Mountain Men

Back in the olden times (yes, as a history major, we describe it such) there were these people who navigated and explored rural, western America. These people, usually single men, roamed the wilderness (again, as a history major, I feel privileged enough to describe it as 'wilderness') in search of wealth. Most of the time, they were living off the land, battling Indians and trapping fur-covered creatures, probably with their bare hands. These men, mostly young, single, hairy (probably) manly beasts of men were known as Mountain Men. Well, now that 150 years has rolled by, Mountain Men have made their return: to State University, where I attend college.
Now, clearly, I am no prim and proper princess prodding around Podunk, Missouri. But, recently, I have seen an uprising of men who are doppelgangers of Mountain Men.
In the age of vegan/vegetarianism, pro-animal, pro-rights, pro-faux fur, or no fur, pro-hemp, pro-electric, pro-environment, there are these groups of humans cohabitating the earth with these people.
On one side of the spectrum, the vegans/pro-animal/environment hippies *no offense, really, I'm just getting my point across* while on the other side, the Mountain Men.
These Mountain Men, perhaps once a part of the vegans. Maybe they drank too many herbal teas and smoked too much of the "green goddess" that Mother Nature provided. They might have taken their agricultural science class a little too far. Perhaps they spent too much time camping one weekend and ended up relinquishing all responsibilities they had. I can just see it now, average, nuclear families coming up to this small small town wondering what happened to Timmy. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY TIMMY?? The wilderness got him. Yes, he's still going to class. Yes, he's chasing rabbits into the sewers, Timmy's mom. It's best you leave a note. Or, forget his face. The wilderness has got him now. The wilderness changes a man. Or, changes a twenty year old infant child with a bow and arrow.
Whatever the case, these hobos are wild. Wild looking, wild in nature and wild in their actions. Wild. Whoa wild. I've heard urban myths (with several complying sources) about trapping wild animals (except, in towns, animals aren't wild, they are partly domesticated) and then killing and roasting them in the road. In. the. road.
Another thing, they never shower. Never. No grooming. nope. Definitely no shaving. The extent of their facial hair is astonishing. The lengths it will go. Hair on top = half the amount on face. Beardy gentlemen prowling the streets at night looking for townie game to hunt and kill and eat over a slightly urban, slightly illegal fire. They always travel in packs too. They ban together. Or, maybe it's like a cult. A cult gathering of MOUNTAIN MEN.
Anyway, today, I almost was ran over by their "community bicycles" from the late 60s, probably stolen or "borrowed" from another Mountain Men. Because, in the wilderness, the strongest, and in this case, the beardiest, survive.

Cookies

What is it with me and cookies? Sure, some people are addicted to cake...chocolate (that's a big one for me too), brownies, pie, cigarettes, booze, but, I take cookie addiction to a whole other level. It's not just an obsession, it's a lifestyle. When I wake up, I think about cookies, when I go to sleep, I think about cookies. Every time I eat, I need to have a cookie afterwards. This is not right. This is not kosher (do they make kosher cookies?? I hope so. I would think so....for Jewish people who are addicted like I am). But, no one can be as addicted as I am. I have a problem. And the solution: more cookies.
Seriously. How can I fix my cookie downfalls?
Answer: Rise up and kill the cookie makers of the world. Only, that will not solve it, because eventually, in the future, someone else will invent the cookie and the process will happen to someone else....the cycle will continue (like in The Terminator). MAN, Sarah Conner is a badass.
Seriously. Something must be done. We could lock me in a cell. But, then, I'd get so psychologically tainted that I would dream up cookies...or make cookies out of cell block ceramic material. That's no cure.
Any ideas? What is there to do?
Nothing. Nothing is to be done.
I love cookies. Ever since I was a kid. Ever since I strangely bonded with the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. Hooked.
Ever since my mom made warm chocolate chip oatmeal cookies with milk on a spring day (It might not have been spring). THE BEST. Thanks mom for making those cookies.
AND FOR GETTING ME HOOKED! I love me some cookies. Recently, my doctor told me I should cut back on carbs, sugars, sweets, soda (probably includes cookies, but I didn't ask to confirm). Therefore, I took it as, "Erica, you should cut back on carbs, sugars (not including cookies), sweets (that probably just means candy...who eats candy, anyway, I'm not a child....except I do kinda like some candy...and chocolate, of course) and sweets (semi-sweet chocolate chips obviously don't count) and soda (EASY....right? No more diet coke?? Well, we'll see about that one, doc).
The point is: I can't live without chocolate chip cookies. I love all cookies, cookie brownies, oatmeal, milanos, Girl Scout Cookies, peanut butter cookies.....all cookies, but chocolate chip is the best by far. I can't live without them.
I have a problem.
My name is Erica, and I am a cookie-holic.
****Hi, Erica.

Bad hur day

How come every time I look pretty good, makeup on, legs shaved, no wind, no granola bar/almost chunks in my teeth, hur (that's hair, for all you non-Nelly listeners out there) looking fly.....I see no one.
I look my best, yet, no one is there to see me looking my best/barely presentable.
It takes me months to work up the strength and courage and determination to fix myself to a certain standard of presentability. There are people I know (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) who get up every morning and 1) shower 2) shave off 75% of their body hair (yes, wild, I know) and 3) put on makeup.
EVERY morning. EVERY. MORNING.
I barely know where the shower is in my home, much less the mascara. I like to think I am making some sort of point about the struggles of women against the patriarchal regime controlling women as mere objects by subjecting them to this horrific, unobtainable standard of beauty.....but, no, I'm just lazy....and hella busy. I am TOO busy for that activity.
There's a war going on (no, not the unwarranted, habitation in Iraq and the middle East created by men controlling oil prices): the war of schoolin'. I gots to read, folks. I gots to do it and do it well. Good news, though: I will only have two more years after I graduate from here and then I will.....find another excuse not to put on makeup.

Sister, Sister

I got one. Many people do. Some don't.
Some have the boy version....others don't. I personally love one.
What I am talking about is SISTERS.
And the one I got happens to be the best. She is hilarious. I want, in general, to keep her out of the limelight (from my blog exposure) but there is something I must say.
She is the funniest person I've ever met or will ever meet. Some people try to compare...and fail.
Good news, though, the second funniest person spot is still up for grabs.
EW2: my sister, hilarious, has said some hilarious things in her span on Earth. As many many years my junior, she provides my life with constant sarcasm, wit, hilarity and much much more.
Too bad YOU don't have an EW2. (I am EW1, because I was born first).
One time, when we were visiting someone in the hospital, my mom passed out some mints to help ease our boredom and our breaths, of course.
So, on this very serious, grave occasion, I was 11 or 12 and my sister was 5 or 6. Just as my mom is sitting down to talk about options with a MEDICAL DOCTOR, with my aunt and my uncle....my sister comes around with her shirt Up. WAY UP. And my mom, like all of us, said, "EW2, Put your shirt down, honey."
EW2 left it up.
"EW2, really. Knock it off."---mom
"What's the deal, sista?"---me
shirt still up
"Smell."----EW2
"What?"---mom
"Smell my breasts."---EW2
"What.....Oh. Hahahahah. Babe, it's not breast mints, it's BREATH mints."---mom
Everyone: "hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha."
Best. sister. ever.

Chi-town

I am moving to Chicago (because I want to get even more of the Midwest in my system) and over midterm break I went to check out the town, sign a lease, etc.
Well, let me tell you something about Chicago that you might not know.
Yeah, everyone has heard of the (failing) Cubs, the Valentine's Day Massacre, Al Capone, Barack Obama's lovetown, the weird saucy pizza, and lastly, apparently there was also some huge fire there in the late 1800s. P.S. My spell check on this thing thinks 'Obama' is not a word. Damn Republicans.
Well, what they (society) don't tell you is all of the crime and the lack of popos taking care of all this crime.
Crime: Insane Traffic of the first, most deadly degree.
Participants: everyone with a car, taxi, bike.
First of all, I almost died about 18 times in the time span of oh, let's see, 24 hours!!!
Secondly, who would ride a bike in these conditions? Insane in the membrane.
Inches from death, nauseous at every turn....I couldn't wait to see Iowa and then to see a real state (Missouri) again.
Lastly, I can't wait to live in constant turmoil and probably receive many ulcers from my experiences driving in Chicago.

Librarians, SHHH!

At my current place of employment, the library, I have come to expect the impossible and the improbable. When one thinks of the library, I would imagine they picture quiet, serene, dusty bookshelves and mean old women shushing everyone....this is not the case at my library.
People do things that I would never expect them to do. Such as: steal things, yell, talk on the cell phone, eat a full, four-course meal at the library right under the sign that says, "Please do not eat or drink. Bottled water is okay."
But, the weirdest thing about working at the library is the lack of shushing from the mean librarians in wide-rimmed glasses. Nope, no shushing takes place here!
In fact, there is this one librarian who I am sure is a novice, although I know she isn't a novice because she's been a librarian for decades that I want to shush myself.
She is THE LOUDEST LIBRARIAN in the world. It's an oxymoron, no? A loud librarian. Ridiculous.
She just talks at an abnormally loud voice. It's almost too loud for the outdoors, it's that loud. When she starts on a voice bender, I like to call it that, I scooch down in my chair and hunch my shoulders because I am so embarrassed by the sheer volume at which she is talking. I am not exaggerating here. I talk loud. My voice carries...but this woman. Good gravy! So loud.

Dreams I've had

I've had some whopper of dreams, let me tell you.
Really, you have no choice in whether or not you want to hear my blog---it's my blog!
Let me reiterate that this, and every other blog is true, very true.
I have THE strangest dreams.
I have dreamt that I was in prison on a conjugal visit from my boyfriend.
I have had a dream where my ex-boyfriend proposed and that within 30 minutes, I was married, with a big white wedding in a library....family planned.
I have had a dream where I have died from natural causes at the age of 21 (which I am now).
The sheer range and variety of dreams is quite impressive. I dream about death, life, fun, sex (I've had LOTS of sex dreams. Lots.) and babies/pregnancy/birthing.
A huge category of my dreams is about the latter: babies, pregnancy, birthing and child rearing.
For one, I am quite disgusted at the act of breastfeeding and many of my dreams include me, breastfeeding my baby but being disgusted and ashamed of both my act of feeding, my own child and the whole world who accepts me for this shameful act (all in a dream).
I have also had dreams that I was pregnant...but didn't know it/refused to accept my fate.
My dreams are very odd.