Greetings devoted blog readers! After a 2 year hiatus, the Girls of 2010 are back in action with Funny Girls Finish First. Just like in 2010, we have a whole host of New Year’s Resolutions that we will half-heartedly attempt to accomplish, while half-heartedly attempting to blog about the process. Unlike in 2010, we will not give you shifty little reader folk a list of our goals at the outset – that way you won’t be able to judge us at the end of the year for all of our failures. In case anyone is keeping track, in 2010 none of us set foot in Wyoming or volunteered for Habitat for Humanity – but! We did make a new friend! Her name is Girl P (new pseudonym TBD) and she will be contributing this year as the newest member of this blog posse. Just to give you readers a brief introduction to Girl P: I just searched through my emails to make sure we did in fact all become friends with her in the year 2010. In so doing, I found a chat between my husband, Mr. M (oh yeah – I got married between 2010 and now – more on that later) about Girl P and her husband, Mr. P (who worked with Mr. M):
The Scene: Girl P used to provide a “snack pack” for Mr. P before he went to work each day. This is not a euphemism; it is in fact a pack filled with snacks. Not surprisingly, I provided no such pack for Mr. M. Mr. M was sad, as he really wanted some mid-day beef jerky. The following convo ensued:
Mr. M: Where’s my snack pack, bitch? Luckily, Mr. P was kind enough to share some of his beef jerky with me. That’s what people with nice wives and snack packs do. They share.
Me: Well, if your jerky needs are being met by your friend’s wife, then I’m off the hook, right?
Mr. M: No! We can’t let Girl P and Mr. P upstage us in the romance department! [Editor’s note: I am fully aware that “most people” would think that providing mid-day jerky snacks is not a romantic gesture. To “most people” I say – you clearly have never had good beef jerky.]
Me: They’re hotter than us. They’re funnier than us. They’re more educated than us. We’ve already been upstaged.
Mr. M.: You’re right. We need to take our place as their quirky sidekicks and accept our lot in life.
And that, dear readers, is the briefest of insights into Girl P. Smart as a whip and funny to boot, you would be wise to look forward to Girl P posts (assuming she can find time to post between managing complex research projects and going to school full time. Baller, right?)
Other than Girl P, the posse is the same as it was in 2010. I guess once you’ve put a decade (or in the case of Girl S and I, two decades) into a friendship, it’s a safe bet it’s going to last to infinity.
There will be a couple of modifications, however. Girl S has suggested that we change our pseudonyms this time around. I hereby state that I will henceforth be known in the blogosphere as “Edgar Allen Ho.” It’s a bit lengthy, but it gets the message across.
OK! Without further ado…I’m going to dive into the whole point of this post: “Compasses and Coors Light.” One of our goals in 2013 is to learn a skill that we always thought we’d have by now but don’t. At first, I thought I would absolutely learn to play an instrument well…as opposed to playing a half dozen instruments very, very poorly. And I still might - I have my eye on a super sweet banjo uke. How dope would that be?!? (This is where Girl S chimes in to inform me a) what dope actually means and b) that nothing about an instrument that is a cross between a banjo and a ukulele could ever be considered “dope” unless we stripped it for parts and smoked illicit substances out of it).
But now my goal is very, very different. In traditional Girl S form – she has challenged me to do something absolutely insane – and I have said yes – because not only do I love her but I am also effing terrified of her wrath. Remember what she did to that bathroom in 2010 when she was hulked out on dark liquor?? Imagine if that bathroom was my face…. (that doesn’t sound right. It evokes some weird imagery. I’m gunna stick with it though). Girl S has challenged me to join her in an adventure race: 19 miles of canoeing, 50 miles of mountain biking, and 20 miles of trekking in the wilderness with nothing but the packs on our back, some UTM coordinates, a map, and a compass. And you know what? I couldn’t be more excited about it. Terrified, yes, but so totally excited. Because this – dear readers – is the perfect reason to learn a skill that I always wish I had but never took the time to learn – Orienteering.
Indiana Jones does it. Bear Grylls does it. And now….Edgar Allen Ho mother effing does it! I am currently knee deep in books, online tutorials, and super sweet sweet maps in an effort to learn how to figure out where we are and where we’re going during that damn race. I feel so totally empowered. If I was doing this when I was 18, you can be damn sure I would have gotten some sort of ridiculous nautical compass tattooed on my lower back. Thank god I’m doing this as a thirty year old….and will end up with a tasteful nautical compass tattooed on my lower back.
The obvious, cheesy, “Purpose Driven Life”-type comparison of acquiring this skill in the wilderness and then applying it to life is not lost on me – who wouldn’t want to figure out where they are and where they’re going? I just turned thirty, y’all. I feel this crazy sense of responsibility to take living life to the absolute fullest very seriously. I also feel this crazy sense of responsibility to live with humility and gratitude for the adventures I’ve had and the life I’ve been able to build for myself. Striking a balance between the two, however, is proving much more difficult than I thought.
Permit me an uncharacteristic foray into the serious, if you will. The older I get, the more I realize just how much I don’t know or understand. Perfect example: I used to feel like I earned the life I have: a good job with a good salary that permits me to live a full life in a nice home. I used to think that I got here (of course with the help and support of my parents) because I “worked hard” and went to grad school and hustled to get a job I can be passionate about. But you know what? That is complete and total crap. You know who worked hard? My grandfather….who came here from Cuba speaking no English and would lay terrazzo floors for sixty, seventy hours a week until he was in his seventies so he could provide a better life for his family. My mom….who had to grow up way too fast and work from a young age because she was the only one in her house who spoke enough English to get steady employment. My dad…who started working when his dad died – he was 10 years old. He ended up in a job where he worked nights and risked his life on a daily basis to keep people safe. After 30 years of public service, his salary at retirement is less than what I’m making now to sit behind the comfort of a computer screen. I didn’t earn this. Other people earned it for me. I’m not the product of my own hard work – I’m the product of luck – lucky enough to be born into the generation in my family that had it made on the backs of the people who came before. If hard work is the harbinger of success and ultimately – comfort – that it’s purported to be, then teachers and social workers and cops and manual laborers would be living large.
So what does that mean? Hopefully the tasteful nautical compass that will soon be joining my other tramp stamps will help me find the way….
PS – I realize I never talked about Coors Light even though it’s in the title. I just really, really like Coors Light. And alliteration.
