I don’t get asked why I’m blogging, ever, by anyone other than myself. Other people are pretty sure that it makes a lot of sense, but I’m not so convinced. It is a strange feeling putting yourself out there, every flaw shining brightly for the world to see: I’m pretty much naked on the internet. Although no one is peeing on me, so I still have some dignity. In this age, the intelligent people I know are putting less and less information about themselves out there into the cyber world. Not me. Here’s a thought: maybe we flood the internet with personal information so it’s harder to find the information bad guys are looking for. Despite my justification, I don’t know what I expect to get out of this and I worry about offending people. These are worries that I choke and ignore as I write up another potentially offensive blog post.
Despite my questions of why I blog and what the point is, here’s what the blog got me: a sweet-ass house in Boulder! A former coworker read my blog and noticed that I’m homeless (or rather, rentless) these days. She’s on vacation to Hawaii with the family, so I get to reside in her sweet pad! If you thought I need to shut up about quitting my job and seizing the day before, you should skip this section because it has gotten a lot sweeter now. I’ve been staying in this house with a steam room (which I am a little afraid to use because this frail, little ginger has always been quick to pass out), a bunch of TVs and fish that need to be fed today.
If you’re ever in a modern day titanic situation and you need to sort the rich and poor people, I think having people try to work a television is a good test. I barely know how to turn the thing on, much less navigate the channels. I was raised on RC Cola instead of Pepsi, in a pinch my childhood home could have been rolled away to another lot and I was mortified when I found out what a bidet is (no bidet in this house) and all of that shows when I don’t have the dexterity to hold a remote, much less not make the snow channel come on. I call it “watching HBO” instead of “watching TV” (no matter what channel I’m watching) to make sure that people know I have HBO. I think that’s something you should flaunt when you’ve got it.
One of the greatest features of this estate is the elliptical. You poor people don’t understand how good an elliptical can be because you’ve never been on a really good one. This one tells me what to do (Squat, reverse and arms only. Forward, lower body and fast. Switch.) and I don’t have to think much but I’m ready to die after an hour with that thing. It was one of Oprah’s favorite things. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I generally think of Trish as a very intelligent person; much smarter than I am and that makes me want to shit myself when she talks to me, but when she said that I could stay here and that would be great for her, I questioned her intelligence for the first time ever.
Beyond living in a resort, I’ve been gathering information about India and Nepal .I’m meeting up with kick-ass people to talk about their experiences. You all saw my to do list for Colorado (see it here if you missed it), well here’s my to do list for this trip:
- See the Taj Mahal
- Hang out with Monks in Nepal
- Eat something that’s too spicy
I’m being flexible on the advice of a free-spirit extraordinaire: Nora. Nora is the sell-all-of-your-belongings-and-move-to-Asia type. I say that because she has sold all of her belongings and moved to Asia. Several times. She says (paraphrasing) you want to see what the vibe is like. Maybe you like Delhi and maybe you don’t. Maybe you find people to travel with and want to go where they go. Not having a plan can be a good plan. Do you see why I want to be her when I grow up?
My family is a little uneasy about the trip to India.
My dad thinks I should carry a gun. I have lost 6 debit cards in the past year alone. Why he thinks that I should have a gun in my name escapes me. My mom and my grandparents are just uneasy about the whole thing.
Here’s a tip to all you parents out there: if you don’t want your daughter to be the type of a-hole that up and leaves the country, start young. My parents should have kicked me when I told them at the age of 5 that I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. I’ve never met an Amy that wasn’t quirky, so they shouldn’t have given me that name to start with. And the middle name “Danger” seals it. They created this monster, now they will have to learn to deal with it.
At the end of the day, I have far more doubts in this blog then I do about my trip to India, but what do I know? I’m woozy from the steam room.