How do I miss thee?

Let me count the ways. I mean, what else is a girl supposed to do when her boyfriend is out base jumping from the Perrine Bridge in Idaho for a week (without her??)??. She sits at home and sobs and awaits his every phone call. Yeah, if she’s a freakin’ loser!! However, since we are all aware of how very loser I am NOT, I managed to make better use of my time.

Saturday and Sunday. Admittedly not that exciting. I worked. Spent a bit of time at the grey cloud-covered river and then buried my baby cat, Kitten X. Not really a bang-off start to my week, huh?

Monday? Worked some more. Really got a handle on this “fun” thing, don’t I? Well, let me point out that I DID manage to have a really extremely fun skydive with Shawn. Freeflying right before work generally lifts anyone’s spirits.

Tuesday? Worked. Have you noticed a trend? But let me point out that it was Bill who was taking vacation. I managed to pack all MY fun in during a regular work week with two jobs. Anyway, despite the work, I still managed to get in a whole afternoon at the beach. I arrived to beautiful blue skies, burn your skin off temperatures, and nada surf (not to be mistaken with the 90’s band who wrote “Popular”…we all remember the angsty music video..). I spent the afternoon sipping amazingly delicious homemade iced tea (please make sure you use your best Southern drawl when you say “sweet tea”), enjoying amazing conversation with an amazing friend, and viewing photos of a girl in another friend’s extremely embarrassing 90’s wardrobe—complete with silky underwear dangerously close to passing as a banana hammock (bonus points if you can guess who used to wear those!), went boogie boarding, and topped it off with practicing base exits into the pool (which must have looked like the weirdest belly flop contest ever to our one spectator). At least 3 storms passed over us while all this was happening. If you haven’t witnessed Florida summer storms, they’re seriously amazing. Bright blue skies one minute, you turn your head to get a refill on your tea, and the skies are black. And then it pours and the sky talks more than Rice Krispies on a meth binge. Thunder cracking and lightning splitting the sky. And all of this rage lasts between 2 and 20 minutes. Followed by the most amazing blue skies you’ve ever seen. Great for sitting on a balcony watching it pass by, not so great for climbing to 13,500 feet in a jump plane when you see lightning zagging on the horizon. After the beach? I eschewed work for beer, friends, and BBQ. Delicious.

Wednesday. Yes, that’s right, I worked some more. Get over it.

Thursday. I worked at 5am, but rewarded myself with an early morning wakeboarding session with Shannon and Doug. And remembered why I started wearing a helmet while wakeboarding. Seeing stars is not so fun unless it’s in the form of maybe Johnny Depp or Owen Wilson (in a towel—just for you Liz). Good thing I donned it halfway through, because on my last round, I managed to fall hard enough to pop back up out of the water and see the helmet floating about 5 feet from me. Needless to say, I’m still working out some sore muscles. Not only did I get to wakeboard, but Shannon put me behind the wheel of the boat again! This time with a skier in tow! Woohoo! Aside from the fact that I dropped the speed in and out of the turn and left my skier in mush before I could correct it, he assures me I did an OK job. Not my first time towing a skier, but Carl Daugherty’s school of negative reinforcement (if you know Carl, I don’t think I need to explain) doesn’t really count.

So then, of course off to work. And then back home to work? Yeah, but only for about 20 minutes before Joe called me for a beach run. Joe, Micah, and I managed to book it to Daytona Beach just in time for sunset. We acted like complete dorks, exactly the way it should be. If you have to take yourself seriously at the beach and can’t jump out of the water and breach like a whale for your friends’ amusement (and then convince them to join in the same activity), then you need to seriously reconsider your life. An hour later, we were at Krispy Kreme indulging in, what I’ve been told, the best donuts ever. Until they start using more vegan friendly ingredients, I’m gonna have to take your word for it. Since I felt fat and full just after smelling the donuts, I think I’m all set. Why doesn’t Krispy Kreme make candles?? Wrapped up the evening with snippets from Big Trouble in Little China, Surf’s Up, and Enter the Dragon. Moment of silence for the amazing master, Bruce Lee, if you please.

Friday. Work my bum off.

Saturday. Work my bum off and then give into the crappy weather and laze around the entire day. The only activity I experienced was a long bike ride at sunset. But I counteracted my health consciousness by dining on kiwis, pineapples, strawberries, and pint glasses of wine with some amazing friends.

Sunday? This is how I capped it off. Woke up for an early morning tennis session with Matt. First time with a tennis racket and managed to volley pretty nicely. Accuracy is something we’ll work on next time. Then off to church for groundbreaking on our new church. Awesome ceremony and I got to take a gold shovel and dig up some Florida dirt (read: sand). Felt a bit like a leprechaun wielding the gilt shovel. Then, to do? Sit around alllllll day and wait for the zenith of my week.

At 4:30, myself and 8 other super cool skydivers donned goofy flotation devices and assorted crappy gear for an intentional water landing in the St. John’s River!!! Despite many dropped jaws and looks of horror from assorted people, I jumped my own gear into the river. The gear I use on every skydive. Perish the thought that I should have to wash my gear!! Aaaaa! Yeah, sure does suck to have to do that for something as cool as a water jump…definitely not worth it. As freakin’ if!!!! A few minutes after takeoff we were flying our jumprun over the St. John’s. Big landing area. With gators, water moccasins, and boats-a-plenty. And trees on all sides. The first pass got out…and I was freaking out. It felt like making a first jump all over again. My hear was pounding and my hands were definitely shaking. I’m not sure if I stood (hunched) and walked to the door or if I crawled and oozed like the blob, but I jumped out. Soooo worth it. I opened by 4k and flew over the river. Soo exhilarating. I’ve never loved being under my canopy more. My hands were shaking like Michael J. Fox’s (what, inappropriate??) while I tried to loose my chest strap. What a weird freakin’ sensation that is feeling your harness loosen up on you that much while you’re still circling at 3k. Then the leg straps a bit. And then the seconds before I started my pattern. A shit-eating grin spanning my face, ear to ear. I flew it like a champ and landed with a champion diver splash. I didn’t even get my hair wet!! The analog altimeter Carey loaned me, not so much (yes, he knew it’d be trashed). I slipped out of my harness and Paxton swung his boat around to pick me up. I tried to tread water and hold my reserve and harness out of the water, but a repack is imminent. So ridiculously amazing and I’m so glad I did it. Made it a little easier to stomach the fact that I did NOT make 25 base jumps within the last week. A LOT easier to stomach.

Next stop…night jumps!

You've been warned. I'm invading you...

Yesh, you've received proper warning and plenty of time to prepare. I've posted numerous bulletins, a barrage of texts, and a slew of emails. Be ready! I'm coming back Pennsylvania..and I've got a hankering for some Yuengling (no, I really don't...it's just a PA thing), my nostrils are itching for that fine fresh Pennsyltucky air (that oh so aromatic blend of fresh manure baking in the mid-day sun, daffodils, and rotting deer carcasses 'longside the PA turnpike), and my stomach is rumbling for all the Philly Cheesesteaks and buttery Amish fare I can't eat. Actually I'm very excited to see all of you (even you, in my family, who do not have internet access and still have not learned to accurately set the time on your VCR clock...you live in a world which forever flashes: LUNCHTIME).

Anyway, plan is: Flight gets into Philly round 12:30. Lunching with Liz in Philly (if you have to ask, you probably weren't invited...to which I say "HA!"). Mosying about Philly and doing my best to keep my monies in my pocket (it gets the itch to fly into clerks' hands at all the record shops!) until I take a train into Lancaster (arriving in the heart o' Amish country around 5). Spending Friday and Saturday with my mumsy dearest, stepdad, and additional family. Try to hide my piercing with my hair (which my nana will proceed to sweep out of my face and try to braid the whole time I'm eating), enjoy some catchup time..and then rush out on the people who raised me to spend time with the people who raise hell with me.

Saturday night plans are hit up the Spy Club in Harrisburg to see Mike spin, pop around and chill in a downtown lounge (ask Snickolas for details). Sorry I'm getting a late start on the Saturday evening, but I'm doin' my best kids! Crashing somewheres and then spending Sunday with daddy-o. Drivin' back to Philly and leaving your shivering asses behind when I board a plane to fly back to Florida and our 80 degree temps....where I will eagerly await your visit to me.

There you have it. If you wanna see me while I'm up north, it's now upon you!!! No whining or complaints!

Mofongo poops...

…is what Bill is probably having. Or maybe just residual mofongo farts, because we did get back from Puerto Rico Sunday night. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…hmm, mofongo traveling down the small and large intestines at a velocity of, uh…divided by 5 days…well, really that’s some tricky math. But I suppose you’re more interested in my recent travels to Puerto Rico than you are the timing and functions of Bill’s digestive system. So, I’ll elaborate.

Our flight left early Wednesday morning (2/13), so we had to rise at roughly the asscrack of dawn to be at the airport on time to park and get through security. Not a huge problem for me since I’m a bit of a morning person. It happens when you get up at 5:30am everyday. Bill, well he’s a morning person…just more of an 11am type of morning person. Regardless, both of us managed to get up and get on the road without too many snafus. Wait, did I say without too many snafus? Because I meant with some really giant snafus. Giant snafu #1: My injury-prone self reached across my office chair to get something from my bed. Unfortunately I haven’t been really strict with my yoga practice lately, so my balance was a bit off. I toppled, but thank goodness my office chair broke my fall….by stopping me straight in the sternum. So, once I was able to breathe properly again and stopped massaging my cleavage (do NOT insert porn music here), I looked under my bed (because I was lying on the floor) and noted that my sunglasses were lying there as well….broken. Apparently, they weren’t lucky enough to have my office chair save them from an early demise. A trip to Puerto Rico sans sunnies?? Who does that?? Me, that’s who. Oh yeah, in case you missed it, that was Giant Snafu #2. Snafu #3 came in the form of a glowing “check engine” light about 10 miles into our drive. Thank goodness the problem didn’t actually escalate to Giant Snafu #4.

The rest of the morning proceeded without a hitch. We arrived at the airport with plenty of time, checked our bags, scrambled through security, and still had time leftover to enjoy a deliciously overpriced breakfast. Mmmm, mmm! We boarded the plane right on time, and enjoyed a relatively peaceful flight to San Juan’s Luis Munoz airport. Peaceful except for the dude in front of me reclined his chair. Bill disagrees, but I believe before reclining one’s seat in economy class, one should have the decency to turn around and make sure the person behind you is okay with it. After all, you are compromising his/her (extremely limited) space when you do so…and potentially pouring their complimentary cup of apple juice in his/her lap if you do so quickly. No, no apple juice incidents for me. However, I was unable to regain my legroom by reclining my own chair, because the size of the woman behind me would not allow it…even if I asked permission. I’m in no way slighting her size or weight, just pointing out the facts.

After living in Florida for a year and a half, I’ve gotten pretty used to flat, flat landscape. Albeit pretty, it can get mildly boring. So, you can imagine that the hilly and mountainous terrain was oh so welcome and breathtaking. It looked surreal when we were coming in for landing. And that’s all I have to say about that.

We landed safely, got our bags, and immediately headed to the first store to purchase me a pair of sunnies. Next stop, Charlie Rental Car. We arrived at the rental car station to find that no one was at the Charlie spot…just a phone. Mmkay. Luckily, we had the number to call in with our papers, and did so to arrange a pickup. We ran outside to find the Charlie Car Rental van pulling away without us. Dammit!! So, we waited. And waited. And waited. While we were waiting a gentleman dressed like every stereotypical Colombian cocaine dealer you’ve ever seen walked over to stand a few feet away from Bill & I. Though I’m not sure how he managed to do it with finesse, he hocked giant, streaming loogies without looking dirty or trashy. I kept glancing at him—dressed in flowing khakis, donning a palm print shirt with the first 3 buttons undone, tanned golden bronze…even wearing the Panama Jack style hat. He kept staring at me, and then walked around behind me leaning over a bit to look at my luggage. I pretended to rifle through it looking for something and then formed a wagon train of my luggage around me. He still stood suspiciously near and kept staring at me for long periods of time. Then, he leaned over and says, “You kids from Philadelphia?” in the most American of accents ever. Yeah, so my suspicions were all wrong, but Bill thought he was super weird until he started talking, too…Crisis averted, we finally got on the Charlie bus and picked up our stunning rental, a Hyundai Brio. What the “f”? Has anyone even heard of that?? No, the answer is no, you haven’t.

Speeding off in our Brio (which seems to have only one gear because you can put the pedal to the metal, and 10 seconds later you’re only going 5mph faster), we took a few wrong turns and got lost in San Juan for a little bit. No biggie, we managed to find our way out and successfully made the drive to Hatillo, an hour away, to check into our hotel, the Rosa del Mar. Just a quick comment on Puerto Rican driving—I love it. They’ve somehow managed to blend hectic urgency with laidback relaxation. People tailgate and cut each other off like mad…but no one seems to care. Hard to get your panties in a bunch when you’re surrounded by the lush landscapes of Puerto Rico. Oh, and just because I don’t know where else I’ll fit this in…there are sooo many chickens in Puerto Rico trying to find the answer to the age-old question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” Well, I’ll tell you what. The chicken didn’t cross the road at all. He would’ve gotten run over, you dumbass!

So, we checked into the hotel and drove over to the DZ to get our check-in taken care of…which you can’t do without your rigs. So back to the hotel, then back to the DZ. Sign here, initial there, blah blah blah…registration done. The check-in goodie bag alone probably would have secured this as the coolest boogie ever: a Rums of Puerto Rico laptop bag, 10 CD holder, a Coqui tree frog card and pin, a Passport holder, an inflatable beach ball, a keychain, a Rums of PR t-shirt, and Rums of PR hat, a Rums of PR travel mug, a Rums of PR flask, a small drawstring bag, and oh yeah… a free bottle of Rum. Some people got Parrot Bay, some Bicardi, some Don Llevo, some Don Q…all delicious and deliciously free! So we met up with Jill, Matt, Liz…and everyone else who was there. Peoples from all over.

After sunset, back to the hotel to get ready for the welcome dinner/party at La Salitre Restaurante. And…that’s when we found out that Liz had already checked into a different room than us since she was there on the 12th…that the reservations had been taken care of by the DZ…Thankfully, Jill & Matt needed a place to stay, so they took over our room while we moved our stuff to Liz’s room. No worries, crisis averted. And we didn’t even have to make use of the rum.

Dinner at the restaurant was awesome. Unfortunately Bill had to drive, so he couldn’t do toooo much sampling of the rums. We ordered our mojitos, and during the long, hungry wait for our food, discovered the solution to peace in Bill’s life. A full stomach. He was mildly irritable and slightly lethargic, all cured by food. This theme pretty much repeated itself throughout the entire trip. You could say “chicken wings” and he’d cheer up at the very idea. A few minutes into the dinner, they announced a surprise…a loud surprise. A band walked out to the terrace outside and began playing ridiculously festive music…accompanied by stilt walkers! You can’t really be any less than thrilled and smiling when you’re surrounded by good peoples, good drinks, good food, and crazy stilt walkers! Soo much fun! Oh yeah, and I met mangy stray Puerto Rico dog #1 that night. I called him Scabies. Shortly after someone decided to be “that guy” and Jill made an appearance as “that girl” (an idea with which she is TOTALLY OK!!) we drove back to the hotel so Bill could actually drink a bit. Unfortunately, by the time we got back we were extremely tired and no one was up for drinking, so Bill had to have a lonely solo drink before we all crashed.

(You may wish to grab a snack or maybe even your own mojito, because I’m just getting started)

Day 2 started with a delicious breakfast of Zucaritas…son riiiicos! (Frosted Flakes) and then off to the DZ for some jumping. Fun fun fun, and then the winds kicked in. About midday everyday it would start getting ridiculously windy. I’d like to say that it was just strong, steady winds…and it was, between the gusts, you know? So you had to ask yourself, “Are you feelin’ lucky, punk?” And plan your skydive according to your answer to that question. After 2 skydives, my answer was a resounding “no.” Rather than start drinking like mad and sacrificing myself, I said, “F this, I’m in Puerto Rico. I’m gonna go do something fun!” And fun it was!! Bill and I drove to Cueva Ventana, or “window cave”. About 15 minutes from the DZ and a small hike later, we found the cave entrance. A great big tree with most of its roots exposed. Between some of the roots, there was space enough to crawl through. Turned on my headlamp and in we went. Jason had mentioned steps at the entrance, so we started scouting. All we found was a 10 foot sheer dropoff onto craggy rocks on one side, and a long wobbly root with a rope tied onto it descending into darkness on the other side. So, we went with the rope, not bothering to get stuck on details like: how are we going to get back out? I will do my best to describe the indescribable, but I would really recommend you just book your flight to PR now and go see it. Even the pictures don’t do it justice. Giant, high ceilings, bats squeaking, and formations all over. It’s not a wet cave, but still ridiculously awesome. Jason told us to “follow the light” so we pressed on, walking out on a balcony-type ledge looking into the forest. Vines hanging down and lush greens everywhere. Sooo amazing. After some more exploring we ventured out another hole in the cave and found trail again. The right trail leading us to the right cave. Yeah, we were definitely in the wrong cave. This one had the promised steps and everything. Waaay easier entrance. So we descended into a bigger, darker, creepier cave. Wouldn’t have been as creepy if we’d had two lamps, because I kept looking at the things I wanted lit up, and Bill would light up what he wanted to see when he had it. The creep factor in caves definitely diminishes when you can say, “What was that??” and swing your light over to look at it. Plus, I kept awaiting something furry to brush against my leg since Jill and Matt had been there the day before and had warned us about a dog that either chews on a dead bat, or on you. Thankfully, the dog waited until we’d actually gotten to the reason they call it “La Ventana.” We followed the light, me clutching to Bill, and stopped when we heard music. I think it’s always wise when walking around in a creepy cave to determine whether music you hear is “we’re having a satanic, blood-worshipping, sacrificial ritual and you probably shouldn’t interrupt us” music or “happy, festive, we’re a bunch of locals who may or may not smoke illicit substances” music. Luckily we happened upon the acoustic guitar wielding type. Walking out to the view was seriously breathtaking. A giant, gaping mouth in the cave overlooks this amazing tropical valley. A fauna-blanketed drop-off leads your eye to this river that just winds its way through the landscape, bordered on the other side by more lush mountains. It looks like someone just projected a giant postcard on the opening. Amazing. The whole time I was enjoying this view the aforementioned dog was eating me. Playful bites, but still some power behind the jaw. Had it been a stray Chihuahua, maybe not a problem, but it felt like it was crunching knuckles and tendons like they were play-doh. Appropriately since he was not being bitten, Bill laughed at me. And then it bit him. Hah! After some more speechless staring, we wandered back out of the cave, dog trotting behind us. Bizarrely, the dog doesn’t bite you unless you’re actually at the window. Once we were back in the cave and wandering back on the trail, the dog was just hopping on lizards and beetles, running down the trail and looking back over it’s shoulder at you, and then romping off again….exactly like Mia Wallace. That’s right, Puerto Rican Mia Wallace, the Cave Dog. It followed us the whole way to the car, then turned around and wandered back up to the cave. I’ve already decided when I retire I’m gonna be a cave lady and hang out with the dog all day.

Following our adventures, we spent the evening eating and drinking at the hotel. Everything, and I mean everything was busy for Valentine’s Day. Even Church’s chicken had a line outside!!! Oh yeah, must must must insert hilarious moment. Throughout the trip people were acting ridiculous to Liz—asking her manifest questions at breakfast, talking shop, blahdy blah blah. Um, do you see the cornflakes? Do you see a load timer? No? Okay, shut your face and eat your Zucaritas. Anyway, as she was carrying back our filled ice bucket on her shoulder, a guy who she’d been manifesting ALL DAY!!! Said, “Excuse me, ma’am? Could you bring me some towels?” Luckily Matt was there to calm here down, because she was INCENSED!! And well she should be, but it’s also lucky Matt was there to heighten the hilarity of the situation. He turns to the man and asks, “What room are you in? She’ll be right up.” Bwahahaah!!!

The next day was pretty uneventful. Too windy for me to jump so I lazed around while Bill did and then lazed around in our rooftop pool. Got some oh so hot boobie burn. Hooowee! Night brought on some insane fun, though! Rums of Puerto Rico showed up, distributing delicious free drinks all night. The only ones distinguishable were the rum punch and the pina coladas. Everything else was just a color. “Have you tried the purple yet?? It’s freakin’ amazing!!” “Nah, I’m pretty partial to the blue. Ooo, they just put out green! Let’s go get some green!” A Red Bull truck provided some awesome videos and a DJ booth. Pretty much everything needed for a successful party. Excpet for penis pictures. Um, *Lance? You busy? What ensued was the greatest penis charade I have ever seen. *Lance managed to get in nearly every picture taken, all hangin’ out with his wang out. We even managed to get close-up shots when I ran over to shake my bum in front of the video camera, a setup so he could swoop in and wag his cock and balls all over film. Freakin’ awesome. And there may or may not have been a poop incident where someone may or may not have taken a giant crap on top of an unidentified rental car. But you know those rumors.

K, this is where I’m gonna stop for this one. I will continue these misadventures in Monfongo Poops 2. Please turn this blog over to Side B and press play. Thank you.

*Names were changed to protect the oh so guilty.

(pictures to follow as well....lots of peekshures!!)

Is it time to start the countdown yet??

For Puerto Rico, that is!! Actually, I'd say it's way past time. Waaay past. The eve of my trip is fast approaching and I still have yet to learn to say in Spanish "Excuse me, sir. Are those beans made with lard?" or "I'll have that minus the meat, cheese, sour cream, and oh...nevermind, I'll just have some sugar cane and rum." What's a vegan traveler to do?? Oh, I know! I'll get a Spanish phrase book so I can ask the locals everything in Spanish, but not be able to understand them AT ALL. No entiendo. There, got that down. Have a feeling I might be using that one a lot.

Seriously though, I'm waaaay excited. First time I've gotten to really plan my own vacation outside of the US (even though, yes, Puerto Rico is still technically considered part of the US). The old 10th grade trip to Germany with my school band was "fun" but PR's going to be all that and a complimentary bag of pretzels (no freakin' airline peanuts anymore!!). I'm so excited to drink pantyrippers into the wee hours of the morning with Liz, go hiking through the El Yunque rainforest, swim in La Mina Falls, indulge my geeky side and visit the Arecibo Observatory (seriously, google it...it's insane), do some rappelling in the kickass caves, and oh yeah...the main attraction, skydive!

So wish me luck and an iron liver! I'm leaving next Wednesday and I sooooo hate flying commercial airliners. Scare the bejeebuz out of me.

Giraffe Hold

So, most dropzones go on a weather hold. Jumpers sit wiling away the hours with noses in books or listlessly staring up at the sky waiting for either the clouds to clear and jumping to start again...or for the beer light to flicker on. Not Skydive DeLand. No no...here at Skydive DeLand, we go on giraffe holds.

Saturday after jumping had pretty much ceased (due to the aformentioned variety of hold--weather), word arrived that a baby giraffe was on its way. The call came to open the gate...and there it was...a freakin' baby giraffe named Tongo. And don't be misled, baby giraffes are still twice the size of me. Friggin' huge. Baby giraffe Tongo actually enjoys Doritos, which, in case you didn't know, actually grow wild in the Serengetti. The wild Doritos are actually one of Africa's best kept secrets...

So there you have it. We may be the first dropzone (yes, beer would definitely be owed if it's true) to go on a giraffe hold.

Pics to follow if I can figure out how to get them off my phone.

My name is Penelope...

...I'm going to Puerto Rico, and I'm bringing a load of parachutes. Ok, I'm not playing a driving game and my name is NOT Penelope. But I AM going to Puerto Rico and bringing a parachute. Once again, sorry northern friends. I'm pushing my trip home back AGAIN. Let's face it, I've always been a warm climate kinda girl and coming up in February would freeze me into a Kylie-sicle. So I'm not coming home 'til March. Because I'm going to tan my bum cheeks in Puerto Rico.

Last week over dinner Bill was pining for the Puerto Rico Freefall Festival (big skydiving boogie held every February in Arecibo, Puerto Rico), "Damn, I wish I was going to Puerto Rico." *sigh* Says me, "Um, so let's go." So, we're going. Simple as that. I'm spending Valentine's day not in some sappy restaurant decked out with lace and pink hearts, but in Puerto Rico where I'll be skydiving my ass off over an amazing coastal view, maybe jumping onto the beach, tasting and delighting in the island rums, partying it up in a hotel full of crazy skydivers, and climbing through the rainforest, exploring caves, and cliff diving on my off day.

Wanna come?

So I happened on a...

So as luck would have it, I happened upon a flux capacitor to use in my lil’ Honda Civic (c’mon, the Delorean is soooo overdone) and traveled into the future. As I was browsing through the books of the future at Barnes & Noble’s, I happened upon a biography of yours truly. As it just so happens, I do become more famous than that name besmircher, Kylie Minogue. At least, famous enough to get my biography published…

So, for your reading pleasure, a few pages from the story of my life (future life yet to be lived, of course). From the pages of Kylie (aka: Ky-liar):

“…Since she was an impish knee-biting rugrat (never went for the ankles, it was always too close to potentially icky feet for this gourmet), she always knew that great things awaited her in the years to come. Her destiny? Well, my dear reader, be patient, hold your zebras…I’m getting to that!

It all became clear to her on the day that the corny pirate joke popped into the velvety folds of her gray matter. As if from nowhere, the joke formed on her lips, “What does the non-conformist pirate say?” “Q, matey!!” (get it, arrrrr, q??).

However, I digress. Kylie had established herself as a nonconformist looong before the loopy pirate lingo crossed her lips. Let us retrace the steps and obstacles she overcame to become a seafaring scallywag. Beset by a ferocious case of scurvy by the age of 42, she slowly began to lose her grip on her “normal” lifestyle. No loss to our nefarious non-conformist, though, really. By the age of 43, she had accumulated 27 total cats (a motley crew of domesticated and feral) with which she shared her domicile. She’d taken early retirement (yes, very early, but since she was scurvy, she was not aware that she still had 22 years until she could retire and start enjoying the early-bird specials). She passed her days sitting on a creaky rocker on her porch, surrounded by the aforementioned felines. Though she started out as the kindly scurvy lady who made brick-consistency vegan cookies for trick-or-treaters at Halloween and smelled faintly of catnip…this, too, changed over time.

At a young age, her yard-saling, bargain-hunting mother had taught her to be thrifty in this world. So, the rocker in which she spent her days (though it was rumored that she was off her proverbial rocker) was no doubt a second-hand bit with worn out caning in the seat. Over time, the splintered caning embedded itself in the derriere of our beloved biddy. Enough to make anyone permanently peevish, yeah? Slowly but surely she morphed from the crazy harmless lady to the perpetually cranky neighborhood cat lady.

One fateful day, she sprinkled a bit of what she thought to be catnip out for the cats. Unfortunately, she’d taken the wrong bag from the hippies from whom she picked up her organically grown catnip, and had mistakenly sprinkled hashish for the cats. Denied a romp and roll in the favored savory nip, the cat grew more peevish than the disgruntled dame and lept to attach itself to her face. However, being learned in the ways of the T-shirt ninja (google it), she used her cat-like reflexes (how deliciously ironic) and knocked the cat aside with a clothesline to the throat (a move learned from many childhood hours spent watching Jake the Snake and Hulk Hogan). She watched as the cat bounced off the porch and into the pile of hole-y left socks (she’d accumulated a collection of these, reasons unbeknownst to anyone), and realized that while the cat had swiped no nip, it had gotten away with her left eye. Quickly biting her tongue, she held back the obscenities threatening to spew forth from her lips…and instead a smile slowly emerged as it became clear to her…the day had finally come for her to realize her destiny.

Not even 1 year later: Kylie had become a pirate. She’d fashioned an eye patch for herself and began to work on her pirate ship (which very much resembled the unfinished canoe which had lain in her basement these many years---except now it had a “misenmast” with a black flag attached). Sloppily painted on its side was this warning: “Be ye ware. Property of No-Beard the Pirate.” Knowing that she would not be able to earn respect in the pirating world without a sizeable treasure, she decided on the next best thing. She saddled and rode one of the tubbier tabbies down to the nearest Chuck E. Cheese’s and robbed them for all the gold tokens. Gleefully she set off for her life as a pirate shouting “Q!!” and “Swab the poopdeck!” to the trusty cats she chose to accompany her on her voyage.

Upon her first launch of the vessel in the choppy, murky waters of Lake Pinchot, she met her first foe. Just as she had readied to leap into the boat and hoist anchor (actually a large wad of the hole-y left socks duct taped into a ball with sinkers from the local bait shop), she turned to see a menacing, orange-toothed, red-eyed beaver staring straight into her…eye. She mistook the beaver for an amiable creature and patted it on the head, giving it a cedar chip upon which to munch. Unfortunately she was not aware that this beaver was straight out of the likes of Reefer Madness—crazy with beaver fever!!!…or maybe it just had crazy case of the munchies since those danged hippies had just finished with it moments before. Either way, it lunged for her right leg and chomped it right off. Once again, Kylie bit her tongue before realizing that she had just overcome the second biggest obstacle in pirate-dom…and on her first day, no less! What an ambitious little scallywag she was! She ripped her mangled limb from the beaver’s frothy jaws and beat him senseless with it. Eventually, the woodland critter sobered up, and feeling remorseful, took to the nearest ash tree and fashioned her a handsome peg leg. Our gracious heroine invited the beaver aboard her ship as they set sail. Unfortunately, she was forced to make him walk the plank only days later after she’d woken several times to find him slobbering hungrily over her leg and gnawing holes in the boat when he thought she wasn’t looking….”

So, there you have it. Shall I leave it to destiny to fulfill what is to come, or should I choose another life and guard my limbs and peepers?? Be sure to watch the shelves of your nearest books shelves 50 or so years down the line…

0 Shopping Days Left 'Til

....Kylie's birthday!! That's right, it's mah berfday (had to put it in the local accent/dialect for my southern friends and my family in Pennsyltucky!). I'm 23 years old today, and still at least another 20 years before I start saying "I'm (insert age here) years young." Yay for me! If anyone knows my proclivity for ridiculous maimings, you know what an accomplishment it is to make it 23 years with all limbs fully inact, both lungs, and no major surgeries to date! Woot woot!

For some reason, I feel like I should insert a paragraph here thanking all the friends/family Oscar-Style. I'll stop when I hear the music: I'd like to thank my mum and dad and their love for each other one day in October 1983. If it weren't for that night, I never would've been here to grace the blogs of myspace today. I'd like to thank the ladies in the Akron Shop-Rite who made the most delicious glazed donuts of my childhood. I'd like to thank Holy Jeebuz (that's actually not sacrilegous at all, it's my pet name for Him and I love Him) and God. I'd like to thank Eric Schlosser and Tim Robbins for turning me into a vegan and ruining my life (just kidding!! I love being a vegan and would never ever ever go back to being omnivorous!). I'd like to thank all of my family for hugging me when I needed hugging, smacking me upside the head when I needed smacking, telling me I was a dumbass when I definitely was, being patient when I was a teenager, giving me french fries when my tummy rumbled, and just being the most kickass family for which I could ever hope!

My plans for my birthday will go somethin' like this:

Wake up for birthday sunrise. Go on birthday sunrise bike ride.

Eat something delicious for birthday breakfast if stomach is cooperating.

Work (yeah, I didn't take vacation).

Pay birthday registration renewal fees on my car (thanks Florida---just the best dang-ole present ever!)

Make some delicious birthday cupcakes for myself and others to masticate (word of the day).

Make some birthday skydives.

Do some birthday wakeboarding.

See some birthday Harry Potter 5.

Have a birthday beverage if I'm still awake and there's still time.

**Anyone notice how slick I am that I've jammed the day and therefore foregone the unneccessary birthday slobbering drunkeness that ensues when all your kind, loving, devoted friends decide they're gonna get you so drunk that you pass out so they can stain your skin with Sharpie and take weird pictures with various genitals involved?? I am smart like tractor!**

Gift list: coolest homemade card ever from Nicole (I love the ocean and greasy french fries too!!!), most adorable card from Mumsy (fat pugs in pizza boxes...who doesn't like that??), delicious smelly stuff from Mumsy (Mumsy makes certain that though I make look like a dirty hippie, I never actually have to smell like one), Survivor's Greatest Hits CD (yes, that's right, I know the lyrics to almost every Survivor song--not just "Eye of the Tiger"), a backpack to look like a rig (Dad, you're going to make me look too ridiculously adorable), birthday letters from my family, and quite possibly the most amazing, incredible, tops-all birthday present EVER!!! My brother took me to Bonnaroo for the most amazing weekend I've ever had! Yay Josh!

Shpanks everyone who sends me birthday wishes. Love you all, but I'm just gonna tell you now that I will probably forget yours, so this is the blanket "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" to everyone who has a birthday within the next 365 days. Yep, that's how I do.

Oh yeah, a lil' add-on here: I would like to introduce Birthday Chanukkah to those who are unaware of this lovely birthday celebration. As any of you know who are 21 years old, you can never get all those special people in your circle o' friends to come out and party with you on one designated night, so it often occurs that your birthday becomes your day in training for future ginormous family Thanksgiving dinners--you are forced to schedule within 24 hours a meetup with every one of your friends even though it is your BIRTHDAY, 'causing you to spend every birthday $ you received running around to hang out/meetup/grab a drink with each of them, and working on every last birthday nerve you have. Fear not, there is a solution. BIRTHDAY CHANUKKAH. You now have 8 days of birthday celebration to host your shenanigans. They must be 8 consecutive days and one of them must include your birthday. If a friend cannot make 1 of those 8 days, be done with them immediately. IMMEDIATELY. This also give you an excuse for a veritable "Forget-your-name-WEEK" slightly more hardcore than the usual "Forget-your-name-night." Careful planning in the months with the most friend-birthdays can lead to the daunting "forget-your-name-month," but I wouldn't suggest diving headlong into that until you've given your own birthday Chanukkah a whirl. It's mildly daunting for amateurs (though I'm fully convinced any of my Cross Keys family-aka: Iron Liver Contest shoe-ins--could handle it).

That is all.

Please Welcome...

...the newest member of my family: my Beadger board. Ok, so it's actually a wakeboard, but I just heard the word beadger (a ferocious combination of a badger and a beaver---beadger fever!!!) last night, and it's up there with cattywombus in my favorite words list. My bed is now getting pretty crowded between my rig, my wakeboard, and myself...but we all sunggle nicely. Maybe I should go into Sears and get a family photo so you can see us in all our glory??

After demoing several boards and bindings over the past couple o' months, I finally settled on the board o' my dreams... though, the pink on the bindings makes me wonder if perhaps it's not venturing into the "board of my nightmares" category. I am the proud mother (adoptive mother, no way I'm trying to fit that through the birthing canal) of a new Ronix Venue 135 complete with Ronix Rise bindings. I am now ready to dominate the wakeboarding world and look hot while doing it. Let's face it, though, I could've looked hot riding with a couple of Doc Martens nailed to a 2 x 4... hahah!

Now, I just have to launch headlong into the great debate. Since I used my new wakeboard for the FIRST time yesterday, do I owe beer? There is no beer rule in wakeboarding, but it's been argued that since skydiving is a lifestyle and I skydive...that the beer rule transcends all boundaries and should be made law in all aspects of my life. Aaaargh!!

BBQ today! Be there or be dodecahedron..

Crap, that didn't rhyme at all. Either way, I wouldn't recommend being a dodechadron or any other polyhedron. I WOULD, however, recommend getting your ass/bum/derriere (it's your day off, I'll let you choose) over to the Ghetto, the oh so infamous Skydive Deland trailer park. What better destination could you choose to celebrate our nation's love of pyromaniacy?? Shotgunning beers, blowing off limbs with sparklers (it CAN be done), Roman candle tag, delicious BBQ'd yumminess, and the best horseshoes Deland has to offer (quite possiby followed up by evil Bocce). Seriously, what else are you gonna do today??? Be there!

Actually, I have no right promoting this ridiculously fun event because not only do I not even live in the trailer park, but I don't even know when the damn thing starts. I'd imagine sometime after the last person to say "You're right...these clouds will never clear today and I'll never get to freakin' skydive" cracks open that delicious frothy beverage.

Do not RSVP. Just bring beer, explosives, and food.