nature can suck it.

i hate nature, quite possibly more than i hate heinous footwear or bad grammar.


i am physically unfit. i’m not sure if there is an existing scale of physical unfitness, so i am just going to make one up. let’s say, for argument’s sake, there is a ten point scale, ten being a professional athlete and one being a fat couch potato. i am a sub one, definitely.  now, i don’t know whose bright idea it was to force my fat ass up the side of a mountain (dad’s), but that was a grave mistake. our hike was only 3 miles long, not that strenuous, just one small incline, all lies. about ten minutes into the hike, the flat, green path turned into an insane, bouldered, uphill, waterless waterfall, of sorts or, for you children of the 90’s, the aggro crag from guts/global guts sans everything that made the crag cool (safety harnesses/padded materials/intense fog machine action/showers of glitter/buttons that light up when you push them/fame and glory upon reaching the top). at this location i experienced what papa bear is now calling “diva attacks”. these diva attacks consist of two or more of the following: labored breathing, laying in the middle of the trail, forcing father to carry pack, sweating profusely, cursing nature/god/anyone in ear range, crawling, hyperventilating, loss of consciousness and/or death. i had seven of said diva attacks. i laid in the middle of the trail and let two 70 year olds walk over my lifeless body (how did they get their wrinkly old asses up there, anyway?). when we reached the top of this  godforsaken mountain there was an overlook and i guess you’re expected to stand there, in nature, and look at other nature? i took one look at that big flat rock and figured it was a great place to lay motionless for several or more minutes. i took some pictures, sitting down. i’m sure you can all read the look of shear joy/excitement on my very sweaty face. the rest of the trail was downhill and free of prehistoric rubble. this gave me some time to mentally calculate all the ways i hated the evil mastermind behind the appalachian trail (benton mackaye). i was also able to assemble a short list of things, that i knew to be true about this monster of a man. 

1. he enjoyed creating life-size human obstacle courses and watching idiots like me try to maneuver through them
2. he was ruthless/psychotic/anti-american
3. he was a delusional crackhead (granola). 

after getting down the mountain and to our campsite i was quite sure that things would become bearable/tolerable/pleasant. i rehydrated with 8 fl. oz. of grey goose, sat by a campfire, and participated in other obligatory camping cliches. and then it was bedtime. several times during the course of the night a bear entered our tent and caused quite a ruckus. when i say it entered the tent i mean it was already there. when i say caused a ruckus i mean it snored. when i say it was a bear, i mean of the papa variety. and then it rained (torrential downpour). sorry jesus, but because you invented rain we are not really on good terms at the moment. our tent partially collapsed/flooded. i woke up my father at 4:30 in the morning and demanded that we pack up all of our shit and get the hell out of this miserable netherworld (forest/tent). he said we couldn’t hike in the dark, jerk. as soon as the sun peeked it’s pathetic face from behind the horizon we were out of there. we hauled ass back to the car and drove to wendy’s where i stuffed my faced wholeheartedly to the tune of a quarter pound, while nervous employees stared at my unkempt hair and overall bedraggled/disheveled appearance. when i say we hauled ass, i mean that i hobbled, quite quickly. 

i will not be returning to the forest, possibly ever. 

as you can see from this photo, i added a pink shirt to the ensemble in order to increase overall femininity and decrease my chances of being shot by poachers.

although i am not sure the exact emotion i am exuding in this lovely photo, i think i'm going to stick with: exuberance.