Boring Update

After about a month of constant travel, I am back in Boise. Permanently. Well, as permanent as I get, which means I'll be in and out of town every other week or so. I need a constant stream of adventures to keep myself entertained and sane. Hence my August looking like this: moving out of Fort Collins, going to Cheyenne for a night to see family, driving up to Billings for a weekend, driving back to Boise, leaving a day later for backpacking with Paul, leaving two days after that for a family adventure to Olympic Nat'l Park, and then leaving a few days after that to help move Paul into his new dorm up in Moscow. So if I have been unresponsive to texts, phone calls, emails, whatever, that is why. I am still digesting this summer and what the hell has been going on for the last year. When you don't allow yourself to stay in a place for any longer than three months, you start to become geographically and emotionally detached from pretty much everything. I am just starting to realize that I will be living in Boise for the longest period of time since high school...weird.

My habit of never staying in one place for very long has had one nasty side effect: my room in Boise becoming full of unwanted shit. I mean, lots and lots of SHIT. Examples: a painted ceramic dragon, X-wing Lego set, jester hat, cheesehead, oversized sweatshirts that I never have and never will wear, pounds and pounds of dust, a wire art project from 7th grade, tons of old bank statements, and to top it off, enough T-shirts to clothe a small village. I filled a TV box with my old crap and gave it away to the Women's and Children's Shelter; I still have to go through the storage unit that is housing all of my OTHER shit. This is what I get for showing up in Boise, dumping things that I 'might use someday' or 'but those were my cleats from junior season of high school...' or 'I can't handle the thought of someone else wearing my ugly as sin ODP sweatshirt, I am just too emotionally attached to all of those awful memories of ODP camp ingrained within its over-sized folds of fabric.' and then leaving again, only to reappear a few months later and repeat the process. I have been constantly employing those stupid excuses we all use that allow us to hold on to way more useless material crap than we will ever need. Over the past year I have learned that I don't need any more than what I can cram into my small Mazda, and I probably need even less than that. Always room for improvement. Cleaning out my room has actually been enjoyable and I feel like I can function much better now without the ghosts of my past staring at me, saying 'We're useless and covered in dust, but you still love us...right?'

Anyway, I am currently trying to find a job. I would say where I've applied, but then I would get none of those potentially awesome jobs and would end up somewhere like Correction Connections or making bricks or something else horribly mindless. So I am keeping my mouth shut.

Also, I started a blog for my Peace Corps service. I am fully aware I haven't left yet, but the process has already started. I am wading through the medical review process right now and that is a fucking process. Here's the link: http://frostyllamapeacecorps.blogspot.com/

That is all.

The Saga of the Shoulder

My super power is a shoulder that dislocates not on command. How is this useful? Well, it is a damn good way to get the immediate and full attention of everyone around you, including complete strangers. With my out of control hair and loud, unfiltered mouth, I tend to not have issues with gathering stares. But the shoulder trick really reels people in; it's hard to ignore screaming and convulsing. The legacy of the popping out of place shoulder goes back a few years, and an event the other week has caused me to reflect on my predicament. Prepare to think I am a huge idiot.

I was told during physicals for high school soccer that I have loose joints, especially my shoulders. Being a young, invincible adolescent, I tucked this information away to the recesses of my brain and played out my high school career with zero incident. I survived the hack fest that is Idaho soccer with no more than a rolled ankle or two and some nasty bruises. This is a feat that not many accomplish. I felt pretty good about my body's resilience to injury as I headed to Montana State University Billings for my freshman season.

Despite playing soccer at a high level for the majority of my life, most of my injuries that have required hospital visits have not been directly caused by chasing a ball around. Typically, I get injured doing something slightly idiotic in a situation where soccer is the underlying reason I am there. My shoulder is no exception.

It was October in Billings, Montana, and that fact alone meant that it was going to snow when no one wanted it to. The sky decided to dump about six inches on the ground the day before our game and the men's game. In order to actually see our field, not to mention play on it, we had to shovel all of the snow into huge piles along the sidelines, creating a snow canyon soccer stadium. Some upperclassmen slackers built a snowman instead of helping. That was their first mistake. I will not name names, but one of them made a second mistake of daring me to tackle the unsuspecting snow sculpture. Amidst screams of protest from the snowman's creators, I sprinted full speed across the freshly cleared field, obviously preparing to end the short existence of the shapely pile of snow. I enveloped the snowman made of wet, heavy, unforgiving snow in a huge bear hug football tackle and cleanly severed it in half.

As I lay in the wreckage, I realized that I just got my ass kicked by a inanimate object. My left shoulder got in a fight with the semi-solid preciptation and it did not win. While I didn't completely dislocate my shoulder joint, I did stretch already loose ligaments to a point they did not enjoy. I may have totally obliterated a defenseless snow creature, but I paid for it by not being able to do throw-ins for about two weeks. Putting shirts on was also a major challenge. I'm still not sure if proving my dominance over nature's sky secretions was worth it.

Ever since then, my shoulder has popped out of its proper place about once a year, always with zero warning. It's a sneaky little bastard, waiting for the perfect moment to leave me yelping and wrigling on the ground in severe pain. It usually happens during soccer games, almost always right in front of the opposing team's bench. For what looks like no reason at all, I'm suddenly screaming like I'm being mauled by a bear and rolling on the ground as if I was having a seizure. This continues just long enough for everyone to stop and stare. Then KA-PING! The weaselly joint goes back into its home, and I immediately stand back up and yell at everyone in a Cookie-Monster-from-hell voice. Ask any of my old teammates from MSUB and they will tell you about this slightly terrifying sequence of events in which I am usually the only person who knows what the hell is going on.

All of this led up to the incident at the climbing gym last week. I had almost forgotten that sometimes my body and I aren't on the same page; I thought this whole shoulder thing was a conquered beast. Not so much. About halfway up the wall, I was struggling to reach the next hold, which was conveniently placed above my left shoulder. At about the same moment my friend/belayer says "Come on, push the mental limits!", I do exactly that. I took mind over matter to the next level and ejected my shoulder joint into no-man's land. This obviously caused me to start screaming "IT'S OUT, IT'S OUT!!!", let go of the wall (thank you harness for stopping potential disaster) and make everyone in the gym extremely uncomfortable. I strive to create awkward situations; this might have been my best creation yet.

There was something rather troubling about this last subluxation extravaganza: my joint did not put itself back together very quickly. Previously, it would go back in almost immediately upon popping out. This time, however, it stayed out for a good five minutes, causing me to hold my arm against my chest like a wounded chicken wing while staring at the ground, taking my mind someplace else. Though it was being kind of an asshole by staying out that long, it did choose a dramatic time to go back in. While I was giving information to an employee who had to fill out an accident report, it silently slid back into place, allowing me to stand back up like a normal human being and very casually say "Oh, it just went back in", as if commenting on the weather. The employee was impressed. It's a good day when I can impress a stranger with a weird body contortion act.

I guess I will need surgery at some point. But with my lack of appropriate health insurance and not taking anything serious until it is life-threatening, I doubt it will happen anytime soon. So I can look forward to many more awkward moments that myself and those around me will be totally unprepared for. Life is meant to be kept exciting, and self-dislocating joints are a great way to accomplish that.

So Here's The Deal

But first, a story:

About two weeks ago I was going for nice, quiet, relaxing run down the ditch road behind my parent's house. As I was trotting along, a goose family appeared out of nowhere about twenty yards ahead of me; two big parental units and about seven awkward fuzz ball children. This caused me to hesitate a bit, for I've heard how aggressive geese can be when offspring are involved. There was a row of trees to my left and a canal full of rushing cow shit water to my right. In other words, no escape. Awesome.

I decided to keep pressing forward, which is my usual reaction when I encounter potentially hostile wildlife on my runs (if you are unaware of the other event I am referring to, ask me about it the next time you see me). I attempted to not appear threatening by avoiding eye contact with the geese. While this approach works well for deterring interaction with those annoying people with clipboards on the street who want to take a brief moment out of your day to get your opinion on how to alleviate child hunger or some other shit that makes you feel guilty, it does not work so great on water fowl. I made it past the family without incident, minus Momma and Pappa Goose hissing and flapping their wings vehemently at me. I thought I was home free.

You know when you can feel someone's presence behind you, even though you can't see them? About ten feet past the goose family, I got that feeling. I glanced behind me and there was Momma Goose, flying right behind my right shoulder. FLYING. She immediately attached herself to my arm via her beak, and I immediately yelped and started sprinting. I flung my torso and right arm across my body, hoping to dislodge the very pissed off goose. This had no effect on her what-so-ever. My next instant reaction was to reach back with my right arm, grab her neck and throw her off of me. I never thought I would experience having my hand fully grasp another creature's neck. This technique worked extremely well; remember that if you ever find yourself in the clutches of a goose intent on eating your arm. It was an intense five seconds of yelping, sprinting, flapping and honking. I was left with a bruise and broken skin. Through a long sleeved T-shirt.

I ran the last mile home faster than I think I ever have. If you are ever having issues with motivation during the end of your run, just get attacked by wildlife. I would win any race with a goose and bear obstacle course.

Also, this all happened behind a row of houses. I really hope someone looked out their back window to see some random girl being assaulted by a goose. Watching a stranger be the victim of wrong place, wrong time with a goose family would make my whole day. Actually, probably my whole week.

Now to the real news of my life. I am currently sitting in a basement in Fort Collins, Colorado. That's right, I have moved AGAIN. Some people take vacations every few months to get away; I just move. I'm hanging out here this summer to play on the Colorado Force, a team in the W-League. Hopefully this experience will allow me to divorce soccer for good. I mainly just want to prove to myself that just because you're from po-dunk Iderho and played soccer at a small Division II school doesn't mean you can't play the game at a high level. So that's what I am doing, dammit.

I honestly don't know how much I will be playing, but here's my schedule anyway: CLICK You can sleep in my basement if you come to a home game. That's right, I am living in a basement again. Fort Collins is a kick ass town, so I encourage everyone to come visit. I'll take you on a run and find some sort of wildlife for us to be chased by. Deal?

That is all for now, children.

MEEP?

I have a big update to blurt out to the black nothingness of the internet. But it will have to wait. So for now, I will leave you with this:



Taken at JB's senior year of high school (2005)


Taken sometime this year at an undisclosed location (2010).

For all of those unaware, the bottom picture is Paul, my younger brother. Apparently the Petrie Face is genetic.

The Definitive Guide to Traversing Wyoming via Automobile

Borrowed from: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/1800587665_5725046835.jpg

For the past several years I have been making a habit out of driving repeatedly across Wyoming. Typically, it is north-south on I-25 and I-90, which conveniently connects Billings to Cheyenne and Fort Collins. I have driven this route three times in the past four weeks. I feel that these experiences qualify me as an expert on interstate travel in the grand state of Wyoming. Let me enlighten you with my discoveries and knowledge of piloting a small fiberglass and steel craft at speeds of up to 90 mph...kidding, Mother. Mostly.

The bane of every driver's existence is the police. Pigs. Po po's. Big Blue Machine. The Fuzz. Dicks. Whatever you want to call them. People employ all sorts of tactics to avoid being pulled over by a man with a gun and a sense of righteousness. One tactic that is hardly ever used but works every time is not speeding. Weird. I have problems with this one, as do most people. According to my grandmother, who is very informed about many issues, such as finances, the state of the pine beetle in the West, proper amount of fiber intake and how to not get caught speeding in Wyoming, you will not get pulled over if you go only four miles over the speed limit. But cross that magical threshold and BAM! You get a ticket, sucker, thanks for your business. This directive comes from the governor himself, who happens to live next door to my grandma, so I am assuming she got this info directly from the source. You may be safe from being ticketed by only going five over in other states; however, in Wyoming they decided to prey on the uninformed and unsuspecting out of staters.

I have noticed a pattern with the highway patrol: if you don't see one within an hour or so of being in Wyoming, then you are good to punch it. If you do see a copper within an hour of being in Wyoming, you will see about fifteen more. They swarm an area in their dark chariots of destruction and corruption like Satanic locusts of death. And don't let the sense of security provided by the median fool you into thinking that if they're going the other way, they won't notice you blasting through the sound barrier in your mini van with huge flame decals on the side. I have seen cops flip a bitch right through the median to nail someone going the other way. I have also seen a mini van with huge flame decals on the side. Being driven by a middle aged woman. Who apparently gave into her eleven year old son's demands of transforming her Dodge Caravan into a badass Hot Wheels racer. Oh Wyoming.

Speaking of using the median as a U-turn lane, this practice is also acceptable for civilian drivers. If you miss your exit, forgot something at home, or totally blew by the off ramp that connects I-90 and I-25, simply turn around. Make sure to check for potential hazards, such as a car coming the other way. If it's clear, go for it. No one gives a shit, it's Wyoming.

Wyoming State Troopers also like to hang out at the bottom of hills in the dark, just waiting for someone to come flying down the hill with their cruise control off and stereo cranked up, leading to a temporary increase of speed. I do not recommend getting so into your music that you unconsciously stomp on the gas pedal. Because that causes you to break the four mph over the limit rule and allow some asshole cop to take advantage of your situation. And spotlight you in the face. And give you a ticket. And make you say 'FUCK!' really loudly. No, I am not speaking from personal experience.

I am pretty sure that the lady who worked at the Loaf 'N Jug (what the hell is this supposed to mean? Worst gas station name ever, after 'Kum & Go', which I lovingly call Jizz & Jet) in Casper thought I actually lived in Casper. She was in there every time I stopped. EVERY TIME. Apparently she is the one who lives at that gas station, not me. She had blonde hair, kinda buggy eyes and was way too happy to be working at a gas station. If you stop in Casper for gas, tell her hello for me and act awkward.

When it comes down to it, driving through Wyoming really isn't that bad. No traffic EVER, bits of scenery here and there, almost impossible to get lost and the road is fairly straight. They even painted lines on the road! I look forward to many more successful cross country trips in the White Rocket and wish everyone else well in their burning of petrol chemicals for pleasure endeavors.

The Taxman

All I have to say is that filing taxes when you have had six jobs in three different states over the course of the past 12 months is a serious pain in the ass. Especially when you're helpless and have your mother do it for you. Why does everything have to so complicated? Maybe if our government spent less money on ridiculous systems for doing everything and kept it simple we would actually be in the black as a nation FOR ONCE. I don't like the fact that I owe China about $30,000 because the people in charge don't have their shit together. It's a good thing us Americans continue to buy all of China's cheap, plastic crap so they have a reason to not cash in on what our government owes them.

ANYWAY.

This is where my rant ends because I could go on forever.

I took not just one, but TWO showers today!

Historical day in the life of Sara Gress: I took two showers today. That's right, the person who struggles to find the motivation to jump underneath a stream of cleansing water after a really sweaty workout somehow found the time and willpower to take two of them in a 24 hour period. What is this?! Am I growing up and becoming more hygenic?

Maybe...or maybe because it was cold outside and taking a shower warmed me up after running around outside on two separate occasions today. I'm going to go with option two. So don't worry, I am still a disgusting dirty kid who forgets to shower if I don't workout. I got sick once a few years ago, sick enough all I did for five days was go to work and sleep. I just felt like shit. Obviously, I didn't break a sweat at all. On day five, I got a wiff of myself and thought 'God, I smell like a pubescent boy...ohhhhhh yeah, I've totally forgotten to shower for almost a week.' It didn't even occur to me to take a shower, since being all sweaty after a workout is the only catalyst that makes my brain register that a shower is needed. Ha...oh man. I am gross.

But I am not alone in this basking in your own nastiness habit. The eleven of us freshman on the team living in the dorms back in the day definitely takes the dirty kid cake as a group. I remember during spring season, which by the way, fucking blows, especially your first spring, we had all taken an afternoon nap. That was one of the few times we could actually get some quality sleep in, because we had 6:30am running and then 10-11pm practice that night. Long ass day. And after playing soccer that intensely that late at night, we could never fall asleep until about 3am every night. And then class the next morning, yay!

So back to my story, we had all just woken up from a nap after classes and were headed down the cafeteria for some food. This was probably around 1pm. After just waking up and not having showered after running that morning, we all looked AWESOME. I mean, like, totally put together, matching clothes, hair done, no bags under the eyes, totally coherent, and smelling good. Right. We all get on the elevator (don't judge, those dorm stairs were scary) and some other girl from our floor gets on, too. The doors shut, she looks us all over and says 'Did you guys just wake up?' in this completely prissy, judgmental, righteous voice. Her face had 'oh. my. god. like, how can you even look like that' written all over it. BITCH. She was all done up...who the hell was she trying to impress at MSUB, of all places? We all gave her a death stare, and said 'Yeah, actually, we did'. Commence awkward silence. Accompanied by our smell. Whenever I saw that girl for the next four years, I instantly judged her on what she was wearing. Just out of spite. That's right, silent revenge.

I realize that story probably isn't funny at all for anyone who wasn't there. I don't care, I like it and this is my blog, dammit.

Anyway, my March is going to be full of driving across Wyoming. Last weekend I visited my grandma in Cheyenne and Lucie in Fort Collins. This weekend I am flying back to Boise. The next weekend I am going to Fort Collins for tryouts and then the next weekend after that I am driving back to Fort Collins AGAIN for Lucie's going away party. In other words, I will be keeping that gas station in Casper that I always stop at in business. And I will get to view the glorious scenery that is eastern Wyoming repeatedly. Yes!

I really have nothing exciting to talk about. But thanks for reading my word vomit anyway.