B is for Beautiful and Belly and Baby and Boy...

i'm homesick. i was this close... this close to packing up our new wheels and my sleepy boy and driving through the night over the mountains. a*love had to talk me out of my irrational wild thoughts.
right now in my mama's house are bouquets of daisies, bright green balloons, beautifully wrapped baby goodies and one sleepy mama-to-be. in the morning will be trays of tasty sandwiches, a gigantic cake, and swarms of lovely ladies waiting to celebrate this upcoming mamahood of hers.
my heart aches to miss out on such an occasion. my baby sister. great with child.
i wish to go on an evening walk with her tonight and talk of birth and baby boys and bravery. i wish to give her a warm foot bath and pretty pink pedicure. i wish to wash her hair and braid it into two little girl braids. i wish to go through her piles of wee clothes and imagine what he'll look/smell/sound like. study baby name books and try and trick her into revealing her secret names. feel her belly and wait for boy to kick-kick-kick. i wish to give her a million lindsay & jade gifts of love. whatever she needs them to be.
does anyone know if she will still be my baby sister after this chapter of her adventure is over?
++++
since the festivities are way over there and i am here my job was to put together a baby-shower-in-a-box. i had so much fun thinking up and planning these treasures.

{the invitations}

{the envelope seal}

{the see-d party favors}

{the "b is for baby" garland}


a celebration will be had in the morning and i am here but my heart is so there.
love, lin

Castle Rock and Important Things

The review for my Business Markets class ended at 1:40. Twenty minutes later, Phil threw his crashpads into the back of the Saturn and we bolted over the 17 to Castle Rock for a late afternoon session with Robby. The rock felt cold and crisp and the cool air was a welcome respite from the heat of Santa Cruz. We dinked around on Parking Lot rock, where I fell from the very last move of the tree problem 5 times, before heading up the hill. Then there was a quick stop at Duct Tape. Rob Miller was once a rad big wall free climber but these days he's become a welterweight boulder problem repeater, hiking multiple laps on Duct Tape. I was jealous. Phil, with his albatross arms (he's 5'11 with a 6'3" wing span), crushed the problem too. We stopped at Bates arete, which Rob managed to do using only the arete, and then took off. Phil and I stopped at Pinos and got burritos, then rallied to Pacific Edge, where I met Elaine and climbed some routes. Gym climbing's so hard.

Now is a good time for you to sit down. If you are already seated, grab the sides of your seat. In a few moments a discussion of the utmost importance will be transmitted to you. So, move your right hand away from your mouse, take your forearms off your disk, and grip your chair tightly. Okay...lately, I've been thinking. I try not to do this too often as it hurts the space between my head but lately I've been doing it. Thinking. Pondering. Festering. After much deliberation I've come to the conclusion that sour cream is entirely disgusting and not meant to be eaten. Oh! You think this is some sort of joke do you? Like "Oh gawd, James is so melodramatic." Well , I'm not laughing. Whenever I order a burrito, I always say, "No sour cream!" And then the cashier rings me up and I ask again, "I said no sour cream right?" The man behind the counter always nods and says "No Creme." I smile and look forward to a solid burrito without the disgusting substance. Yet, 20% of the time, what do I find in my burrito? Fucking sour cream! That shit is total man sauce. It has the consistence and appearance of sperm. Who's to say it's not? While we're on the subject, I recommend staying away from mayonnaise and any type of "special sauce" slathered on your burger or buns. Who knows where this shit comes from? I heard McDonald's breed rats for two uses: Quarter Pounders, and mayonnaise. Two months ago there was a job listing on Craig's list by McDonald's. They were looking for someone to manually masturbate their rats. Gross! Anyway, stay away from sour creme, mayonnaise, and all that other fatty liquid garbage slathered onto your burrito, burger, or buns, there's probably rat semen in it. Besides, it'll just go straight to your ass anyway.

The Campfire Endurance Test

We walked out outside of the Red Room, buzzing slightly from the alcohol. Her blonde curls fell onto my chest as she pressed her body into mine. I pulled her closer as she whispered into my ear.
"I'd go home with you right now, James," her finger traced a line from around the square of my jaw, across my chest, and down the bumps of my abdomen before stopping to trace a circle above my belt line. "If you had a home to go to." She kissed me on the cheek and left.
I shrugged. She wasn't my type. I'm not into hot chicks. Or one's with baller jobs in good accounting firms. Or ones that love sex. Nope. That kind of girl isn't for me. I'd rather go climbing. So I did. Yosemite. Jailhouse. Vegas.
The next time wasn't as painful. We'd hooked up a few times over the years. I wanted sex. She wanted a relationship. Neither of us got what we wanted. "It's hard to have an emotional connection when you're not around all the time." I shrugged in response. She had a point. Emotional connections cut into my time on the rock. We stopped talking and I went climbing. Indian Creek. Zion. More Yosemite.
It doesn't matter where I go, the scenario's always the same. In Hueco, in Smith Rocks, in Toulumne. There's five dudes standing around the camp fire and only one girl. Everyone's boasting. Everyone's slandering. Everyone's waiting for the other guys to go to bed so he can spit serious game to the girl. It's the campfire endurance test. Finally, she gets tired, and leaves. Probably to find her boyfriend.
But sometimes she leaves with you, which only leads to more trouble. I walked away with a girl in Toulumne back to my campsite. I grabbed her, pulled her into my, and stared at her. She pursed her lips and moved to kiss me, then shook her head and stopped. My eyebrows raised quizzically. "Umm actually, I'm dating your friend right now." Yikes. I pushed her away and gave her a cordial good night. She kissed me on the cheek and kicked stones back to her campsite.
"You don't get a girlfriend, you get your turn." Or so the saying goes. You're either the guy who's girlfriend is about to leave you for your friend or you're the friend who's about to steal your "buddy's" girlfriend. It's fucked up. Who wants a "turn"? But...who wants to be alone?