Is it hip to be a hippie?

As I was slowly drifting off to sleep last night, my nose suddenly sensed a familiar scent. Yes, my new neighbors were definitely burning incense, a true sign of a modern day hippie. Truth be told, I can't believe it's taken me this long to get how I feel about hippies off my chest. You see, I'm a teacher, so I'm as liberal as they come. However, I find that these so called "hippie" people are pretty lame. Okay, before you jump down my throat, know that I'm making a generalization based on a bit of experiences. My thinking is threefold:

1. Once at a bar in Boulder (aka Hippie Central) I noticed an empty table, so I grabbed it. I was then bombarded by a hippie who yelled at me and said I SO took his table. Frankly I was baffled as there was no sign of an inhabitant at said table. He then told me that he had "had his eye on it." Apparently this is hippie speak for "Table is Mine." I wanted to yell at him and stomp on his macrame shoe covered foot, but no, I was polite and just walked away. Peace and harmony my ass, that guy was rude!

2. Hippie people think that they are going to save the Earth by not showering. I've literally had hippies tell me that they don't bathe because it's not natural. To that I say, God invented soap for a reason. You're not a hippie just because you have poor grooming habits, that's called a hobo.

3. My final reason for being down on hippie people is that they think they are better than you. They scold you for forgetting your canvas grocery bags, look down on you for not buying organic, and sneer at you when you refuse to join the game of hacky sack. Fool, I drive a Prius! Who are you to judge yo? Now I do realize that by making this statement, I am also inferring that I think I am better than them, however I don't treat people differently because of they way the look. I treat people differently because of the way that they act. Totally different.

The irony of this whole blog is that today during my yoga class there was incense...damn hippies.

Holiday Mythology

Dreams were shattered today in my classroom. I thought I was asking about how everybody's Easter was, but what ended up happening was a boy raising his hand and declaring to the class that this year he learned the Easter bunny was in fact his mother. Of course my face instantly turned bright red and I had to fight the urge to yell, "Are you freaking kidding me, keep that to yourself!" as I looked around the class and saw some very stunned faces. This kid thinks he's made some great discovery, while others are going to go home crying...great.

I actually believed in things like the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and Santa until about the age of 12. I know, I'm special. But on the day at the store when my mom looked at me and said, "Don't be surprised if you find this in your stocking," I was utterly surprised and very upset. I guess I'd just figured I'd find out if Santa was real when I had my own kids. You mean to tell me that every year that I've sprinted downstairs being careful not to touch any of my gifts, but crane my neck carefully to see what Santa had left me, it was all a farce? That Santa can't make the Ultimate Nsync Book or a Discman in his factory? Who the hell ate all those cookies? I guess I should've known when all my friends kept getting $20 from the Tooth Fairy, I was like, are your teeth made of gold or is the TF just cheap at my house? (Which by the way mom, you are not cheap, other parents are stupid. 20 bones for something that falls out of your face? Pull-eeze.)

Needless to say, I was pretty brokenhearted when I learned that all of these holiday friends were really just myths. I felt like I had been lied to, and also that my parents had been doing a lot of work behind the scenes to keep up the jig. I hope that when I have kids they'll keep believing as long as possible, or at least until some lame kid blows it for them at school.

My Great Migration

Well it took three years, but we’ve finally decided that it’s time to leave this apartment in search of greener pastures and possible granite countertops. I’m not quite sure what took us so long to leave. Among the best memories I have of my current living quarters are the “musician” who lived downstairs and liked to shake the things on our walls, the landlord who takes 8 months to respond to a broken fan, and those who can’t understand how to park straight. Yes, cheap rent will make you do crazy things.

As the date for the big move approaches, I’m reminded of why moving is officially on my top 10 shittiest things to do in life list. First you have to pack. This leads to, “How the hell did I acquire this?” I think I’m just starting to recover from the college phase of life where everyone in your family just gives you household items. At first you think it’s great because now you don’t have to buy a bread pan. But then you realize that they’re just pawning junk on to you and now you have four bread pans, (Yes, four! Again, how did I acquire this?).  Packing usually leads to cleaning as you uncover the dust from every inch of your room. In my case this was so bad that when I blew my nose, dust came out. Yum.

After you pack, you have to find a place to live. Did you know that people can claim a 400 square foot apartment with no air conditioning, no off street parking, and no closet is “charming”? You can live in a “vintage” downtown building with cupboards so old that they will probably fall or have a cozy home for mice in them for the biggest steal of only $1500 a month! I know this is only a one bedroom place, but don’t worry because water is paid for. Sometimes I just want to walk in and say, “Hello, I’m a teacher, where is my discount?”  I’ll just keep crossing my fingers that some rich person wants me to live in their gorgeous basement apartment for a low, low price, (I’m even willing to be in the basement! Wait, I mean “garden level” oy).

I guess at least I can provide you all with some of my sarcastic comments before I go pack some more boxes. Think of me when you see that U-Haul driving by, because chances are, I’ll need a friendly face.

Musically Inclined

I’m not afraid to admit that I love listening to the oldies radio station. Perhaps this is because in the small southern Utah town that I grew up in there were only three radio stations- country, easy listening, and oldies. I started thinking about my musical tastes when I was shuffling through my ipod the other day and noticed that my music says quite a lot about me. 1. Apparently I have a small addiction to Christmas tunes 2. Jay Z can in fact play encore to the Dixie Chicks and 3. I listen to a lot of music brought to you by my parents.

  

Now I know that parents have a large influence on their kids, (frightening for some which I can legally say because I’m a teacher) but who would’ve thunk that because my dad grooves to Santana and my mom rocks to Whitney Houston that I would suddenly become the crazy chick singing along to The Supremes? I guess it’s kind of interesting to think about why it is that you listen to the music that you do, especially when music says so much about who a person is. We know we’ve inherited hair and eye color, but perhaps an ear for classics as well? I guess this is okay because at least I don’t try to attempt my dad’s sweet dance moves which involve pouting your lips and pretending to jog in place at a rather slow pace which is exaggerated on the beats (my dad is so cool). I suppose as long as I don’t turn into the guy with the unbuttoned shirt and flowing white locks at the Crosby Stills and Nash concert (he also had cutoff jean shorts, true story) then I can continue to rock (in the free world). And for the record, yes, that is Paul McCartney.

Your Roaring 20s

I’ve barely reached the ripe old age of my mid-20s, however little by little I’m starting to notice that I’m feeling a bit old. It almost seems like your age starts to get caught up with you during this time because you’re no longer that kid in college, but you’re also not that new young mom in your 30s. What exactly are you supposed to be doing with your life? I’ve compiled this list of things that let you know you are in you are officially in this unmapped age zone.

1.       You’ve started to get annoyed at those damn teenage drivers. I swear, if they hit the car that you now have a payment for with the car that their parents gave them, there will be hell to pay.

2.       A night out at the club now sounds like a large headache compared to a riveting evening of bowling with your pals.

3.       If you do go out for that night at the club there is a clearly designated driver, or you actually have the money to pay for a cab.

4.       The people at Crate and Barrel as well as Babies ‘r’ Us know you by name. This is because you’ve gone to about 400 bridal showers, bachelorette parties, weddings, and baby showers in about a span of a month. Bring on that registry!

5.       You can no longer eat that tube of Thin Mints without seeing your ass expand about an inch. Also, that inch now takes three long months of some serious exercise to shrink.

6.       You’re suddenly starting to wonder about what all these letters and numbers mean…IRA, 401K, W2, PERA, APR, APY, FDIC… People look at you like you’re a moron when you say “Um, como?” Going to need to find an app for that…

7.       You know that youthful glow you used to have? It’s now in a container labeled “Bronzer”.

8.       And finally, you get asked at least once per week when you are:  a. getting married b. starting a family or c. happy with your job.

To my fellow mid-20s friends, may we have many more things to celebrate in the next few years, but let’s wait a while before we start beginning sentences with “I remember when I was a kid and…”

Catholic Guilt

Nothing says Catholic guilt like the season of Lent. I consider myself to be recuperating from religion and have led myself to a path of personal spirituality, one that doesn’t involve church or pastors or people telling you that you are wrong. However, when Lent rolls around again, something inside me stirs and signals that I must make a commitment to give something up for the next 40 days and 40 nights. I guess I like the idea of it, you know, making a sacrifice for the better good. And I try to give something else that will make me a better person too. In the past I have abstained from:

·         Drinking coffee (Only made it 5 days…it was awful, won’t try that again)

·         My Nsync CD (you’re only 13 once)

·         Sweets

·         Shopping

·         Sweets

Yes, I realize sweets are on there twice, but they are extremely challenging for me. I could be like my boyfriend who gives up climbing trees every year (roll eyes). Or my dad who gives up things like watermelon or washing dishes. Yet something has been tattooed into my mind that says this is serious. Believe me, I cursed it as I looked at a cupcake today and thought, “I hate Lent, I don’t even go to church, and now I can’t have sweets either!” Grrr. Well, I guess I only have 28 days left to go so I better make the best of it, and hopefully I can break a bad habit as well. Good luck to the rest of you Lent-ers! Amen.

The Beehive State

I think it’s funny when people ask me what it was like to grow up in Utah. It’s not like I have some accent or passport to give my birthplace away, but suddenly it will come up in conversation and people automatically look at you with this sense of shock and awe…a survivor. Yes, growing up in Utah seems to be very different than any of my fellow friend’s lives. Of course, many of the strange but true things that have happened to me in my childhood came from a certain religious group, but this is not meant to be a bash on them, rather a few highlights about what life in a small foreign town is like. Among my favorite childhood beehive state memories are:

• Deer Hunt Holiday- That’s right friends, we actually get school off to go hunt and kill Bambi. Then we will celebrate by riding four wheelers and/or horses around the mountain cabin. (Note that this is what their families do, we went on vacay.) 
•   People in southern Utah speak a peculiar dialect of English. It causes them to say thinks like “crick” as in, “We went swimming in the crick.” Also “frick” as in, “What the frick?” It’s not quite a southern drawl, but enough to make you question vowel sounds. 
• If you live in Utah, you drive a truck. One time I walked three blocks and counted 60 trucks. I shit you not. If you were really cool, you’d park your truck on top of a 4 foot pile of snow. Oh, and leave your keys in the car but still be shocked when the truck gets stolen.
• Square hair- I’m not quite sure how to describe this, but girls from Utah can actually tease their hair into this square shape with rounded corners. I felt then, and still do, that this is the most awful thing that a person can do to their head. Indeed, all hair seems to defy gravity in Utah- maybe it’s the altitude? 
• Okay, I’m sorry but I can’t mention growing up in Utah without mentioning Mormons. As a “non-member” you must be fluent in Mormon speak. This includes everything from: ward (crazy house?), stake (dinner or vampire?), elder (berry pie?), mission (to mars?), temple (of doom?), and sacrament (I’ve got nothing for this one). Memorize these because although you have your own set of religious beliefs and don’t give a flying fig about theirs, they will leave you out in the dust if you don’t.

Ah Utah. My memories of your small town ways will always make me smile…and thank the lord that I’ve moved.  Except I really do miss the fry sauce…