Did I Burn My Leg For This?

Not a country song, though it should be.

I burned the shit out of my leg posing on a motorcycle, and all I got was an alright picture. (Coming up with different versions of this joke is one of my favorite things to do.)

A couples weeks ago, my office had its annual summer picnic. One of the newest people to join the office surprised us all by rolling up on a big, shiny Harley. He is a different breed than a lot of people here - a little flashy, a little loud, plenty outgoing, and young. For example, he has a ring that could be described as "bling".

Although some people here probably wasted no time in talking about him and his shiny Harley having ways behind his back (or on a blog), none of us had a problem with him using that Harley to provide music at the picnic.

It also took very little convincing for me to have no problem posing on it.

The motorcycle may be shiny but I'm shiny AND happy

Did you know that motorcycles get so hot that they can verrrrrrrrrry seriously burn you? It's true. Oh, what's that, you say you thought this was common knowledge? Not common enough, apparently.

It also turns out that I know very little about burns. It was a minor second-degree burn since it had some blistering, but the blister was pretty small. I bandaged it up, failing to think through my choice to let some of the sticky part of the bandage touch the discolored skin that was not blistering. When I went to take it off, a chunk of skin came with it. Now I have a crater on my leg in addition to a big circular patch of purple skin, which is now flaking off. Shaving my legs has proven quite difficult. And for those details, you're welcome!

I make bad choices. 

Trying to Get Lost in Fullerton

This Saturday I forcibly removed myself from the couch and went for a walk. Although the trail looked like something one might see on a hike, for some reason I just can't bring myself to call it that. A walk seems more accurate, albeit a hot and dusty walk along a dirt path.

I walked the "Lost Trail," which I came across on the interwebs after some searching for local walking trails. The name implied that the trail was perhaps secluded, but I figured it was a misnomer. I asked google its opinion, and it told me that the trail was an escape from suburbia! The idea of this delighted me.

My quest to lose myself on Lost Trail in an escape from suburbia began at a most suburban setting - the Fullerton Municipal Golf Course. I walked a short distance on a different trail to get to the Lost Trail start and was surrounded by suburbia for much of the trip.

Golf course to my left and condos and a hospital to my above right

Once I reached the tunnel to take me under a boulevard and to Lost Trail, the apartment complexes and condominums faded from view, although I could still hear the roar of traffic down the boulevard I had taken to get there.

This was one creepy ass tunnel

On the other side of the tunnel, the tanned OC Gods gifted me with a little creek. I walked along it for a bit, wondering if I was on the Lost Trail or just getting lost trying to find it.

I quickly found my way and just as quickly realized that while the trail may have been lost at one point,  it was now found and sat squarely in the middle of high-end suburbia.

Does this make you feel lost?

I agree! Though, I think this was built for "adverts"

what is that I see in the distance?!

Pumping for oil, that's what!

Although I had been set on escaping suburbia, I decided not to let the presence of large ranch-style homes, gardeners and landscapers of said homes, and manicured soccer fields and golf courses bum me out. I accepted the surroundings for what they were and had fun trying to think of as many "lost and found" jokes as I could. I wrote this blog entry in my head as I walked, none of which is actually within this post as I promptly forgot it.

You can tell this house has a pool, and I was ready to find myself in it

There was some trash and graffiti, but unlike the taggers of Hermit Falls, these kids encouraged me every step of the way. And are avid readers, apparently.

If you can't tell, it says "you is important" and you IS

You is also smart

The walk wasn't particularly long nor was it very secluded, but I enjoyed myself. I saw dragonflies, birds, lizards, squirrels, and butterflies. I also saw a lot of horse shit but only one horse. There wasn't very much shade though, so it was freaking hot. The city website rated the trail as Easy/Moderate, and although I have no idea what that means, if it was a 90 degree day that shit would be hard as fuck.

I have decided to implement an arbitrary rating system for my outdoor experiences here in Southern California. To the Lost Trail I award 3 bags of Haribo gummy bears (out of 5) because it's really close to my house, tells me I'm smart, and has lots of birds and stuff.

Juan Burgundy says "Stay Compensated, Los Angeles"

I feel so blah this week. Why does my hand smell so much like garlic all the time? Why am I cooking so much with canned food? How many chicken breast+canned soup/sauce in the crockpot combinations can I serve before my body turns into some sort of salt mine? How many more workdays will consist of little more than emails, phone calls, and more emails? I'm an analyst, not a professional email sender!

I have no answers. What I do have, however, is the Ron Burgundy of personal injury lawyers in Los Angeles.

I wonder if the likeness is un accidente?

 The difference between Ron and Juan is that Ron prefers a knowing half-smile to a tastefully toothy grin.

"You can trust us"

They both have a certain command of a desk that most can only aspire to.

Writing lawyery words on that paper

Reading newsy words from that paper

I'm pretty sure most cities have their own version of Ron Burgundy, and for some reason, it makes sense that they would all be personal injury lawyers whose public bus ads make up the bulk of their marketing strategy.

In other news, I haven't made any progress on my promised post. I usually get my blog work done on the weekends, but last weekend I went to a slumber party. I highly recommend that grown women throw slumber parties. If that weirds you out, we probably can't be friends.

Pardon this interruption...

My sister and nephew just headed back to Portland, Oregon after a wonderful, fun-filled visit, so now I'm getting going on my next post. I promise it is going to be a good one, but it is also going to take me a little time. In the meantime, please enjoy these fair and honest appraisals. (Thanks be to Elizabeth Greenwood for bringing these to my attention.)

I need to go there to see that all is right in the SoCal world.

I saw Cinemax for the first time at around age 8. My world was irreversibly shaken.

South Florida = Australia with more strip malls and less cute animals.

Wipe That Face Off Your Head, B

I think she was talking to me when she said that.(around the 48 second mark)

Earlier this week I posted about my rafting trip in Tahoe that started out a little rough and the stink-face I made in response.

I am sure I made this face more than once, or perhaps continually. After looking at this picture a few times, I realized that I've been making this face for my entire life. Please enjoy the following photo history.

more eyebrows, but same face. Age 9ish.

look closely to find the "crazy kelly face" captured by a domestic wilderness photographer

and this is the face I made at my favorite greek week event.

And here I am making it, slightly varied, on couches:

why so upset? is it the footie socks?

on vacation. clearly.

Lastly, stink face's cousin - over-it-attitude face. Actually, one of these pictures is not of me. It's my sister, but we're pretty much the same. We even brush our teeth and put our hair up in exactly the same way.

 

Thanksgiving 10ish years ago. Not thankful for picture taking.

I don't even know.

Maybe this explains why I get terrible service at retail stores. Is this what I look like all the time?!

"Row, Bitches, Row"

"Row, bitches, row" - the wise words of my sorority president during one of my terms on the executive board. Did you know that when I was in college I joined a sorority? It's true. I'm still a sorority member even though I'm all growed up because once a Phi Sig, always a Phi Sig. That's how it works.

It was kinda like this, only we had no House Bunny.

This weekend I went to Lake Tahoe for one of my sorority sister's bachelorette parties. There are no words to explain how awesome she is, and I was so happy to be a part of her special weekend. We stayed at a beautiful cabin-castle and ate, drank, partied, got dressed up, got dressed down, went out on the boat, and went on a river raft.

Neighboring cabin castle, owned by somebody famous!

Tubing on the lake and rafting down the Truckee river were my two favorite activities while in Tahoe. (My number one favorite activity of the entire weekend was talking about feelings at 6:20 a.m. on the car ride up. I have a lot of feelings.)

I'm tubin'!

The end of the rafting trail. Next stop - beers.

I absolutely love rivers, and even though I'm totally inexperienced, I liked rafting too. There were no big rapids or anything, but it did take some effort. My arms got a crazy workout like they haven't seen since ever. It was not without its challenges though. 11 (kind of controlling, a little bit Type A, and maybe kinda cranky) women in a raft. 4 paddles. 1 river with a mind of its own. We found a good rhythm after awhile, but at first I was all -

"WTF kinda paddling is that?!"

I guess I should have tried hiding my unenthusiasm a little better. In the end though, we kicked that river's ass, and that negates my stink-face. Right?

A Brief Hello

I got back from DC yesterday. It was not too eventful - no lunch with the Real Housewives. I guess something came up. I did get several U.S. government pens. Not like souvenir pens but real badass ones us gov'mint employees use. Picture to come.

Tonight I am off again never to return until Sunday. My ride should be here any minute so for now I will just tell you this...

Bacon, rainbow chard sauteed in a leetle remaining bacon grease, shrimp, and fettucine in a lightish cream sauce with some smoked mozzarella. That's what that is. Does it look gross? Well it wasn't. Does it sound rich? Okay, that it was.

I decided to make this for dinner even though I had 183 things to do. I just HAD to do it. Not too unlike the time I HAD to make sangria. I really didn't have to, but there I was, cursing that fruit as I sliced it. Occasionally I experience strange compulsions to complete tasks that don't need completing and certainly don't need stressing over. I'm working on it.

Happy weekend! Until next week, lovelies.