Nicole Booth vs. Jess Day

I recently binged on watching as many episodes of "New Girl" as I could find streaming online. And I basically found them all. And watched them in marathon mode. This got me thinking: my little sister Nicole is the original Jess Day. They are definitely quirky in different ways, but the similarities between the two are just too intense to be coincidental. I'm convinced that the writers for the show follow Nicole around and constantly take notes. This is what their little steno pads must look like on the daily:

"Dark dark hair. Blue eyes. Sometimes glasses."

"Tons of guys constantly swirling around her."

"Shamelessly wears full length matching pajamas despite having an excellent figure to show off. Interesting."

"Random acts of song and dance."

"Strange noises in awkward situations."

"Has dated a toxic asshat or two. Interesting dynamic. May be interesting to revisit that."

"May or may not cry. No warning."

"Loves kids. Treats them as if they are her own. Even when they are annoying? Fascinating."

"Slight drama-geek flavor."

"Loves wearing cute clothing, having cute things, being cute, etc. Basically a cute overload."

"Says very funny and unexpected swears."

"Uses odd voices at any given time discussing any given topic."

"Dabbles in the artistic. Knits sporadically."

"Cannot, for the life of her, hide her emotions. Wide array of facial expressions used liberally."


And now for a visual:

I'm onto you, New Girl.

Between A Dock And A Dark Place

Once upon a time, Nicole and I drove out to Flaming Gorge to meet up with Papa Booth for a mid-week one-day camping/boating extravaganza. The game plan was to leave Salt Lake right after I got home from work, and get there long before it was totally dark. We would meet up with my dad at the dock at 8 p.m., and then boat to the water-access-only camp ground. Perfect plan, right?

Well....We didn't leave Salt lake until about 5:45.... and between the already-long drive and my idiocy which created a 45-minute detour, we didn't get there until about 9:30 p.m. We were watching the sun set and panic-driving for the last 30 minutes, hoping my Dad wouldn't be mad that we made him wait at the dock for 30 billion hours.

So we finally roll up... and we see Papa Booth just sitting indian-style on the dock, wearing a headlamp. Like a boss. I don't know why I thought he would be mad. I can't imagine any place he'd rather be than in the wilderness all alone with his boat. Honestly.

By the time we got my car all parked, used the nasty wilderness bathroom, and arranged the "do it yourself" parking permit situation, it was 9:45. For anyone who isn't familiar with the sun and/or nature ... this caused a problem. It was DARK.

We got in the boat and set off for camp. After about 10 seconds, my dad goes, "MAN! I can't see a THING!!"

There was one dinky little torch-like wimptacular boat light on the back of the boat, which did us a grand total of ZERO good in the present situation. My Dad was wearing a tiny LED headlamp, but all he or we could see ahead of us was our inevitable doom. Nicole was already having a small panic attack. Right as we passed the invisible buoys, I suggested that we go back.

"I don't think we really can at this point" was Papa Booth's response. Which, if I may say, was false. We could still see the dock. We could have slept in my car. BUT. All our beautiful camp stuff was all set up on the other side of the lake, so although in theory we could have turned back, my father would rather have died a watery death than leave our camp unattended overnight. We had said a prayer for safety before we left the dock, so... everything would be cool right?

Nicole was not convinced. I also had my doubts, but there comes a point when boating on a black lake into the infernal darkness that you just decide to stand up and use your Dad's headlamp as the wimpiest headlight that ever was.

Dad drove, Nicole sat in a ball on the floor, willing her iPhone to guide us by GPS, and I stood like a terrified human lighthouse, feverishly shining the headlamp from right to left in hopes of avoiding a collision with either shore. We could just, and I mean JUST make out the shore on either side of us. It looked like this, and I am not exaggerating:

Except, it was darker.

We only had to cut the engine once. We very nearly ran into a rock wall. Nicole saw it on the GPS and yelled for Papa Booth to stop, but he was "already slowing down, because he saw it."

I'm not going to say he didn't see it, but I WILL say we would have died without the GPS. Interpret that how you may.

After about 15 or 20 minutes of sheer terror, we made it around the last bend toward camp. YA THERE WERE BENDS, DON'T EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT.

It then took about 10 minutes to park the boat at the dock, because according to my Dad, there was a giant rock under the water that we were trying to avoid. At this point Nicole and I were breathing again, so, rock shmock. We did NOT care. Once the boat was safe and sound, all tied up and fastened with the appropriate bumpers/life jacket as padding against the dock, we had the privilege of scaling a very dusty and very steep "path" to the main camp trails. And when I say dusty, I mean the dirt was the consistency of flour. NBD. I love cheating death twice in one night. Once we finally made it to the camp site though, it was glorious. Dad have everything organized in a very perfect Papa Booth fashion. The tents were up, cooking stuff all set out and organized, fishing poles all lined up in a row, etc.

We built a fire, ate some s'mores, tried to kill a mammoth spider with a hatchet, said swear words, told bear stories, and called it a night. Sorry Mom. I don't know if Dad told you this story yet, but well, now you know. K bye!

My organs talk a ton of shh about me behind my back...

Something somewhat significant happened about 3 months ago: I was diagnosed with PCOS, a disease that makes it pretty much impossible for my body to use carbs for energy.

Weird, but big whoop, right? Carbs shmarbs.

WRONG. MEGA BIG PROBLEM.

Unbeknownst to me, THIS is what I my metabolism was going through on a daily basis:

Brain: Wakey wakey. Time to fuel the body for the day. I'm going to tell Kristin to eat some healthy foods, and maybe some whole grain baked goods. 

Stomach: Me hungry. Nom nom nom.

Pancreas: I sense an increase in blood glucose. I shall commence releasing insulin to convert this sugar into cell-food, because I am an extremely efficient and useful member of this team.

Brain: Thanks pancreas. You're my favorite organ. 

Ovaries: Excuse me? Why am I never invited to these metabolism functions? I'm going to release some totally unnecessary hormones. Have fun sorting that out, you elitist flock of biotches.

Stupid Hormones: I don't know why I'm here. Tra-lala la laaaaa.

Bloodstream: These chemicals be crazy up in here.

Cells: What's happening out there? I'm confused. I'm not opening up my food doors. I feel like everyone's fighting. I'm sensitive. 

Pancreas: Wait what? The cells aren't eating? This cannot be. They LOVE eating. I must not have released enough insulin to sufficiently break down the sugar for them. I'm ashamed of my failure. No one can know about this. I MUST TRY HARDER. *Insulin Insulin Insulin*

Stupid Hormones: Derp der-derrrr.

Cells: Pancreas... chill out. You are being very pushy right now. I just don't feel good about this, okay?

Pancreas: TAKE THE BLOOD SUGAR, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BUNDLE OF MOLECULES.

Cells: Omgosh fine. But I'm only taking a little bit. And I hate you.

Bloodstream: These nutrients need to back up off me. They're just bopping around in here forever like this is their home. But guess what? This is MY house. Time to send them down to fatty town. POW.

Fat Deposits: Yes, my little nutrients. Join our fold. This is where you belong. Welcome. 

Cells: I'm tired. No one appreciates me. No one cares how I feel. It takes all my energy just to EXIST in this relationship. I'm taking a nap. Leave me alone for the rest of my life. We're through. 

Brain: Ooookay. The cells are getting cranky... They must not have eaten anything. Kristin didn't consume  enough nutrients and carbohydrates to go around. Stomach: reawaken.

Stomach: ME WANT MOOOOOARRRRR.

Pancreas: I'm on it. 

And on and on it went. Always hungry. Always tired. Everything I ate got turned into fat. 

Lest you think I made all this up as an excuse for being flabby and eating with the ferocity of a veloceraptor, I now take some serious diabetes medication to fix my metabolism. And I'm not diabetic. And it doesn't kill me. So there. 

P.S. .... that just reminded me of the scariest movie moment of my childhood:

The Queen of Freetail

You know. Instead of Retail? Ya. Catchy. I'm super clever.

You GUYS. Here is what is happening in my life right this instant/in the recent past:

1. I graduated college.
2. I therefore lost my student job.
3. I found a new job in Salt Lake.
4. I moved into an apartment near 9th and 9th.
5. I make just enough money to make ends meet.
6. New furniture is for rich people only.
7. I scour the fruitful interwebs for pieces of furniture that people are giving away for free. (Location is a trade secret. JK it's KSL.)
8. I pick it up (unless I fear for my safety upon arrival at the original owner's location) and I take it home.
9. I adopt it as my own.
10. Once my apartment is sufficiently furnished, I am going to start refinishing / reselling these pieces after first pinteresting the hell out of them.
11. Sorry I said hell.
12. My life is awesome.

No really though. It's already becoming a thing. It's a constant obsession of mine. PEOPLE GET RID OF THE COOLEST CRAP! They are dumb-dumbs. But please, keep me on hoarder watch. The last thing I want is to be found unconscious under a pile of used stuffed animals inside an apartment stuffed to the brim with free "treasures". I don't think that will be a problem though, because after watching even one episode of hoarders I throw away 60% of my stuff. 



Anyway. Freetail. It's my new thing.