3 SKIN SAVERS UNDER $15 YOU'LL ACTUALLY LOVE

Greetings, blog readers.

I know my blog is aptly named "Blonde Moments" and that my shtick is ridiculous things that happen to me. HOWEVER, I'm on a skincare kick right now and felt it was my moral obligation to make the world aware of these life-changing skin savers! THEY'RE ALL UNDER $15 TOO! Just swell.

SO without further ado, meet the holy trinity.


1. Trader Joe's Rose Facial Oil ($4 in store)

Honestly my favorite "moisturizer" of all time.

Guys. I'm not exaggerating when I say this magical Jesus-serum ERADICATED MY FOREHEAD LINES. (I'm far too expressive with my eyebrows; thus wrinkles have ensued.) I legitimately can't believe it. Plus, it makes my skin super plump and radiant, and it's even fading my acne scars. This would eternally remain in my rotation except...
I just learned
TO MY HORROR
that this is a seasonal item.
So, I'm going to have to go back to TJ's and hope to the flying spaghetti monster it's still in stock!

2. CoxRX Acne Pimple Master Patch ($5)

I wish I had an "after" picture.

This slurps all the gunk right out of your zit. Slap one of these bad boys on an angry face volcano when you're about to go to bed and wake up to the world's best magic trick. The result is what my friend Melissa calls "a petri dish for your face." You peel off the sticker and see the contents of your disgusting pores.
Buy here or on Amazon.

3. Dermal 24-Pack Korean Sheet Masks ($14)

^ This is only a snippet of what's included in the Red color scheme of "flavors."

Looking for the starter pack for self-care? Try a sheet mask! They're my Monday ritual. I'll lay one of these bad boys on my face, lay in bed, zone out (or "meditate" if we want to sound bougee). My face is so supple after! The fun part about this variety pack is each one offers something a little different.
Yes, you see correctly--there's a wine face mask! There's also soothing aloe, green tea, and even snail mucin. Yes. Snail. (I haven't worked up the courage to try that sample yet, but I've only heard good things.)

Bonus: in spite of the fact you get so many, it's cheap.

--

I honestly have one more to show you, but I don't want to officially feature more than three products. I prefer odd numbers in my blog titles. :)

So here's a BONUS: Try this for the best facial scrub. Exfoliating, softening, and moisturizing at the saaaame time. Just $10. Who says you can't have it all?

Skin food. Says it all. It's like nourish-polish.

What are your skincare faves? I'm always looking for more products because my sensitive, hormonal acne-prone skin needs all the help it can get.

Never Eat Sushi in Mexico

When you think of cautionary tales in Mexico, a few obvious pointers come to mind:

"Don't drink the water"
"Don't get shot by a member of a drug cartel"
"Don't wear a 'Trump Rocks!' shirt"

But, as Jerrod and I would discover, there are other evil forces afoot in our neighbor to the south.

To be fair, our vacation had a shaky start. We were ORIGINALLY supposed to go to Puerto Rico, but Hurricane Maria hit two days before our scheduled departure. (I won't gripe too much about that; Puerto Rico has it rough...and I don't pretend that a nixed vacation compares to toughing out a legendary storm, losing everything, and seeing your home in ruins.)

Luckily, I snagged a TravelZoo deal at the last minute: A trip to Los Cabos, 4 nights, all-inclusive, airfare included, for ~$650 a person. Not bad, not bad. "This is so spontaneous and adventurous," I thought in a moment of optimism / trying to be a completely different person. (I plan trips for months in advance--it's my hobby, yo. So this was uncomfortable, though not unpleasant.)

Jerrod and I had a pretty uneventful flight there, except we did nearly get scammed by some overzealous locals selling timeshares in the airport, not to mention Jerrod was pressured to propose to me (one of two times on this trip). But somehow we made it through the minefield of the airport, found our shuttle, and ended up at our resort.

BEFORE THE SHITSTORM

Jerrod and I took some amazing spoof-glamor shots at the beach and added another awkward photo to to our burgeoning collection (look for a coffee table book soon). A local who spoke no English took the picture of us, and he had no context or explanation as to why we posed like complete, utter dorks. I forgot how to speak Spanish due to my laughter--and general rustiness.

"ME ENCANTAN FOTOS TANTOS"

I also took full advantage of the bar, and it was like a competition with myself to see if I could truly get my money's worth. I spilled two drinks but no biggie, "no pasa nada," or something like that. That's the beauty of all inclusive resorts.

That night, we got dressed up and went to the Asian restaurant on the premises. Everything was already paid for--so I indulged in EVERYTHING EVER. But that would bite me in the ass. Or at least impact my ass.

Dressed up to lay around and stuff my pie hole

I ended up getting everything I loved--Thai soup, sushi, sashimi, yellow curry...and would ruin these things for myself forevermore. Or at least for a few weeks.

How could something so delicious kill me?

"Let's eat here again tomorrow!" I gleefully told Jerrod after a delicious meal.

"Yeah!" he agreed. "We'll do hibachi tomorrow."

We scheduled our meal for the next day like a couple of ignorant chumps.

That night, I reflected on my perfect day with my perfect human and snuggled into bed at 10:30 p.m. with a smile on my face. Sun, fun, a sexy pair of buns, and mojitos--did it get better? No, no it did not.

I can't wait to repeat this tomorrow, I thought.

Famous last words--er, thoughts.

D-DAY BEGINS

(yeah, I'm shifting to present tense here. What, what?)

My eyes fly open. I glance at the clock. It's 12:30 a.m. ...and my stomach is turning.

Weird. Maybe I ate too much, I think. The second that thought occurs to me I realize that's not true because it's been HOURS and I eat like a champ EVERY DAMN DAY and WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING and OMG I HAVE TO PUKE--

I scamper out of bed with this horrid realization. I hug the toilet and promptly vomit sushi and Thai food. It's just as disgusting as it sounds.

As wretched as it feels to throw up, I somehow feel a strange sense of relief afterward and figure I can crawl back to bed.

I sleep. An hour passes. My eyes fly open and OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

Back to the toilet. This time it feels like a gremlin is wringing out my insides like a wash rag, and vomit shoots out of me like a geyser, I'm talking Old Faithful in Yellowstone, and holy god I want to die. I am violently ill.

The worst part? I am basically scream-vomiting because of the force. Jerrod starts knocking at the door (which is dumb because it wouldn't close all the way, just close over).

"Go away!" I yell. "Don't look at me!"

I collapse on the ground in a deep sweat. The cool tile feels good on my clammy skin, and I curl up in fetal position.

The next few hours I am a creature outside of space and time. The only things that exist are me and the toilet. I retch and retch and retch, but nothing can come out of me, and my abs are already sore. I crawl back to bed, and Jerrod tries to wrap his arm around me, but I feel too filthy and have all-over body aches so I bark, "Don't touch me!" not unkindly, but dear lawd, touch at your own risk.

At some point Jerrod goes downstairs to the convenience store, but it's some ungodly hour, so NOTHING is open.

At this point, my puke transitions to poop that looks like coffee grounds. Glorious.

"What happened? Why aren't you sick?" I moan, racking my brain for a possible explanation. Was it the water from brushing my teeth? Surely not?

How can something so innocuous and cute accompany a bacteria-laden meal from hell?

Meanwhile, Jerrod's searching his phone for answers. "You DID have milk with your cereal this morning," he says. "That can be risky. Maybe that's why."

I literally get up so often to empty myself that at one point I just decide to lay on the floor of the bathroom, and preempting my needs like the total amazing dude he is, Jerrod has a pillow on the floor already for me.

Speaking of his amazingness, Jerrod decides to brave the world outside of the resort and walk down a Mexican highway to find me some electrolytes and meds. It's at this point he realizes...

He is sick too.

He's not puking, thankfully, but it's not like the other end is much fun, either.

Good thing he double-fisted it and hydrated at dinner

He finally tells me this in the gray light of the dawn. "I'm sick too, baby," i remember him saying.
I blink in disbelief. "But you haven't been running to the toilet."

Apparently, he had to use the toilet downstairs while he was searching for meds for me.

HE WAS SICK AND STILL SEARCHED FOR MEDS FOR ME.

(#perfectGuy)

At some point we had to let the downstairs desk know that we couldn't make our sailing and snorkeling excursion. To do so, we had to have a doctor's note. Bull, right? I should've just pooped on the guy.

Our First Foray into Mexican Medicine

Still, a doctor's visit wasn't a bad idea. We were screwed up, after all, and that's putting it mildly. The resort shuttle whisked us to a Mexican doctor who gives us detailed information on what to eat and not eat, along with what meds to take. The whole visit cost us $7. The meds were cheap as hell, too.

Only problem was...

Jerrod's SnapChat says it all.

Yeah, I was told to shoot a needle in my neck so I could stop throwing up. No, the doctor wouldn't do this. I had to buy this from a pharmacy and DO IT MYSELF.

WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Can't people kill themselves by getting an air bubble in their bloodstream? Yeah. Thanks but no thanks.
 
The Aftermath 

The next 12 hours were spent literally shitting nonstop every few minutes. I drank water, my stomach growled, my body rejected it, repeat, over and over. The worst part was that the door didn't completely close...so Jerrod and I got to the next level of intimacy on this trip. What a bonding experience!

Even though Jerrod didn't puke, I'd take the puking over his experience. He ended up super feverish and literally slept all. day. long.

The next day? We were done puking and pooping, but we were utterly devoid of energy, unable to eat, and unable to eat hardly anything. Pretty much it felt like we were run over by a truck, then eaten by vultures, then barfed up again. Yaaaay Mexico!

The One Bright Side to All This?

We expected to leave the resort fat and bloated from buffets and drinks. Instead, we lost weight in what was the world's shittiest weight loss regimen:

"I lost 7 pounds on the Cabo Cleanse! Simply ingest the tainted sashimi and watch the pounds fall off!"

I also got to hang out with a pretty rad fella and further realized how swell he is. There is no one I'd rather suffer alongside.  :) (Gag) Y'all don't wanna hear about that. I guess that's another bright side. A happy couple on vacation is boring...so now we have a story worth telling.

My First TIme Shooting a Gun

All right, I'm gonna come clean: I'm not the biggest gun fan. My view on guns can be summed up in this Bill Maher quote. **Yeah, yeah, I know he's said some questionable shit lately, but I still agree with him on this matter.

"'Do we have to adore them, do we have to love them so much? I look at guns like antibiotics...You know, maybe sometimes you need them, but I don't kiss my antibiotics, I don't polish them. I don't worship my amoxicillin. If I need it, it's there.'"

And that's it, my friends--what if I needed it? It's no secret I'm a pansy (in spite of my Gryffindor status and my cockroach-killing abilities). I don't seem like a hard-ass Lara Croft, but I aspire to throw unsuspecting criminals off, dammit!

So when my brother Kevin invited me to the gun range, it went something like this:
*long, reluctant sigh* "Okaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy, fineeeeeeee."

My enthusiasm remained tepid at best until we arrived at the gun range. I immediately felt like I was transported to the great Republican ideal: The Country of Texas. The parking lot was packed with small penises XXL trucks. When I entered the premises, it wasn't much better. I was directed to a side-room to watch a safety video. Everyone wore a 10-gallon hat in the video, no shock there. When I returned to the main room, Kevin said, "I paid for you," to which the cashier shouted, "AS HE SHOULD!"

Psh, I'll have you know I am a financially independent, self-sufficient women...and actually, no, it was all good, I really didn't wanna pay for this crap anyway. Woo!

Everyone in the gun safety video looked like a wannabe Chuck Norris.

Before we went out back where the targets were, my brother presented me with ear protection that made me feel like Warren from There's Something About Mary:

Courtesy of Galleryhip.com, not my photo, back off, folks

This made me nervous. See, whenever I learned percussion in high school, I kept having an embarrassing problem where I'd wince and jump whenever someone crashed cymbals together. That includes when I crashed the cymbals. I didn't exactly want to jump while shooting a deadly weapon. But if it were super loud, well, that would be a very likely possibility.

My suspicions proved correct. My brother showed me how to hold a gun and continuously emphasized squeezing the living shit out of it. I would then pick up the gun, squeeze it until my knuckles turned white, and--as an instinct--my finger rested on the trigger.

"NO DON'T STOP WTF TAKE THAT FINGER OFF," Kevin shouted. "You aren't even holding it right yet! Keep the finger off the trigger 'til it's time to shoot."

It took me about five tries, but I finally got all my fingers where they needed to be and held up the gun. I gripped it tight, wore my best grimace, aimed for the target, and...

POP! The force of the gun shot me backward. I felt a sting on my thumb. Turned out I wasn't gripping the gun hard enough (HOW?), it moved, and the force gave me a ripe red mark on the second joint of my thumb. Great.

"You didn't hold it tight enough," my brother Captain Obvious told me.

I couldn't reply. Damn, that was a lot of force. I stared down at the gun as the killing machine it was, thinking about removing the bullets and peacefully placing a dandelion in the hole. Maybe I wasn't hard enough for this. What I was good at, though, was jokes, and I asked my brother, "If I were to shout 'HILLARY 4 PRISON 2017' right now, how many high-fives do you think I'd get?"

Even though I felt defeated, I decided to learn more basics. I tried loading bullets, which surprisingly took a hell of a lot longer than I thought. Damn things don't exactly drop in there. Any gun I'd use in a life-or-death struggle would definitely have to be pre-loaded.

"Now lock 'em in," Kevin told me. "Push on that button right there." I tried popping 'em in all stylish-like, hoping my inner gangster (gangsta?) would come out. But it didn't. I pushed and pushed and couldn't get the bullets to lock in.

"Help meee," I cried, so my brother rolled his eyes and did it for me. Okay, cool. I was a spoon-fed gangsta, but a burgeoning gangsta nonetheless.

This was totally me.

Pow pow pow. I shot three times. The same chill went down my spine with the realization I was doing something dangerous, but at least that time I got the grip right and didn't hurt myself.

"I know how to hold it now! Take a SnapChat of me," I told Kevin. He scoffed and told me to stop being a faggot (gun range talk is similar to locker room banter, no worries). I figured I would mess up anyway--annoyingly enough, I hit the target dead-center on my next shot. Figures.

Unfortunately, that was the climax of my visit. I didn't get a whole lot better at anything except loading bullets into the gun and locking them in place. I kept aiming at the center of the target and would hit far too high and too far right. In other words, I still couldn't hold the gun tightly enough, so I kept jumping backwards and the bullets flew in the opposite direction that I intended.

One of Kevin's final directives to me? "You're jumping before you even pull the trigger, Ashley! Stop it."

But when all is said and done, I *theoretically* know how to shoot a gun. Still, knowing my dumb ass, I would be too anxious to remember anything in the head of the moment--holding the damn thing too loose with my sweaty hands, probably shooting my cat instead of an intruder.

Thank God for pepper spray!

5 Places I Must Travel Before I Die

(You could also call this my bucket list, except the only bucket list items I have are travel destinations.)

I've been thinking about my top travel destinations often. 2016 is already drawing to a close (what the actual f...WHERE DID THE TIME GO?!) and I'm not getting any younger. Sooo as I stare my quarter-life crisis in the face, I'm compiling my shortlist of places to go ASAP while I'm young, spry, and kickin'.

Hopefully, I'll save enough $ to go sometime hella soon. Carpe diem/"seize the carp," or something like that.


1. Japan
During the past few years I've only visited westernized destinations--i.e. Europe and the Caribbean. Don't get me wrong, these places are nothing to scoff at! But I want to go somewhere that challenges me; I want to feel like I'm on another planet. And Japanese culture is so fascinating. Even walking down the street there must be incredible.

Must do: I'd like to see Buddhist temples, behold the cherry blossoms in spring, and try the weirdest foods I can get my paws on.

Lesgoo!

*courtesy cheapoguide.com, the photo is not mine, blahblah

2. Sweden/Scandinavia
Ever been to IKEA? Isn't it the happiest place on earth?? Therefore, Sweden (or any Scandinavian nation) must be pretty rad too. And it's one of the happiest places on earth. I'd like to see the closest thing to a utopia, wouldn't you? (Fun fact, I used to go to IKEA with my friend in high school so we could pretend we were in Sweden. MUCH cheaper than the real thing.)

Must do: Gorge on meatballs, pretend I'm solving a murder a la "Girl with a Dragon Tattoo," and see the Aurora Borealis. If I can somehow stay in one of those cool igloo hotels that let you see the stars, even better.

So otherworldly.
(This pic also ain't mine)

3. Italy 
 I've actually been to Italy three times, which is a privileged statement, I know, I know. Two of those times were just for Venice, which isn't bad, but it's touristy as heck. I'd like to get my butt further south. I'm talking Naples/Isle of Capri/Amalfi Coast, blah blah. Warm weather and delicious food, ahoy.

Must do: Visit a winery, see the human remains fossilized in volcanic ash at Pompeii, and chill by the seaside.

Is this insanely gorgeous or what?
courtesy themostperfectview.com

4. Bali 

Never have I seen such striking pictures as I have with Bali. Popularized in "Eat, Pray, Love," it almost has a mysterious, spiritual quality to it. If you're not into that romantic fooey, then let the money talk: It's super cheap. My friend Jillian went and said the dollar went far...to the point she was able to book an all-day chaffeur and watch fireworks on the beach with a lobster dinner for only $30. Dude.

Must do: Ride an elephant, get some badass photos of me among jungle foliage and temples, and have exactly the same experience as Jillian. Maybe I'll even do a bit of yoga.

Mountains, beaches and temples, oh my.
from bali.indonesia.com

5. Toss up between Hawaii, South America (anywhere), and more Southeast Asia.

Plz help. Impart your knowledge/recommendations and vote.

Hawaii: Justin Timberlake once said, "Hawaii is the closest thing to heaven on earth." And he's rich, you know. Which means he can go many places. And has been to many a-place. My question is: Is Hawaii a cliche, or is it really that fantastic?

I hear it smells like pineapples...

South America, literally anywhere: Because hello, it's gorgeous and the culture is awesome. Maybe I could even summon some of my old Spanish skillz.

Machu Picchu. 

Southeast Asia: Thailand please, for more elephant riding, world-class beaches and delicious AF food.

Dat water doe.
Courtesy allianceabroad.com

Some other honorable mentions: Australia (if I could handle the plane ride), Aruba, Curacao, Egypt (once things calm down), and Alaska.

Where are your top picks on your "must travel" list?

9 Proven Signs You're Awkward AF

This post was brought to you by the coolest link you'll see all day: the Blog Topic Generator. Enter three nouns that interest you and poof, an array of blog ideas pertaining those nouns will spring up. BAD. ASTH.

Look at these great, original ideas!

So, I'm rolling with today's suggestion and put a twist on it. NINE PROVEN SIGNS YOU'RE AWKWARD AF.. As an awkward person, I consider myself somewhat of an expert on this topic.

So here's how you know you're awkward:

1. You can't be too adventurous. Us awkward people gotta plan our every move so we don't suffer a misstep. You can't throw a wrench in our plan!

2. Don't expect a quick comeback. My weird-as-hell brain tends to go to odd places. Just see this post about me reading a Groupon code.

3. Dancing took some time to master (if it happened at all). Personally, I've stopped caring how I look. I understand I'm a white girl and dance like one, and I wear that with pride. (Isn't it about having fun, after all? If someone acts like a d-bag because you're having a good time, well, they just cemented their d-bag status.)

4. Learning to date is hell. Apparently there are all these unspoken rules about what you can and cannot say, and I tended to stick to the "cannot say" things. I also sputtered some interesting new words. Once I tried to tease a love interest about being white and pale. I ended up calling him "whale." Other interesting fuckups: sent texts directed to the wrong person, gave TMI about feminine probs, and spazzed out to the point I got dumped. Yeehaw!

5. Reading aloud is the hardest damn thing ever. It's like that time I went hiking. Constant tripping over my words, stuttering, and interesting new words (read above). Not to mention my mouth dries up and my mouth starts clicking. Have you had that happen? It's. hell.

6. Networking = no. No, just no. No small talk, no talking about myself, no pretending to care about what you do. Just no.

7. You always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Like that time I asked my boss if he wanted "sloppy seconds" in regards to my uneaten Indian food. Also, nervous laughter when someone tells you someone close to them died. IT'S NERVOUS LAUGHTER; IT'S NOT REAL.

8. Meeting new people blows. Like, how do I know that you'll be okay with my bad jokes? That's why social media is a safe haven.

9. You let things happen to you. Ever ordered anything, get the wrong order, and just roll with it because you're not assertive? And if you ARE assertive, you just plain suck at it? I know I have!


So there you have it! There are of course many, many more, but I want to hear: What awkward habits do YOU bring to the table?

That Time I Got High (Mountain Climbing)

A whole month and a half later, I realized it might just be “high” time (get it? nyuk nyuk) to recount my experiences in beautiful Colorado last month!

(Cue the hackneyed jokes: “That John Denver is full of shit, man.”)

To be concise, I’ll say this: A lot happened. So I’ll focus on my greatest adventure:

MY FIRST MOUNTAIN HIKE.
(Well, first in 16 years. So basically first.)

We were planning to hike part of a mountain adjacent to Pike’s Peak, but there were “dangerous trees” falling down, or blood-crazed bears (or something), that closed down our intended trail. So we whipped out our phones, looked up the nearest mountain and went for it.

“We” decided to do an advanced trail. I didn’t think that’d be the best considering we weren’t acclimated to the altitude (or I wasn’t), but that’s what happened. To be sure, I did want those picturesque, panoramic views…so I went along for the ride grueling climb.

What started as me leading the pack ended with me trailing behind, winded, heart pounding, legs wobbling, and bile rising with each additional foot of altitude. This advanced trail required us to get on all fours at some points. It was also incredibly steep. 

Now, hear me out: I consider myself a relatively fit person. I strive to work out 4-5 times a week. HOWEVER, if you can’t acclimate to altitude, throw it all out the window. It doesn’t matter how fit you are at sea level when you’re 8k feet high. I could NOT get enough air. 

This was the progression of my altitude sickness on the hike:

1. Denial: “Whew, I feel it! This will be tough. I’ll get over it!”
   
   
2. Struggle: (winded) “This isn’t getting any easier. In fact, this is DAMN hard.”
   
   
3. Persuasion: (Barely breathing) “Hey, guys. Why …are we…going so…fast? Can we stop a sec?”
   
   
4. Demands: “GUYS. STOP. STAHHHHHP!!!” (+ inability to get out more than monosyllabic words.)
   
   
5. Suffocation: (Can’t even speak) (nearly vomits)
   
   
6. Explosive diarrhea. ‘Nuf said.

Me.

Thankfully the sixth stage didn’t happen until I got to the top of the mountain. The rigors of the hike caught up with me (we went SUPER fast up steep hills). Instead of enjoying the glorious views, I squeezed my butt cheeks together and scarfed down water and trail mix for energy. Also gulped tons of air.

Thankfully I had a handy selfie stick and captured some awesome views anyway. I’d probably never get an experience like this if I had to be self-motivated, so it’s truly a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.

Beautous nature

All smiles

How I really felt

The climb down the summit was MUCH nicer. I could feel the breeze ruffling my hair, soak in the gorgeous weather, listen to the babbling brooks, stop to grab flowers…

BUT, the one downside? The gravel + the steep drops. This caused Harry to “eat it” a few times. I LOL’d but helped him up like a good wife. That’s when karma proved a very real thing.

I was going down the trail while other hikers were going up, a man and a child. “Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted. I slipped while attempting to get out of their way—and fell on my ass, sliding down the path like it was a waterslide, and tumbled onto the mountainside.

Now, I wasn’t in a precarious position where I’d fall to my death or anything. There were branches and shrubs that made it less slippery. I WAS hanging off the side, however, with my white knuckles gripping the path. The little boy that I tried to avoid bumping into on my way down ended up rushing to my side.

“Here, grab my hand!” he shouted.

I did grab his hand, and Jonathan’s, who for some reason was the only other person who rushed to my aid.

(Good job, hubs.)

(I think he and Regan were laughing at me.)

(#karma)

Kind of like nearly falling into the pit of Mt. Doom

I shakily stood up and brushed the dirt off my pants. “Thanks,” I told the kid, as if he did something minor like hold the door open for me. His chest puffed out proudly, however, and I heard him tell his adult companion, “I saved her life!!”

Glad to see my embarrassment helped an awkward prepubescent kid gain some confidence. Now that’s sacrifice.

Anyway, I finished drenched in sweat, tired AF, out of breath, and that’s what she said. 

I needed a "Sam" of my own

Climbing a mountain was torturous on the way up, but if I could do it regularly, I think it would be an awesome way to stay in shape. It’s cool seeing your progress as you ascend to the summit. It was also exhilarating getting to go to the bathroom on the side of the mountain path, behind a rock, while other hikers walked by totally unaware that I was pants-less. Come and get it, boys.

(Peeing on my shoes because I'm not good at outdoor peeing? Not so cool.)

Overall, though…fantastic way to stay in shape and to appreciate the breathtaking mountain scenery of Colorado. Too bad I sucked at it. Go climb a mountain sometime, y'all.


**Note: none of these images/gifs are mine, and I claim no ownership of them. Don't hurt me, people of the Internet!

Why I'm an Unhappy Camper

First impressions make all the difference, and unfortunately for me, "roughing it" is...well, rough.

I recently spotted some gorgeous pictures on Facebook from my friends' camping trip in Michigan. It nearly made me rethink camping, until I remembered my experience.

1. Going camping is about "getting away from it all"--if you're lucky. Unfortunately, when we went up to our campsite in Tahlequah, we were too close to it all. By that I mean each campsite had an allotted space--a tight amount of space--and we could see the other campers just a few feet away.
   
   Dude, I don't want to hear other campers' drunken fireside conversations. Away with human beings, bring on the critters! (Ish. I'll get to that later.)
   
2. Where you set up your tent will determine the rest of your trip. Again, we had a small camp space. That left us nearly no option as to where we should set up our tent. SO, that meant that I slept on a tree root on all night. And by slept, I mean "slept"--I did not catch any Z's on such an uncomfortable spot. I tossed, turned, and thought about using a Swiss knife to saw off the root. That would've at least been a more productive use of my sleepless night.
   
   The next day I was a zombie, so that made the day significantly less fun.
   
   
3. Damn raccoons. I almost went into cardiac arrest when a critter--I'm guessing a raccoon--brushed against the tent at night. I needed to unzip the tent and piss but holy crap, that left my backside at the mercy of a raccoon infuriated that humans were infringing on its terrain!
   
   I risked life, limb and a UTI thanks to this raccoon asserting its presence.
   
   
4. Brain-eating amoebas are scary AF. We took a dip in the nearby stream, but I couldn't help but worry a splash got in my nostril. While I didn't suffer this crazy fate, the stream was probably responsible for item 5...
5. The next day I had a full-body rash. I also got some weird-ass virus. God only knows what I had a reaction to. 

But hey, everything happens for a reason. That first camping trip helped me learn something valuable about myself: I'm a Marriott girl. 

Or maybe a cabin with a toilet is a happy medium.