Travel

Dear Midwest, I Have A Crush On You

/ Courtney / 2 Comments

I just returned from a business trip to Omaha, Nebraska and I think I can say it… I have kind of a crush. Not on any of my coworkers – that would be weird and I think Gil might have a few things to say about it. No – I have a crush on the Midwest. Or basically everyone I met in Omaha.

I don’t even know if Omaha is technically considered the Midwest, but whatever. It’s not on a coast – it’s the Midwest to me.

And I mean, I should clarify – I didn’t fall in love with the city of Omaha itself. Although I will say they had a much cuter downtown area than I was expecting. It was yuppie and trendy enough to impress a Bay Area snob like me. Good eats, good drinks, good atmosphere.

Outside of that, it was definitely much FLATTER than I’m used to… you can see much further in one direction than I think is natural. And I know for a fact I wouldn’t survive a whole winter out there. My idea of a heavy winter coat is basically a sweater with a big faux fur collar.

But the allure of Omaha is the people. I can’t remember the last time I interacted with so many friendly people in a row. Everyone is nice out there… for NO REASON. It’s a little unnerving, because when people out here are that nice to you, it’s usually because they’re trying to scam you or they want something from you. I sound jaded, but it’s true. I’ve lived in the Bay Area, LA and New York, and whenever strangers are overtly nice to me, I go on high alert.

In Omaha, that’s just how they roll. I took Uber back and forth to the office while I was there (mostly because I can’t be trusted to drive company rental cars – you hit ONE WALL and it becomes a thing) and every single one of my drivers was friendly, engaging and had a story to tell. And I walked away with business cards from three of them.

There was the real estate agent who had lived in San Diego, Portland and all over Florida, but always came back to Omaha because it was in his blood. He spent a good chunk of our time together selling me on all the reasons why Omaha was the best place to live. I told him I wanted to leave California so Gil and I could afford a real house together, and he offered me his card and told me to consider Omaha for the quality of life. He’s the one that old me the Midwest (Omaha in particular), has such a strong sense of community because the winters are so miserable that they all have to pull together to help each other out to get through it.

Then there was the limo driver who was warm and friendly and felt like a family member I just hadn’t met yet. He told me all about the crazy shenanigans he’s witnessed as a limo driver – the worst of which was when he was driving all day for a wedding, when halfway through the reception the groom comes out with the MAID OF HONOR and fully gets it on right there in the limo, with the privacy partition down. He told me her hair was basically on his sleeve as her head was jammed between the front seats but that it wasn’t his place to get involved. I got his card too, in case I need limo or car service next time I’m in town. Or if I ever need a secret place to cheat, since apparently part of his fee includes minding his own business at all costs.

And on my way out of town, I met a stay at home mom who was driving for Uber to help pay off her car and supplement the family income while she is attempting to write a young adult novel based loosely on her son. We hit it off so much it felt like we were old girlfriends and she told me I was the perfect first passenger… flattery will get you everywhere. I have her blog info somewhere in one of my bags too and I will buy her book if she ever publishes it.

Out here in the Bay Area, it’s just not like that. People are much more focused on keeping to themselves. More interested in checking their emails and following up on the latest messages in Slack to actually speak to the person driving them around the city.

And I basically lump myself into that group too – I am the “them” who are too tied up in technology to interact with people on a more human level. Then I went to Omaha and realized that maybe it really ISN’T me… maybe I’m a product of my environment. I can take on the the personality of the city I’m in, and I liked what that meant for those 4 days out there in the middle of the country.

So I got sucked in you guys. I started to imagine our future together, the Midwest and I. Started thinking about what it would be like if we got to see each other more often… if things got more serious and we even decided to make it a little more permanent.

It was basically the equivalent of being so used to Tinder dates who pull out their dicks when you’re not looking, to going out with someone tall and handsome with broad shoulders who pulls out chairs and holds doors for you and kisses you so passionately your knees buckle, but doesn’t pressure you to go home with him the first night. You don’t really know anything about him, but you’ve named your future children with him before you fall asleep that night.

The reality is, statistically speaking he will probably wind up to have one or more personality traits you can’t stand, like the fact that he always tries to order for you in restaurants, or that he starts to try to push his aggressive religious beliefs on you. Or that he always screams the name Wyatt when he comes. You know, it’s always something.

So I need to keep my shit in check… I need to stop searching Realtor.com and getting a lady boner when I see what kind of house I can afford in Omaha. I need to accept it for what it was. A vacation fling with a local that was only magical for those 4 days in that hotel when “real life” seemed so far away.

I Love Not Camping

/ Courtney / 1 Comment

I love not camping. I love it so hard.

You know what else I love? I love room service, big fluffy beds made by other people, ocean views, bathrooms that magically clean themselves and swim up bars. I am what you would consider a resort-friendly kind of girl.

resort view

I make no apologies about it. I like what I like. And when I travel, I am of the mindset of “Hey, if I’m going to be spending X dollars anyway, I may as well spend 10-20% more and get something AMAZING.” It’s the saleswoman in me selling myself… I’m kind of an easy mark. So when someone suggests a trip to Tahoe or Big Sur, I’m all about it but I envision a cabin or luxury resort with day hikes – not sleeping on the ground.

I have a relatively strong aversion to camping, but it’s not JUST because I’m what some people (I’m looking at you Gil) consider “high maintenance.” No, it’s deeper than that guys. I have emotional camping scars. And you know what they say…. you’re only as sick as your secrets. Your horrible, horrible, camping secrets.

So I’ve decided today’s the day I’m going to share them. Partly because I need to work through my feelings about camping so I can convince myself to try it again (my boyfriend of almost 2 years loves it, and we’ve done it a total of zero times). And partly because my only real camping story is actually worth sharing.

But let me back up for a second. Growing up, camping was not something I was ever exposed to. In this world, there are “camping families” and “non-camping families.” We were definitely a non-camping family. We spent plenty of time outside and liked to explore and do outdoor activities, but we preferred to poop inside, you know?

I’ve been camping a grand total of twice in my life so far. Neither have really warmed me up to the whole idea yet. And frankly the second time may not even count… my friends were at a campsite at the beach and I joined them and wound up sleeping in my car because it was so windy.

But the first and really only actual camping experience I have…. well, it left a mark. It has been burned into my brain. My soul. My eyeballs. I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT. If for no other reason, than to ease this heavy burden I’ve been carrying. And to illustrate the real source of my camping aversion. To prove it’s NOT just because I think I’m too good to poop in the ground. (I do think that, I totally do.)

Deep breaths… here it goes. My first camping experience happened when I was 18. I was what you might refer to as a bona fide HOT MESS. My brother was sick and I was kind of in a tailspin, and 18 is a great age to be an irresponsible asshole anyway, so the camping trip involved way more whiskey than it should have. I went with my friend Raena, her loser boyfriend (I can say that because she totally dumped him later… don’t worry it’s not like that’s who she wound up with) and his loser friend. We all had great taste in men back then.

The emotional baggage aside, what I remember most about that trip is what Raena and I still refer to as the “death hike.” You know, when 4 hungover 18 year olds decide to head out on an 8 mile round-trip hike in 90+ degree heat to a swimming hole with no food, minimal water and generally no good sense whatsoever.

We literally almost didn’t make it back. As in, the guys took off (told you, GREAT taste in men back then) and Raena and I staggered along the completely deserted trail on our own, making all kinds of promises to the universe or God or whoever we thought might be able to get us out of this one. Promising to shape up if we could just get a goddamn ride back to camp.

At one point, I laid down on the side of the trail, and told my girlfriend to go on without me…. SAVE YOURSELF! I implored. Actually it was more like “find someone with a freaking truck and send them back for me… I’m going to lay here and wait for someone to rescue me because I am not cut out for this shit.” I distinctly remember laying in the dirt, cheek full on in a dirt pile, watching a spider crawl up my leg, too dehydrated and exhausted to move or care, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted an ice cold Fresca and air conditioning. And to never go camping again.

Turns out, my plan wasn’t as solid as Raena’s. She DID find someone with a truck to give her a ride back, while I was laying in the dirt hallucinating about Fresca. I’m not totally clear on why he never came for me, but he didn’t and at some point I managed to pick myself up out of the dirt and soldier on. Somehow I eventually made my way back to our campsite, thinking this had to be the worst camping trip ever. I mean, come on. It doesn’t get much worse than that.

Until a WILD BOAR attacked our campsite that night. Seriously. We jumped into the bed of Raena’s truck, screaming like lunatics as this beast of an animal went to town on the campsite. That’s it, that was our whole line of defense. No guns, no knowledge of boars, nothing. After it tore through our stuff and disappeared back into the woods, the woman at the campsite next to ours came over with her dog presumably to see if we were OK. She was apparently camping with her husband, an Indian shaman of some sort.

She calmly informed us that she could talk to animals (yup) and had special powers (of course), so she had this on lock. She was going to talk to the boar to calm it down and make sure it didn’t bother us anymore. Then she disappeared into the woods with her dog to have a little chat with the boar. TO HAVE A CHAT WITH THE WILD BOAR THAT HAD JUST TORN THROUGH OUR CAMPSITE.

Now before you ask, no, we were not tripping on acid. But I can’t say the same for her. We heard her chanting and yelling and then heard her dog yelping and barking, and noises I now know are what a boar attacking a dog sound like.

We stared at each other, mouths open, convinced this crazy lady and her dog were boar meat. Miraculously, she came walking back out and told us she’d taken care of it. And to be fair, the boar left us alone after that, so who knows? Maybe she talked some sense into it.

She wasn’t done though. Oh no. She decided to join us at our fire and proceeded to read our futures. Totally normal camping neighbor etiquette and behavior, right? After letting us know one of our friends had “special powers” too and needed us to watch over her, she informed me I would live in many different places, and have children I didn’t know about with different men.

Wait, pause. I might have skipped a few health classes along the way, but I’m pretty sure it’s not the woman who finds out she has a kid years after a drunken hookup in the back of an Explorer. Even if you don’t know you’re pregnant (thanks, “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” for educating me about how many women this ACTUALLY happens to), you sure as shit notice when a HUMAN BEING comes out of your vagina. But I digress.

Anyway, after “looking into our futures” she eventually had to return to her own campsite, because her husband was screaming for her and sounded pretty pissed. Maybe he had just found out about one of her secret children, I’m not sure. After a few more shots of whiskey (I mean how can you not be drinking during an experience like that?) we eventually all passed out. When we woke up the next morning and said hello to our crazy neighbor and potential boar-whisperer, she just looked at us blankly. She had no clue who we were. NONE.

I SWEAR TO FRESCA, we were not the ones tripping balls because we all remembered it exactly the same the next morning. But at that point, I was ready to be done camping. Basically forever.

Fast forward 13 years, and that’s pretty much held up. No more camping. But guys, it might be time. It might be time to give it another shot. I might be ready. But if anyone so much as mentions anything about a boar, I’m out.

California Cruising

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

The California coast is honestly one of the most beautiful places in the world. It’s worth reminding yourself of that when you start looking on Realtor.com and realize you can never afford to move out of your 750 square foot condo.

Gil and I recently decided to head north and go up Highway 1 for a weekend getaway. We did the same thing last year, and we both loved it so now it’s becoming a tradition. The drive is as much a part of the trip as the destination, as you cross the Golden Gate Bridge and then start meandering up windy roads to get to the coast.

sunny sea ranch

We were actually staying at the Sea Ranch Lodge this time around, and I would definitely stay there again. It’s a good location, and easy access to explore up and down the coast. We ended up trekking further north, all the way up to Point Arena, which boasts the tallest lighthouse on the west coast. It’s a must-see.

lighthouse

It’s more and more impressive the closer you get, and for $7.50, you can take the “self-guided” tour and climb to the top. We of course decided this was a good idea. I realized 10 steps up, it was in fact kind of a terrible idea. When you have a bum ankle and are totally out of shape, 144 winding steps is pretty aggressive. I made it to the top a few minutes behind Gil, not gonna lie.

lighthouse2

Once I caught my breath, it was literally breathtaking. This was the perfect opportunity to force Gil into a selfie. Mission accomplished.

gilandcourtney

And the perfect outfit for a windy day on the California coast? Leggings with boots, a basic tank and a cozy sweater.

courtney

If you do decide to stay in Sea Ranch, be aware: you need to pack your own food. The restaurant at the Sea Ranch Lodge is the only food in a 15 mile radius, and while the view is beautiful, the food isn’t nearly as impressive, especially for the price.

sea ranch sunset

My suggestion? Drive 20 minutes north to Gualala, where there are at least 5 restaurants to choose from and a grocery store. My favorite? Bones Road House. I had the BEST BURGER of my life there.

bones burger

Then come back to Sea Ranch to open a bottle of wine and enjoy the sunset and the sounds of the waves.

night at sea ranch

This is a trip we’ll definitely be repeating, and hopefully I’ll have an ankle that’s healed more so we can hit some of the incredible hiking trails that surround this whole area. I took one last picture before we left, and the panoramic view is a good reminder of why I’ve stayed in California for so long. You can’t beat that.

panoramic

The Perfect Vacation… And Other Lies Facebook Told Me

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

I haven’t posted in awhile… I really need to get better about that. To be fair, a big part of the reason is because I just returned from a 16 day trip to Europe with Gil. I know, rough life right? We spent the holidays in Paris, Venice, Florence and Rome. And it was just as beautiful as you would imagine it to be.

And I can confidently say I had a wonderful time with the man I love and it was an experience I will never forget. AND I had the best New Year’s celebration of my life, on a boat in Venice watching an incredible fireworks show and drinking champagne with my honey… it was like something out of a sappy romance novel.

BUT (and this is a big BUT) it was not the picture perfect European getaway I had been imagining. It was hard work! And we stayed in nice hotels and flew with an upgrade to “Premium Economy” (totally worth it by the way) and STILL there were more trials and tribulations than I imagined a dream vacation like this would have.

So while our friends and family got to drool over the pictures I posted to social media, they really only paint half of the picture. The GOOD half, obvs.

trip collageWe have all read about the Facebook effect right? This weird phenomenon of comparing your seemingly drab, complicated, messy, unorganized life to the picture perfect moments of people you went to elementary school with who now have the perfect life, and flawlessly documented new vacation/baby/house/wedding and make you feel like you’re somehow lacking in comparison. Because whether we admit it or not, we are all guilty of trying to put our best foot forward on social media, and with that automatically comes a bit of manipulation of the truth. Not a lie exactly… but maybe a lie of omission in some cases.

Normally I read about this exercise in the context of parenthood: a gorgeous professional picture of the entire family smiling… while everyone was actually screaming at each other between shots and the toddler was eating boogers in all but two frames. The snow filled photos with carefully selected Instagram filter of the little ones sledding for the first time… when really it took five hours in traffic to get there, they fought with each other the whole trip,  and they spent a grand total of 15 minutes in the snow before they complained so vehemently about being cold and wet that you could LITERALLY feel hairs on your head turning gray.

I AM TOTALLY GUILTY OF THIS. I just perpetrated this crime of social media for almost 3 weeks straight. Obviously not with children – I leave that parenting shit to you masochists. No, I essentially Photoshopped my vacation. Not REALLY – I didn’t actually physically manipulate the pictures themselves, but I definitely smoothed over the rough edges so the finished product was shiny and beautiful and ready for consumption.

Don’t get me wrong, I DID have the trip of a lifetime with the man I love. It was thrilling, beautiful, exhilarating, exciting, romantic, and delicious. And if you look at the pictures I posted you would glean exactly that.

What you WOULDN’T see are my teary eyes from that stupid argument we had in front of the Eiffel Tower about retaking a picture because I felt so self-conscious about how fat I looked, which is why I’m wearing his sunglasses in some of the pictures. Those pictures of the Louvre are drool worthy, but you don’t see the three hour line we waited in because we didn’t think to buy a museum pass ahead of time and how by the time we got in I could barely walk (I am still recovering from extensive ankle surgery) and so I spent most of my time there looking for benches instead of admiring art. The Colosseum is awe-inspiring, but you can’t see how sick I am at that point, or how exhausted we both are which led to us snapping at each other for no good reason.

Yes, we shared those stories with a handful of friends and family when we got home, but to a casual observer I got the perfect European vacation with my perfectly bearded lumberjack of a boyfriend. Truth? 16 days of travelling together is when shit gets real. Eleven hour flights. Questionable cab rides. Gross underestimation of how much money you’d be spending on food (some of which was totally mediocre). A swollen and throbbing ankle. Long lines. Short tempers. Obnoxious tourists. Meltdowns. MY PERIOD, a week early.

It happens. Of course it does. Life is messy and chaotic and tragic and bloody sometimes. And I would definitely use each of those adjectives to describe moments in our trip. The real triumph? The one you don’t see in any of the pictures? The fact that those were merely MOMENTS. The fact that we tackled them together instead of tearing each other down further even though it would have been so easy to do – to take out our frustration with a stressful situation on the one we love the most.

The best parts of the trip? The way we sat on a bench overlooking the canal in Venice snuggled up together watching the sun on the water. How tight he held me on the boat when we were watching fireworks on New Year’s. Feeling him reach for my hand halfway through an eleven hour flight when he was somewhere between asleep and awake. The way he helped me with my suitcase on the train in Florence even though he warned me not to over-pack because I would be responsible for my own bags. Spoiler alert: I over-packed.

These are the moments I didn’t document but they’re some of the most vivid memories. And honestly, I wouldn’t change any of them, good or bad. Well, that’s a lie too. I would totally wish for a healthy ankle so I wouldn’t have been in a walking cast for most of the trip. And maybe I would have eaten even more cheese. Yeah, definitely more cheese.

But I wouldn’t trade the experience. Now we KNOW the things we would do differently (I think 10 days is probably our max). And now whenever I see someone posting pictures from their own “perfect” vacation, I always wonder what those “real” moments actually look like. Those would make a much more interesting photo album…

Creepy French Dolls

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

Most people have a bucket list I think, even if it isn’t something they physically write down and check off one by one. Rather, we all have things that we stumble into online or hear about or see in a movie and think “YES! That is something I need to do/see/experience before I die.” Seriously – who has not had that thought before? One of my bucket list items has always been to go to Paris, and IT’S FINALLY COMING TRUE! I just booked our flights to Paris for Christmas and Italy for New Year’s and I’m beyond excited. I’ve had a weird fascination with all things French since I made the incredibly practical decision to take French in high school instead of Spanish. It was more “romantic” (and totally useful for the job market in California). I left those 4 years of French without the ability to actually SPEAK French, but with a great love for a place I’d never even seen.

So we’re going! We’re really going! And there is a laundry list of things Gil and I each want to see. Mine include things like Moulin Rouge and the towns outside Paris that transform into Medieval winter wonderlands and have people dressed as Renaissance characters. Gil is all about the art and the food. The Louvre, Musee d’Orsay and a few good cafes and he’s set. We are currently negotiating on some of these items. I’m all for the art and the food, but I want to see some of these very specific attractions that I’ve been reading about for years, and Gil’s tolerance for touristy shit is WAY lower than mine. That’s a weird thing about becoming a “couple” – you really have to consider someone else’s feelings and you can’t do exactly what you want exactly when you want to all the time anymore. Soooo…. it’s basically like I have a certain supply of “couple credits” and I have to be very strategic about how I use them.

That brings me to my main point. You didn’t even realize there was one, but there is. After watching “Midnight in Paris” a few years back (fabulous movie by the way, if you don’t hate Woody Allen films you should definitely watch it) I added a new item to my bucket list. In the movie, a lot of the fantastical plot-line centers around Le Musée des Arts Forains, which as it turns out is an amazing private museum of old amusement park rides and other carnival-type attractions. It’s GORGEOUS. And romantic. And unique. And maybe just a teeny bit creepy. I made the mistake of letting Gil watch the video that was on the website. I think it’s really the music that makes it feel so dark, but the very lifelike, very creepy dolls that stare at the screen a few times throughout the brief clip aren’t helping my cause. Within 20 seconds he says, “Fuck that, no way. That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” This from a man who has been to the darkest corners of the internet and seen unspeakable videos. But the creepy French dolls are what are going to give him nightmares.

Considering this is a private museum only open to the public ONE WEEK A YEAR, I think I might have to use most of my credits on this one and just make it happen. And hope I don’t scar this 6’3” lumberjack of a man for life. But seriously, is it really even that creepy??