Double Dates are a Horrible Idea, Or, How I Found a Fun Place to Karaoke

A couple weekends ago, I joined my friend, Val, her boyfriend, Will, and his friends for a night at Dave & Buster's, which for those of you who have never been is an adult Chuckie Cheese with a wider variety of food.  Tons of games, lots of food, and the best part, a bar.  We all played a bunch of games and stayed until close, unable to use our tickets to get any prizes but securing our need to return another time.

One of the Will's friends, Tony, took an interest in me apparently and the next day I got a message from Val asking if I would like to double date with them.  It's been a while since I'd been on a date, and I hadn't really gotten to talk to Tony all that much the night before, so why not?

I met them all at Val's place at 7:30pm and from there Will drove us all to a sushi place.  Will is a bit of a rowdy character, so dinner was entertaining to say that least.  Most of the conversation was across all four of us, although I tried to ask Tony a couple questions about himself too.  He had come off as a bit quiet the night before, which I was more than fine with since I'm usually that away around people too.  We talked a bit more on the way over to the bowling after, but that was probably the last point it felt like a date.

We tried to bowl in teams, but the whole thing turned into a competition (which I won...I may suck at pool but I can hold my own in bowling - thanks, college!).  As we bowled, the guys continued to drink...and drink...and drink...and I'm actually still not sure how many pitchers they had, but I know Val and I had 2 cups each.  It was slowly turning into me-Val and Will-Tony hang out time, and though unimpressed, I was having a decent time.

After we ran out of bowling time, we went into the bar area and found karaoke set up by a guy that reminded me of a country version of one of my friend's back home. He not only let us sing as many songs as we wanted, but also had a great voice himself! He asked me to do a duet with him...which was fun until Tony kept trying to drunkenly sing into my microphone with me.

A drunk Tony continued to try to join in on every song...even ones sung by other individuls in the bar.  After spilling a beer and stumbling around a bit, Will helped lead him out and Val drove us back to her place, Tony still singing along and rocking out to every song.  Although the date was horrible, I had a wonderful time with my friends and a slightly awkward stranger.  Plus, found a reliable and cheap place to karaoke!

Don't Knock It Til You Try: Experiments in Hikes and Diets

Vegetarian, Vegan, Paleo, Juice, Michael Phelps* - there are a million diets, both ridiculous and healthy, and those that fit the later should be worth a shot, right?

While I can't imagine never having another cheeseburger or chicken-anything (sorry Vegs), or imagine living without cheese or eggs (sorry, Veegs), or want to pay a ton of money for a juicer, and did I mention the cheese thing? (cutting out my two favorite parts of the pyramid - dairy and grains - just plain wrong, Paleo. I was lucky enough to be born about 2000 years AD, and I'm sure as hell not gonna let all those pluses go to waste!).

The truth is while I do understand that health benefits behind these diets, I know enough about myself and behavior modification to know that no one can change overnight.  I've accepted that while I may never be able to completely give up a food group, it wouldn't hurt to downsize the less than nutrious ones a bit and fill in more better.

Sweets have never been a problem since adolescence.  Somewhere between my childhood and tender, bitter years of middle school I lost my craving for sweets, replaced with a viscious desire for anything salty, cheesy, Italian, or Mexican.  Do I enjoy the occasional pastry or ice cream scoop? Of course, but I never desire more than the serving size.  Whereas I've finished medium pizzas and too much of large pizzas by myself on more occasions than I'm proud of.

So my goals were simple: try to decrease the cheese and grains (without getting rid of them all together), sneak in more veggies and fruits, and try to stick to lean protein sources (red meat about once a week).  Few goals that were concrete but not restrictive, something I thought I could handle.

First it helps to shop in the right places - of which Southern California is chalked full.  Trader Joe's and the local sunday Farmer's Market are my new stables, and I've stopped into Sprouts a few times as well.  I've also heard of completely gluten-free or other such full organic stores which good luck finding in the South.

Second it helps to use the internet for recipes.  Did I know I could make a salad dressing I actually like and wasn't full of fat? No, but now I do! Did I know, granted with sauce, you cannot tell the difference between normal pasta and gluten-free pasta? Not a clue, but now I do! Did I know you can pretty much make a burger out of any vegetable known to man? You see where I'm going with this.

However I've learned a few other things too, like stay away from gluten-free tortillas and make your own veggies smoothies unless you plan to add vodka.

Lastly, if you're gonna eat poorly, try to find the better versions...or just accept the extra gym time.
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Back home, hiking was something you did through a lot of woods, a mostly soil-based terrain, places which from the suburban area where I grew up you had a bit of a drive to get to if you wanted something actually challenging.

Now I live on the border of mountians, in less humid air and drier ground.  The closest hiking loop is about five miles long, steeper on one end than the other, and mostly open to the sky except for the last quarter mile.

A couple different views from the top!

It's a pretty good view, but the trail does tend to get old a bit fast.  So a couple weekends ago I went with a friend to a different hiking area, a small canyon with a waterfalla bit farther east.  The "entrance" was a bit off the beaten path, past a couple no trespassing signs, but it was an easier way to get down to the canyon (which was open to the public).

The beginning was a gravel path that sloped down into the canyon.

Along the way there was more graffiti than I had ever seen in my life, as well as a few suspicious caves and finally the begining of the water.

Slowly the gravel ended and we began what would be many, many, many river crossings (also there's Dan!).

Gorgeous spot that I plan to picnic at someday this summer...right under that tree.

Some stepping stones we couldn't figure out if they were man-placed or naturally occuring.  Dan often crossed parts like these, while I with a camera often took the safer/wider river crossings.

A look behind.

Finally come across some flowers!  And yes, often I stopped for pictures and had to play catch up to a determined Dan.

This is apparently the public and "normal" entrance to the canyon...more or less straight down a mountan side with the help of a series of ropes.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

Almost to the waterfall! I was getting a bit antsy at this point. While the path was shorter than the other hiking trail, it was more challenging, so it took about the same time.

THE WATERFALL!  It's way in the center of the picture. The water was pristine and ice cold - I took off my shoes and stepped in to that inner pool up to my calves; my ankles hurt from the cold for the first five minutes.  The pool was maybe 4 or 5 foot deep, I'm not sure, but I plan to find out this summer.  Shortly after we arrived another group came in bathing suits and got in. To the right of the waterfall there is a rope that goes down to the water and you can use it (and a lot of determination) to get up to the next pool from which that small waterfall falls.  According to one of the guys in this other group, the pool up there is a bit deeper and had a natural water slide!  I cannot wait to return in the middle of the summer, on a day when that water will feel heaven-sent.

Graffiti Paradise.

Coast Theory, Or, How Tanning and Sickness Differ on Opposite Coasts

Bad news: Germ Theory

Maybe it's just been a while since I've had a really bad cold, but from what I remember colds were not as debilitating on the East Coast.  Then again, part of me thinks I just built up anti-bodies for East Coast-versions of the cold, and these were my first couple experiences with West Coast-versions.  The analysis could go on and on.

The first day you feel, often awake with, a slight sore throat.  You're sort of suspicious, so you take a couple vitamins and let mother nature take its course.  The rest of the day goes fine, no hiccups, so you forget about it.  Which is why you're surprised when your nose starts waterfalling in the middle of your lab meeting the next day...for a good hour. The next few days is a series of remedy trials.  

Try Nyquil, they said.  You'll sleep better, they said.

I did sleep...for a few hours.  Then I paced. Thought I was hungry. Thought I was nauseous. Thought I had an ulcer. Paced some more. Sweated. Ate some bread. Immediately regretted it. Paced some more.  Lay in bed in a delirium, debating whether it's worth getting up to ask my roommate to take me to the hospital, or if the carpet's gonna move under my feet again.

I slept for another hour and awoke, determined that although I was in no condition for class, I would get work done at home.  After spending an hour reading five sentences, yet being too wired to sleep, I resolved to stare at the window in wait.

By 4pm, the last fogginess had warn off and I vowed never to go near anything ending in -quil again.  I resolved myself to Cold-eeze zinc supplements until they made EVERYTHING with cheese taste BITTER (note: most of my meals involve cheese of some sort, so yes, this was a huge issue) and just consented to vitamins until the horribleness passed.

This spring, on my second and much worse go around with the common cold, I discovered a zinc spray to replace the Cold-eeze, which didn't make my mouth or food taste as weird, Sudafed PE for the day of congestion, and cough syrup for the last few days of drainage and phlegm.  Between me and my roommate who prefers other cold-aisle-products, we have a small pharmacy equipped for any challenge our sinuses cares to present us.

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The Good News?

It's almost a challenge to get a sunburn here!  As someone who burns within 10 minutes of sun exposure back home, I was surprised when a lotion-less 3 hour trip to the beach with my burnt-resistant cousins which I thought would turn me into a lobster, only resulted in the slightest hint of pink!

Why? This question plagued me, and I came up with a few reasons that always seemed to fall short - smog? But that changes from day to day. Latitude?  Not all that different from where I was on the East Coast, and possibly I'm farther south now than before, so that made no sense. Magic? Not impossible...

A friend helped me out by explaining it had to do with the fact that back home, the Mid-South Atlantic Coast falls within a Humid Subtropical Climate Zone (emerald green below), while my new SoCal home falls within one of the very few Mediterranean Climate Zones on the planet which does not border the Mediterranean Sea.  And this gives the sun *magical* properties (aka, science)!

I take this to mean I essentially live in Italy!

Yes, I have gotten a few mild and maybe one bad sunburn, but on all of those occasions I had no lotion on for 3 hours between 11AM-3PM, the worst times of day.  Mostly now I either go out for only an hour or half-hour at 2PM or later and am completely fine, even on back to back days.

No humidity AND less harsh sun? One could get used to this...

There's No Crying in Paintball...Okay, a Little Bit of Crying

But first, NINJAS!

No, not this type of ninja:

THIS type of ninja:

I have a friend here who owns a red ninja motorcycle named Delilah, and after much pleading, finally took me on a ride last last weekend.  I grew up with a best friend whose dad had two Honda Goldwings, and I remember fondly the few couple times he took me on rides.  There were just a couple differences that didn't make themselves apparent until my ninja-ride began:

1) Goldwings have a nice back and armrests for the passenger, making it nearly impossible to fall out and, on long stretches of highway, almost easy to fall asleep.

2) The Goldwing had been driven by a middle-aged man, not a 23 year-old boy.

Having only the foot pegs and my friend to hold onto, I quickly learned the safest option you have is to go with the flow - lean into turns, bend down when speeds get high, and do not let go.  On the highway my thoughts were focused on the rush of the wind and the new visual perspective the view provided, and decidedly less on the fact that any car ignoring their blind spot on the LA highway could plow into us at any moment.

Thankfully it wasn't until we were back on 45mph roads that my friend informed me we had been going 100mph!  As scary at times as it was, I would gladly go again...this time figuring out how to fasten my helmet for myself.
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Last Thursday, one of my friends had a birthday and in honor, his girlfriend planned a paintball trip. As a pretty fair-skinned individual with bruising tendencies I was a little hesitant to go, but my inner spunky short person said "Hell yeah, I can do this!"  Both sides were right.

I geared up with two layers of pants and long sleeve shirts, the outside layer being loose-fitted as suggested by the internet, some sunblock on my face, and shoes I didn't care how dirty they got.  However the layers made me sweat like no other once we got going, with the addition of the mask not being the easiest thing to breath through and the gun weighing more than I had anticipated.  I was thankful that we were largely a group of beginners (although almost all the others there were bigger gamers than I), and even the couple of people who had the most experience were on my team.

My beginning strategy was simple: do not get shot.  And so I succeeded, at least for the first 3 games and the first round of the 4th.  I largely hung in the back or up in bunkers, covering the back of my teammates.  It took a while for me to get aiming down, but by the second round of the 3rd game I got two people out! I was 2 kills for 0 being killed and feeling pretty proud of myself.

In the 4th game I got my third kill and my first time being knocked out.  The shot must have come from far away, because I barely felt a pinch on the back of my right calf, but the paint was there so I raised my hands in the universal terms for "out" and left the field.  The pain wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, so I decided to be a little more charge-and-go-for-it.  Oh foolish, foolish, Past Me.

The 5th game I was coming up a hill in the center of the playing field, creeping up slowly, expecting at any moment for someone to appear just feet from me.  All of a sudden there was one of my friends about 10 feet away.  I fired a couple shots and he jumped back down, I though out of being hit.  Turns out it was just surprise from me being there and after a chuckle, he jumped back up and head-shot me.  Head shots, at least on the front or the side weren't painful at all thanks to the helmet, so I walked back off the field with dignity, even a little bit of pride in having gotten so close to another player.

At this point, I was still in a winning ratio (3kills for 2K.O.s) so my bravery increased a bit more.  The next game I got K.O.'d about a minute in on the butt, but again from far enough away that the sting was minimal.  The second to last game which featured three rounds instead of two would make the breaking of my paintball spirit. The first round went great - I managed to stay in the entire time and get a far distance kill. I was back to  positive ratio (4kills:3K.Os)!  But then the second round I didn't get to enter the playing field as far as I liked, and halfway through there was an on and off shoot-out between me and another player.  Apparently the referee called one minute left (according to the player on the opposite team whom which I was having the shoot-out), and all of a sudden this other player rushed into the container in which I was hiding. I panicked and retreated to a spot where I would have the advantage if he came around, which he did about three seconds later.  I can't be sure who fired first or how much, all I know was five seconds later I was grabbing my leg, and for good reason:

New Rule: Do not get shot from less than 5 yards away

Turns out the paintball didn't even break, just ricocheted off my leg, so I technically could've stayed in (no splatter, don't matter), but my leg was stinging so bad from a 3-foot away shot. I surrendered immediately and bowed out (I did successfully K.O him though, so still positive).  I thought that was the worst it could get, but there was one thing I hadn't remembered: my shoulder sunburn from my hike the previous day.

I headed in for the last round of that game, and proceeded to get a nice hit on someone who hadn't even seen me.  But my shot apparently blew my cover, because as I tried to leave my hide out I got hit in the shoulder, right on my sunburn.  I cried out and grabbed my left shoulder with my left hand (since my right hand was now holding all of the weight of the gun) and thought my shooter would both see and hear that I was done.  But instead he proceeded to fire at least four more times at me, one of which hit me on the left forearm I had exposed in reacting to my first shot. I cried out again (either surrender or a stream of profanity, hard to be sure), and bent over while simultaneously trying to raise my gun as high as I could in surrender.  This must have worked because the onslaught stopped and I could walk off the field, choking up tears.

As much as it all hurt and as much as I probably had a right to cry, I HATED that I was crying.  I tried to stop as fast as I could, but my sunburnt\ continued to sting for a solid 5-10 minutes after the initial impact.  Plus I'm one of those people that if I can have a few minutes to myself, I can suck it up and get back in the game - but the second someone shows sympathy, the tears overflow.  After the initial "are you okays?" and tearful nods, I was fine as we walked back to the car (where we would meet in between games while our ref booked us another field).  But when my attacker came over to express how sorry he was for hitting me, the tears overflowed all over again.  Part of me was starting to feel so bad that he felt so bad, and the "Hell Yeah" part of me was saying "Get your shit together!"  I really want to know how to control this sympathy trigger, because I hate crying in front of others and yet others' sympathy seems to restart it in injury situations instantaneoulsy.

But I gave myself a break and accepted a distant shot the next round and surrendered the very last round.  To be fair, I hadn't gotten the best sleep and hadn't had time for breakfast, which probably didn't help my fragile nature, but I still wanted to come off as tough as everyone else and was disappointed in my battle tears.  Thankfully, no one else made a big deal of it and more importantly the birthday boy had a fantastic time.

However I will not be returning to the field until the memory of my recent excursion passes, if it ever in fact does.