Suburban Goddess

This morning, before bringing my daughter to her 18-month checkup, we had a family breakfast at McDonald’s. After we ate, we were walking back to the car when a Honda came whipping past and slid into the space next to the driver’s side of the car, leaving about a foot & a half between the vehicles. An older gentleman, gray & thin on top, jumped out, leaving the radio on in the car. I could hear the conservative talk radio station inside, and I chuckled to myself.

“There’s a Republican for you,” I joked at my husband, who was now trying to slide the baby into her seat carefully with limited amount of space to manuever in. Have you ever tried to squeeze an 18-month-old into an opening only a foot wide? Because I tell you, you would be more successful trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.

Apparently, Republican Grandpa changed his mind while inside & came back out, climbed into his car, and started to back up. I watched in disbelief as our car door (with my husband standing there), hit his car, and he still continued to back up. The space was closing quickly, and my husband turned and peered in the window.

“What the hell is your problem??” he exclaimed. Republican Grandpa ignored him and continued to back out. At this point, my alter egos kicked in and began to have a conversation of their own.

Evil Kristie: “Hey, it’s a company car! Open the door a little & take out his paint job! It’s his fault anyway.”

Nice Kristie: “Maybe he’s having an emergency. Maybe his cholesterol is taking a dangerous spike into healthy, & he needs a fix to survive!”

Evil Kristie: “At least hit his hood or something. Give his Pacemaker something to do!”

By the time I made up my mind to do something, the moment had passed, & Republican Grandpa had disappeared among the maze of trees that is The Woodlands.

I must warn you, I’m getting more in touch with my aggressive side every day that passes. Soon, someone will unleash The Redneck Within, and then there will be hell to pay…. but in the meantime, I’ll just post my little passive-aggressive bouts of schizophrenia here, and hope that some jerk will recognize himself & change his ways.

The downfall of capitalism is that it assumes that all parties involved are noble, righteous people. It does not take into account that when one greedy bastard gets his hands on the money, he kicks back that money to his greedy bastard friends that will take care of him later. Then it continues to permeate throughout the system, much like an oil slick on a pure, clean stream, until the landscape of democracy is drowning in a sea of black sludge, choking back the very lives that support it…

I’ve always wanted to write a book. Years ago, I went through a trashy romance novel phase, reading about 3 per week. After you read that many trashy romance novels, you begin to see the pattern, so I took the formula and set out to write my own. The problem was, I didn’t know how to fill out the boring parts in between the steamy ones, because honestly, who cares about those details? That’s not why you read trashy romance novels. That’s like watching wrestling for the amazing acting. So the project fell to the side, left in an orange binder that I pull out of my closet sometimes & laugh at.

I thought about writing about my experiences as a waitress for a certain old country store, but there was really no way to tie it all together successfully. I suppose if I wrote it under the guise of fiction, it might fly, but I want people to know what’s REALLY happening to their food behind those doors. (You will either develop a cast iron stomach or NEVER eat out again). It’s not fiction, people. Seriously. Be nice to your waiter.

Now I’m at the crossroads again, inspired to put my life down on paper, because my life has been pretty interesting. Somebody might read about it. You’re reading about it now, so somebody has to be interested. If anything, there’s some funny parts in it, and if it makes you smile, then that makes the endeavor worthy of the time…..

I feel like I’m caught in a bad magician show, when the dishes are stacked up high and he holds the corner of the tablecloth in his hands, ready to bring the whole house down for a minute of glory, but everyone watching knows what he doesn’t…

…it’s going to end badly.

And you’re powerless to stop it, just watching with this detatched sort of horror, all that fine china will soon be on a heap on the floor, shards of broken glass that was once your life, but now, just garbage. Mosaics, if you’re the creative type, but I’m currently not in the creative vibe. And the thought of going out and getting new china & starting all over again just makes you sick. Because that’s your china on the table. Years of collecting, polishing, dusting, taking it out on special occasions & yelling at people who try to put it in the dishwasher. It’s special to you.

All you have to do is call out to the magician and say, “Hey, stupid, you’re fixing to wreck everything,” but you can’t, because you know he won’t listen. Unfortunately, you can’t take him out back & beat the crap out of him, so you think about asking him to consider a career change, but that’s like asking a zebra to wash off his stripes because they’re no longer in season. He’s a magician, and that’s all he’s ever wanted to be, and you knew that when you walked in to see this thing called The Magic Show. It didn’t say The Greatest Magic Show of All Time, and you didn’t read the fine print, but you’re here nonetheless… and there’s absolutely nothing you can do except the one thing that you have control of; your voice.

So I call out, “BOOOOOOO! This SUCKS!”

And hopefully the magician will snap out of it before he breaks everything, & go back to magician school.

Some days I am almost crippled by a profound sense of lonliness…

“I have to go find a bunny..” = Ladylike way to say, “I have to tinkle.”

“I have to go water a bunny!” = Ladylike way to say, “I REALLY have to pee.”

“There’s a burning bunny over here!” = Guys’ way to say, “I’m peeing right now.”

“There’s a herd of burning bunnies that need some water over there..” = Not quite sure, but it made me laugh.

We made it through four days without any major incidents, so on Day 5, we decided to tempt fate. More like, we decided to pull our pants down in front of fate and hang our big white asses in front of her, daring her to do something about it.

My husband was almost obsessive the whole trip about a certain obstacle called Hell’s Gate. Hell’s Gate is found on a trail called Hell’s Revenge. We tried to go on the trail the first day, but the rain had created an eight-foot pool at the entrance, making it impassable. I have to say, Fate had mercy on me that day, because if we had started with this trail, you wouldn’t have been able to drag me out of my hotel room for the remaining four days.

Hell’s Revenge has a back door, and we were lucky (cough) enough to hook up with some Jeepers who knew how to get in. Let me preface this story with a little tidbit; from what I’ve seen thus far, these cliff people are f-ing crazy. And if the crazy cliff people are calling something “Hell’s Revenge,” well, that’s a warning. And if you choose to ignore that warning, you should be prepared to have the holy shit scared out of you. Hell’s Revenge delivered.

The first major obstacle was optional. I exercised my American duty to voice my rights (”Let me out of this f-ing Jeep RIGHT NOW!”) to take pictures in case I needed them for my insurance case & my husband proceed to drive our Jeep up a six-story rock. The rock, infamous in the adventure circle, is know as the Escalator. Six stories high, composed of a series of ledges. After a little difficulty, a winch, a strap and some cussing, my husband arrived at the top of the rock unscathed. When he came down to pick me up, I saw something in his eyes I’ve only seen one other time…(when I told him we were having a baby girl)… FEAR.

Now, Chip is pretty unshakable. So to see this glint of fear in HIS eyes left me open to experience a full-blown panic attack. But we weren’t done yet.

The next obstacle, also optional, was Hell’s Gate. Hell’s Gate is only about four stories high, a naturally occuring “V” in the rocks with large steps. Google “Tracy’s roll Moab Utah” to watch video of a girl rolling three times downward on this very same obstacle. But our new Jeep buddies steered him up without incident, and we continued on our way.

As you turn corners in this amazing terrain, you never know what is waiting on the other side. The canyons are composed of all types of rock; a) smoothed, polished, HUGE sandstone rocks. These rocks reminded me of river pebbles, just on an enormously large scale. b.) Sharp ledges hanging precariously over yawning canyons. Until today, these were the rocks that would make me hold my breath. c) Slippery rock walls. These usually acted as a portal to the next level of altitude, and you had to climb these to move up to the next level. Kind of like a prehistoric Mario Brothers.

A good part of Hell’s Revenge is made up of the huge sandstone rocks, just monstrous round boulders next to one another. It was here that my heart & my mind had a discussion.

Heart: I really don’t like these rocks.

Mind: Yes, if we slip, it’s a good four stories down.

Heart: Yes, and it’s not soft. It’s certain death.

Mind: Well, not certain. You could be extremely mangled. At least on the ledges, I might catch a rock on the way down, or you might quit before we hit bottom. With this rock, we’ll just keep rolling. Maybe the roll cage will break free and end the pain.

Heart: Yes, I agree. I think we need abandon this situation for our own good.

And I proceeded to freak out.

The human body can only handle so much adreneline until it simply shuts down. And this was my breaking point. Something about those rocks, the inability to see the path (setting sun), and the constant feeling of the Jeep being off-camber made me say quietly to my husband: “No f-ing way. I’m done.”

He took it very well. Perhaps it was the hysteria in my voice, or the calmness in my eyes, but he knew I meant business. I would rather slide down that rock on my ass than spend another moment wondering if I was about to die. I have great faith in my husband’s driving, and I have great faith in his engineering abilities. It was not any doubt on the part of his skills.

I just felt that I had dangled the oppurtunity in front of Fate entirely too much the past five days, and I’m not a gambling kind of girl. I knew the odds would only be in my favor for so long, and in the great philisophical words of Kenny Rogers… I knew when to walk away, and knew when to run.

Today I have discovered that some payoffs are not worth the ride.

We spent the day in Pritchett’s Canyon, well known for it’s extreme obstacles. Most of the day was uneventful; a big rock here, a crevice there, a couple of ledges next to sharp drop-offs into certain death…

We traveled the trail without incident, 3 .5 miles into the 4 mile trek, when we had to stop.

In front of us was what was described as an “extreme obstacle.” Translated into English, there was a large rock wall that lead to a precarious shelf that would throw the Jeep seriously off-camber, and possibly hurtling down the cliff. If you were lucky enough to make the left turn, you were rewarded with a pathway that led somewhere up the rock, but it over two stories up, so you couldn’t see where the path lead. Given what I was seeing at the moment, I didn’t care where it went.

“No, f-ing way!” I protested loudly. “Let me out!” I bailed out of the Jeep with my camera in tow, and began climbing the rock to see where the path went. Even on foot, it was scary. As I rounded the left turn, there was a small arch in the distance.

We decided to turn back, and that evening, in honor of the arch, we ate at McDonald’s.

On day 3, we decided to hit a few of the canyons north of town. The rains had closed many of the trails, so we opted for Poison Spider Mesa. The payoff at the end of the trail is a grand arch that frames Moab down in the valley.

About an hour in the trail, one of our friends busted the front suspension, and we were forced to send a party back into town for parts. The trail was so extreme that there was no way to tow him out, so my friend & I decided to hike up further while we waited for the guys to get back.

Poison Spider Mesa was named after a tale about a local family. Back at the turn of the century, this family was traveling along the route with their 7 year old daughter. Somewhere along the trail, the girl encountered a spider, fell ill, & died. The family buried her on top of the canyon, her gravesite overlooking an incredible view of the mountains in the distance. The grave still remains, and adventurers of Moab all stop & pay their respects. A small sandstone headrest is engraved with the name Mary Jane Francis.

When we reached the site, an Australian biker was placing something on her grave.

“Just a little mojo…” she smiled. She nodded goodbye, and left M & I alone with Mary Jane.

As I looked at the stone, I was overcome with a sense of sadness. How amazingly horrible it must of been for her mother to have to leave her there in a desert canyon. I’m quite sure that had it been me, and that was my child, I would be lying there next to her. M & I stood silently for a moment in front of the small grave lined with rocks. A bright yellow rubber ducky and a purple bear lay on top among beads, pennies, and other trinkets. I wished I had something, anything to contribute. But I didn’t, so I figured I could at least share her story with the rest of the world.

So this post is for Mary Jane, the brave little adventurer who has touched my heart along the Poison Spider Mesa.

I have never wanted to hold my daughter so tightly.

We awoke in the Utah desert to a steady downpour. After yesterday’s drop-off into the water-filled ravine at Hell’s Revenge, we decided to take the easier routes today. The first of the trails was called Cliffhanger, a hair-raising jount along the rim of a canyon. It was here that I realized, America has not become completely wussified, but I have.

As our Jeep sat precariously on a ledge wide enough to accomodate a mountain goat, I leaned over to kiss the side of the mountain, a final goodbye to this existance I didn’t realize I loved so much until this moment.

I have found the cure for depression. It’s called near-death experience.

My husband opted for safety, and we turned back before the ledge washed away. By the time we reached the bottom of the canyon, the tiny creek had swelled significantly, but we made it across safely. We decided to follow the main road, and reached another small creek crossing. Pushing forward, we were rewarded with some more of the most beautiful scenery I have ever encountered. Around a towering wall of rock, a waterfall had formed from the water running off the mountain. I figured out where Tim Burton had his inspiration for Willy Wonka’s chocolate waterfall. Picture coming soon.

We continued on for about another half hour before reaching another creek crossing running too quickly to cross. We turned around to head back, listening to weather reports of thunderstorms, small hail, and flash flooding. When we reached the first creek, we found most of the road washed away. My husband decided to give it a try, so I picked my feet and camera bag off the floorboard. The front tires of the Jeep disappeared almost immediately, and husband slammed it into reverse before we could be swept away.

So here I sit, soaking wet, at the bottom of a canyon, typing furiously on a dying Blackberry with no signal, waiting for the flood waters to recede.

Fast Forward….seven hours later…

A yuppie biker family arrived at the crossing to find it impassable…. much to their disappointment, because their campsite was on OUR side. After a couple more hours of waiting, we struck a deal; we would switch vehicles until morning.

You know you have to hit a state of desparation when you hand the keys of your car over to a TOTAL stranger on THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN, without inquiring a single moment on the person’s driving status or state of insurance. But they were the adventerous type, and thankfully, so are we. So my husband threw the winch cable over to the opposite side, they secured it tightly to a tree, then commenced to climbing across the rope, Fear-Factor style, hanging above a raging creek in rapidly plumeting temperatures while RAINING. Then they looked at me.

I have to tell you, I thought I knew the limits of my body, and upper-body strength is NOT one of them. But as I looked at a night in cold, Utah rainy weather in a Jeep with a bikini top with the inability to recline the seats vs. climbing a rope to a warm bath and soft hotel bed with a glass of wine & some warm food, I resolved to toughen up and give it a try. Halfway across the creek my arms began to shake furiously and my leg slipped over the winch rope, sliding up to the back of my knee and leaving a huge bruise on the back of my calf. I could hear everyone cheering for me, and for a moment, I felt empowered. Okay, so if I fell, I’d just be standing in three feet of cold water, but damn it, this was an adventure! So I ignored the pain in my hands and continued to pull myself across. When I reached the other side, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I haven’t felt in years. Finally, all those stupid 5 am workouts had a purpose!

This has been more than I ever expected of this vacation, and this is still the beginning. As I lay my head down on the pillow tonight, freshly showered, warm & cozy, I am sending out a thank you to my husband for this incredible experience.

He’s somewhere on the side on a mountain, sleeping in the Jeep. If you see him, tell him I love him!