insubordinate rock star

holy shit, it’s 2008.

that means it’s my favorite time of year:  assessment time.

here it is.

the year end list 2007

number of floors in the us bancorp tower visited on a
tuesday: 7

rest areas visited: 56

wine bottles consumed alone: 16

bear run-ins: 1

states visited: 10

crocodile sightings: 1

temporary jobs: 5

hardest boulder problem sent: v4 (gotta work harder!)

national parks visited: 10

number of parks that were closed when I tried to visit: 3

dollars worth of library fines accrued: 14.85

books completely read: 8

books still in progress: 4

mushroom trips: 3

ambulances called: 2

tornadoes caught in and survived: 1

dollars worth of schwag stolen: 250

times I took my pants off at a party: 3

karaeoked jon bon: 4

nights I slept in a vehicle: 240

total dollars spent on rent: 2,925

pairs of pants made from scratch: 1

hours it took me to make those pants: 48, spread over 1.2 years

journals lost: 1

carnivorous plants that did not survive my care: 2

jobs quit: 5

student loans paid off: 1

unexplainable drunken injuries: 4

tubes of burt’s bees champagne lip gloss: 13

emails I forgot to return: 62

times I swore I’d never live in

portland

again: 5

times I wished I still lived in

portland

: 258

credit cards paid off: 2

went swimming places I wasn’t supposed to: 12

ran naked across the road: 1

peed in the middle of the road (naked): 1

cell phones broken: 2

went sea kayaking: 2

learned to bake something new: 4

meteor showers watched: 2

new, lifesaving, zombie-proof certifications: 1

regrets: 0

Dunbar’s off on an adventure again, so it’s time to update you all on the insanity.  Bet you were looking forward to more long-winded descriptions of my exploits.

So, I moved to Yosemite.  Found myself a fairy-tale cabin in Foresta (inside the park) and drove me and all my junk (in the new Subaru!) on a 16-hour jaunt to the park.  The goal was to move all my stuff into the cabin on Thursday afternoon in time to be at my Wilderness First Responder course by Friday morning.  I talked to my landlord and he was going to meet me there, things were all set up. 

Somehow, I have this magnetism that means something’s going to go wrong, no matter how well I plan things.  My landlord decided he couldn’t show up on Thursday.  "Go get a tarp, and put all your stuff outside.  I’ll meet you there in three or four days," he said. 

Yep.  Put your stuff (a trailer full of furniture, boxes, and clothes) outside for a week.  Hot. What choice do you have when you’re broke and have to return the U-Haul trailer that night? 

So I got to the cabin and started unloading things, when my across-the-street neighbor Anne happened by.  I’m not sure how old Anne is, but she’s definitely a grey-haired hippie.  Anne introduced herself, and upon sizing up the situation said, "That’s bullshit.  Let’s break in through that window in back, and we can put all your stuff inside."

I love hippies.

So Anne fetched us a hammer, we carefully took the screen off the window, and I moved all my stuff inside.  And then Anne invited me over for guacamole and margaritas.  Fall in love with Foresta?  Check.

The WMI hosted our WFR course at the Yosemite Institute campus in the park, so I drove up there and slept for the night, and spent the next 10 days learning how to splint massive fractures, bandage head wounds, diagnose life-threatening altitude illness, build a litter to carry people, and clean up gnarly bloody injuries.  Pretty sweet. 

The first night on campus, we bought a bunch of beer and built a big fire.  Cause what else are you supposed to do at night in the woods?  Somewhere in the midst of the drinking, Nick and I decided that S’mores were a really good idea.  So we snuck into the kitchen James Bond-style and lifted some materials for snacks.  It was an epic journey, including flashlights and lots of whispering and giggling. 

Couple nights later, there was a meteor shower, so we grabbed sleeping materials and a group of us slept out in a giant meadow to watch the stars.  Jeff (who works in the YI kitchen) brought a bunch of wine and Deeps (a YI instructor) brought a telescope.  The meteors were pretty spectacular, but not quite as dramatic as being woken up at 3 am by a coyote barking it’s head off really close to us.  Kind of scary.

You know you’re living out in the woods when the wildlife comes to visit.  Couple days later, a bear broke into my cabin.  We put the screen back on the window, but left the window open (cause that’s how we found it).  Turns out, there are bears in Yosemite, and they like to eat people food.  My next door neighbor woke up at 4:30 in the morning to some banging and crashing that was a bear peeing on all my stuff.  (I was sleeping at YI the whole week, so I didn’t get eaten, don’t worry).  I had to leave class to clean up spilled flour and bear urine.  Welcome home.

We got a day off during the week to take a break from massive injuries (I swear I’ve been dreaming rescue dreams for two solid weeks).  Some folks went climbing, but it’s not really a day off to me unless it involves boozin’.  So I took the team (how I managed to befriend all of the 19-year olds is beyond me) back to my cabin to hang out, watch a movie, and drink beer.  And give Erin a haircut.  And make them help me move boxes around.  We spent our day off swimming in the Merced river, drinking more beer, and eating pizza.  And bouldering around on the giant rocks in the river.  Wicked fun.

I swear I’ve spent the past 3 weeks just playing.  During the WFR course, we got to practice our skillz in a fake Mass Casualty Incident and a fake night rescue.  Fake blood, severed hands, and fractured bone ends sticking out of legs.  Halloween in August. Most of the kids I met live pretty near the park, so I think I’ll be making some visits to my new WFR friends.

Post-carnage, I flew into Hartford to take a trip to Maine.  Peter and I drove up to Acadia, which was vomitously full of tourists.  Spent three days exploring the woods and drinking way too much wine.  I ate lobster for the first time!  It’s pretty good, but kind of squeaky.  Weird.  We found a pond in the middle of the park that had real-life, native carnivorous pitcher plants! You know I’m a nerd because that was seriously the coolest thing in the park. 

We drove all the way back across Maine the long way in hopes of seeing a moose, but no luck.  Lots of fake moose, and lots of ‘moose crossing’ signs (which were torment, by the way) but no damn moose.  Which means I need to add moose to my list of "Really Awesome Animals That I Tried to See While Traveling But Failed to Find."  That list also includes porcupines, manatees, and armadillos.  All of which are apparently way more elusive than you thought they were.

My first day of work starts tomorrow, so I’m headed back into San Jose today, and then home to my cabin tonight.  Hopefully no more bears have peed on my stuff. I have lots of moving in to do, and lots of adventuring, as well.  Check out the pictures on my facebook account if you want to see documentation of all of this hilarity.

PDX folks, I miss you.  Knoxvegas team, I’ll probably be out there for Rocktoberfest.  Heart.

I’m losing pieces of myself

everywhere I go

in the mirror, I am an old woman

full of worries and regrets

in the fading light

all the colors are dull

love hits me in the stomach first

meeting someone I like, I

conveniently feel like vomiting

call my name

and fuck me slowly

so I can pretend that you care

it’s the nevers that are the worst

never see you again

never love like that

never never

It’s amazing how little I feel like I’ve been sleeping lately.  Week 4 of Outdoor School just ended, only 6 more to go.  I already feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.  A school bus is probably a more appropriate image.  Here’s what my schedule looks like:

7 am: Wake up
7:20: Weather Crew (Teaching 6th graders how to predict weather…. ish).
7:50: Breakfast
8:30: Get field study ready (Wash a bunch of cups, put together field study groups, make tea for an ethnobotany station, refill supplies, etc).
9:15: Field study starts.  Entertain 30 6th graders with funny/dumb jokes while talking about forest growth cycles.
9:45:  Dismiss 6ers into small groups for high schoolers.  Sit for 5 minutes, and then run up to the top of the hike to make sure no one’s dying. Follow 1-mile trail one direction, then turn around and do it the opposite way.  Point out different types of plants.  Model teach activities.  Laugh at 6th graders.  Walk the poor planners back down to the bathroom to pee.  Walk the kid with a bloody nose to the nurse.  Walk the kid with a hurt ankle/knee to the nurse.  Go back up the hill.  Go back down the hill.
11:45: Lunch.  Try really hard to avoid working.
12:30: Cabin time.  Meet with the boss, do pull ups, make new cue cards/curriculum, or take care of other random duties.  Try really hard to lay down for 10 minutes.
1:15: Field study starts again. 10-minute troubleshooting/bonding meeting with high schoolers to feed them candy, then go back up on the hike.  Do the hike one direction, and then turn around and do it the opposite way.  Point out lots of fungus and answer random questions.  Teach activities for new high schoolers. Hide in the bushes whenever possible.
3:30: Bring all 30 kids back into my building for the wrap up.  Laugh at 6th grade skits and pass out cheap plastic bead treausres.
4:00: Field study ends.  Get 6ers back to cabins, run to the dining hall to meet teachers.  Make new field study groups with a new class for the next day. 
4:25: Recreation.  Usually, egg drop.  Convince 6ers to build egg-traptions to protect eggs from a fall off of the roof.  Climb onto roof of building and throw them off.  Yell a bunch.  Laugh heartily at egg carnage.
5:15: End recreation.  Bring 6ers back to the field, sit for 10 minutes.
5:25: Evening weather.  Help 6ers prepare a silly skit about a weather concept.
5:55:  Dinner. 
6:40-ish:  Class meetings.  Call student leaders for next week, clean dining hall, work on random curriculum, build campfire, or meet with the boss. 
7:30: 6ers are leaving class meetings.  Book it up to campfire (up ANOTHER hill) unless I’m up there already.  Try to sit in the back row so I don’t have to stand up during the banana song.  I hate that song.
9:00-ish:  Campfire ends.  Head back down to the dining hall to make snacks for high schoolers.  Nachos or elephant ears, depending on the day.
9:30: Mingle with high school kids, make fun of them, steal their snacks, or give them silly presents.
10:00:  Play a silly game with high school kids.
10:30-ish:  Make the high school kids leave the dining hall. Wash all their dirty dishes.
11:00:  Staff meeting.  Talk about stuff.
11:15 or 11:30:  Bedtime.  Finally. 

Repeat until Thursday.  Go to bed at 1 am Thursday night, get up even earlier to pack up/clean.  Leave site at 4:30, go home and sleep/do laundry/ get more supplies/ recuperate/ make bad choices about how late to stay up.

Go back again on Sunday. 

I swear, this REALLY is my last session.  I’m getting too old for this.

Couple things I realized over the last two weeks:

1.  If you are ever in a mangrove swamp in a kayak, and you perchance happen to come across a 14-foot crocodile not 10 feet away from you, don’t freak out.  Back away slowly.

2.  Moonshine is not actually all that bad, although it is a little reminiscent of rubbing alcohol.

3.  If I had a Social Distortion belt buckle, I might be as cool as JR.

4.  Not climbing for a year and a half makes you a freaking pansy.

5.  Florida is hot and muggy and full of mosquitos, and the islands are not as cool as you want them to be.  Unless you’re sea kayaking in a national park.  Or gator watching in the Everglades.  Those parts are cool.

6.  Driving through a tornado is kind of scary. And really rainy.

8.  I miss Franzia and Buttershots.

It’s that time again!  This is a little late, but hell.  Here it is. 

year end list 2006

states travelled to: 7

countries: 5

alternators replaced: 2

mufflers: 1

jobs held: 6

bikes run over by drunken maniacs: 1

busted bikes that belonged to me: 0

cell phones lost/broken: 2

drunken arm wrestling competitions observed: 1

pairs of shoes lost/stolen: 2

times I thought about applying to grad school: 4,693

actual grad schools applied to: 2

grad schools admitted to: 1

grad programs begun: 0

total separate flights: 14

number of times I avoided the bathroom to pee in the street:
9,284

bathroom haircuts: 4

times I fell in love with dolly parton: 3

times I fell in love with the south: 5

times I almost got my ass kicked in southern bars: 2

times I had strep throat: 1.5

tubes of burt’s bees champagne colored lip gloss: 9

dive bars added to the “dive bars across america” list: 13

months of rent paid: 3

months of living in my truck: 9

national parks visited: 6

national parks that were closed when I tried to visit them:
3

times I gave in and ate meat: too many for me to feel
comfortable listing

stolen showers from vegas hotels: 1

creepy guys who hit on me at the coffee shop: 7

domestic partners acquired: 1

there’s an image in my head
of the girl I’d like to be
beautiful and perfect

in your mirrors
all the parts of me are flaws

I am not punctual
orthodox
predictible

I shy away from absolutes
have trouble with commitment
so that all of the things that I am not
will never find me

I am not an easy girl

not immune to desire
wanting you to see the parts
mirrors don’t reflect

it’s desire

kiss me again
so that I don’t feel so alone
now that I’ve gotten my heart
all sewn up next to yours

I want to write you a poem
that explains how it feels
to be misplaced
running away from
    and towards
something you can’t identify
but is too real

I got that feeling today
    like I don’t belong
    like even this city isn’t mine anymore
like I’m just sleepwalking
I am that ghost
the girl you know but have never seen before
passing through town in the dark

you said
    the ocean is more violent here

in this, I am lost
in you

Why I Have A Sick Hangover and Haven’t Slept in Days

Ch. 1

I keep meaning to write blogs about how annoying rich women are when they order coffee.  I swear, the next one that demands some f-ing Sweet and Low in her espresso before I Latte it is going to get a Latte shoved right up her tight, princess-y, spending Daddy’s money ass.

Is that bitter?

Ch. 2

The breaking up of a favorite band is a traumatic event.  It’s like your best childhood friends deciding to become corporate sellouts and then ratting you out about how you stole from the movie theater when you were in high school.

OK, it’s not like that at all.  But it still makes me sad.

Sleater-Kinney’s back to back Portland shows were out of control hot.  In general, those girls are out of control hot, but when they’re screaming your favorite songs at you in a crowded room and you’re mildly drunk knowing they’ll never perform again, it’s pretty hot.   I love watching the way Carrie Brownstein almost makes out with the microphone as she’s singing.  Dear Carrie Brownstein- even though Sleater-Kinney is over, will you take me to the prom?

Ch. 3

There’s something about a lot of crusty European cruiser bikes locked to bridges and carrying suited professionals that makes you feel quite charmed by a city.  Amsterdam is, aside from the fact that you can buy weed in bars and hot honeys on the street, pretty unbelievable.  The Netherlands is easily one of the most progressive countries ever, with incredible laws surrounding not only gay rights but also agriculture and urban development.  Within the inner city, corporate chain stores are far between, and everyone eats fries with kick-ass mayonaise on them.  So yummy.

Despite the fact that even the cows are white in the Netherlands, Amsterdam is an incredibly international city.  I love sitting on the street and listening to other languages pass me by.  There’s a floating flower market on one of the canals that satisfied my yearnings for green things, and we took a backyard canal tour with an ex-pat and some wine that explored the hidden courtyards of the city.  At night, the canals light up and I could sit for hours drinking wine and listening to people. I’m charmed.

Ch. 4

Michael Franti and the Dresden Dolls made Belgium’s Pukkelpop festival worthwhile.  With only two garbage cans for about 5,000 people, the trash piles up to your ankles during the shows.  And let’s just say that camping on an old horse pasture does not provide for pleasant sleep.  Nor do the fuckheads who yell things all night long, until the damn sun rises, right next to your tent.  In Belgium, drunk men singing in groups is not a stereotype.

Ch. 5

In London, at a bar (the name of which I forget), you can order Quorn on your salad.  Or a Quorn burger.  You’ll pay out of your ass for it, and if you don’t order right they’ll serve your beer warm, but you can get veggie chicken at a restaurant.  I LOVE EUROPE.

Ch. 6

French accents are funnier than most.  Especially when the wait staff at a bar critique the girls ‘woo-hooing’ as they run by- "You are not a Spice Girl! Shut up!"

Paris is as charming as Amsterdam, minus the bikes.  Were I ever able to get up before 2 pm, I’m sure I would have seen some great museums, but the urge to drink French wine overpowers the urge to elbow my way to the front of the tourists to see the Mona Lisa.  The Louvre is prettier at night, anyway, when the crowds of Americans aren’t making me want to vomit.

Went to the Moulin Rouge to see some hot, scantily clad girls- who knew that the famous Moulin Rouge is gayishly gay? There were more men in leather and sparkles than I’ve ever seen, and I’ve got a few gay boyfriends.  I tried some escargo, but couldn’t get past the whole ‘it’s snails’ thing.  Slimy.  The Moulin Rouge must have an ostrich farm hidden in a Parisian corner, because there were a lot of feathers in that show.  And some incredible neon.  One of my favorite parts of the trip, hands down.

The Eiffel tower is obligatory, but swamped.  It’s prettier from a distance, at night when it’s lit up.

The hotel desk clerk must have thought we were nuts when we ordered ANOTHER bottle of wine at 3 am, because his response was "A large one? No wake up call for you, eh?" Ooooh, French wine.

Ch. 7

I have a terrible sunburn on the backs of my thighs (and part of my ass) from laying on Greek beaches all day and snorkeling in the water.  You may find this fact humorous, but it’s not.  The day after the sunburn was the day my flight was scheduled to leave for Amsterdam.  And the day after that, to the States.  And the day after that, to Denver.  Sitting is not comfortable when your ass is sunburned.

Mama’s American Restaurant is officially my favorite place in Fira, on the island of Santorini.  Mama is an old Greek woman who lived for a long time in the States, and started a breakfast joint on an island.  Walking into the restaurant, Mama will greet you- "You lookin’ good, Sons of Bitches!!!" or "Good morning, Sex Machine!" in a Greek accent, yelling.  Nuts.  And utterly hillarious.  To the three girls having breakfast together, she said, "Where are the men? No, fuck the men, we don’t need them! We need them to make the money so we can spend it!" That’s Greece.

Had a beach party with a bonfire on the first night, which consisted of much running around, dancing around the fire, eating, falling all over the place, and getting sand in my Ouzo.

Dance party at the bar day two, until 5 am.  Nothing in Fira closes until 5 am.  Thus, Nicky Dunbar did not go to bed until 5 or 6 am every night.  And then hung out on the beach every day, all day.  Met some awesome Australian girls (fucking everyone working on Santorini is Australian) and laughed my ass off at my sister’s impersonations of the people who work near her.  When she comes home, you can ask her about them.

Got my purse stolen in the town square the third night.  If I had your phone number, I definitley don’t anymore.  You should call me and leave me a message.

Santorini is charming in a different way- I think it’s the guys with the donkeys selling vegetables on the tiny streets.  Maybe it’s the way that Greek men can’t NOT say hello to ladies as they walk past.  Or the good wine you can buy in plastic 2-liters at the grocery store.  Maybe it’s just the mediterranean climate and the incredible sunrises.  If I’ve disappeared in a few weeks, you’ll find me in either Amsterdam or Greece.  If I wasn’t a sissy, I would have gone scuba diving.

There’s a lack of humor in this blog that I’m not happy with, but I’m tired and there’s too much adventure to fit in one post.  I’ll catalouge all the really funny parts and tell you about them later.  For now, my ankles are swollen from 6 separate flights in 3 days.  And my sunburned ass is screaming at me.  And I kind of stink.  And I’m certainly not ready to go back to the real world.

Oregon and Colorado have a lot in common:  many cows, many white people, some trees.  Cowboys.  But the thing that’s seriously missing in my Colorado existence so far are hippies. 

Thus, I began an important search.

A couple weeks ago, when I was still in Rifle, I got so bored of hanging out with cowboys that I decided to initiate a full-fleged hippie search.  I immediately found the authority on all things, ever- the internet.  And what did I look for, you may ask?  Well, incredulous padawan, hippies don’t actually live in the internet.  Only viruses live in the internet.  But the internet knows all of the places that hippies do like to live- like coffee shops, anarchist bookstores, and festivals.  Most of all, festivals.

Speaking of festivals, I spent last week back home, in Oregon, at the Oregon Country Fair.  Which is the best place ever.  I hung out with the ex-husband and some old friends, made some lemonade, and drank a bunch of liquor.  Coming back here, to dry, un-hippie Colorado, was really sad.

On an exciting note, I discovered that Colorado’s own hippie fest is happening next weekend.  I live in Glenwood Springs, which is like the tamed-down version of Aspen.  Aspen is full of yuppies, not hippies.  Rich, rich yuppies.  Thus, Glenwood has many yuppies.  BUT, just outside of Glenwood is a little town called Carbondale, which is a hippie refuge.  And next weekend, I’ll get to meet Carbondale hippies at the Mountain Fair.  Yesssss. 

I bought a bike the other day, which I’m convinced is going to help me find hippies, because they move more slowly than yuppies do, and they’re harder to see from your car.

And yesterday, I rode my bike to Jazz in the Park, which happens every Wednesday here.  You know, jazz… in the park… hardly needs explaining, eh?  Anyway, there I saw some almost-hippies.  They were pretty much all LC grads who had been cool in college, and have had a stint of vegetarianism in their lives, but now they all live in the mountains, drive SUVs, and have babies.  That they feed organic food and buy crocs for.  And dress in North Face gear. I’m sure if I had brought a blanket, snacks, and booze, Jazz in the Park might actually be worthwhile.

Otherwise, I work a lot.  Last week I worked about 50 hours.  This week I’ll get just over 40.  My job consists of making drinks, avoiding creepy advances from coffee shop patrons, and bitching about the extent to which yuppies cannot take care of themselves.  Yesterday, one guy asked me to butter his bagel for him.  When I told him I could give him some butter and he could do it, he responded: "Or, you could do it for me."  Yes, that’s right.  When you’re rich, you don’t even have to condiment your own food.  You pay people to do it for you.

On the plus side, they give me tips.

Stay tuned:  Friday is the Women’s Arm Wrestling Competition in Carbondale.  No hippies there, but certainly some beefy ladies.