being caught in the river too late, we dog paddled and waded to the bank, where we climbed up its super steepness, literally grabbing plants and pulling up, until we reached the top, where Beau with his assuredness, stomped through the scratchy grass, which thwhapped back to sting my bare legs. I didn't even care. I was in worry-mode now, which doesn't feel pain. Well, much pain.

We reached the railroad tracks which paralleled the highway (which the bridge was on). Somewhat of a good sign. Looking ahead in the dim light, we still could not make out the bridge. "How far can it be?" Beau wondered. With nothing else to do, Beau wearing his tube like a giant lei and me like a Miss America sash, and both of us dripping wet, we started off down the tracks. As we walked, both of us jammed our fingers into our tubes' valves in hopes of releasing air before having to put the sizeable things in our non-sizeable Honda. We walked quietly except for the continuous Sssssssssssssssss coming from our tubes, making our own Bizarro World version of Stand By Me. *squish ssssssssss squish ssssssssss*

At one point on the right was a large field with four beautiful horses: two greyish-white, one solid black, and a beautiful "buckskin" of light tan color and a darker mane. "They're going to shit themselves when they get a load of us," said Beau knowingly as we plodded and sssss'd by. They didn't quite have a case of the poopy pants, but they sure seemed surprised by our strange presence. And slowly, after a couple minutes of staring in disbelief, they began to follow us. The curiosity must have just been killing them. I found it touching. But I find just about everything touching. As a former horse breeder, Beau was indifferent. "They're still coming! They're so cute!" I'd exclaim in glee. "Mmhmm," Beau would reply.

And there in the darkness, we finally saw the bridge. Of course, now we had to cross the highway, another daunting task, especially encumbered with enormous inner tubes (the letting out of air had not been terribly successful). We did one of those dumb things where one person shouts, "GO GO GO NOW!" and the other person, because of their split second of hesitation, starts screaming, "NO NO NO! WAIT! DON'T GO!" Guess who was who. ;) We finally did make a mad-ass dash across though, and safe and sound, shuffled exhaustedly to the car. After smashing our tubes into the Honda's tiny trunk and back seat, we took off BACK toward Lolo in hopes of rescuing the Jesus car. And luckily, as I'd predicted (hoped), the gates were still open at 10:30pm when we arrived. So much for the 2 1/2 hour float.

And with that, Beau drove the Jesus car, I drove the Honda, and after picking up a delicious pizza, we drove home in relief.