TRAVEL TRIP: SLC day three

SALT LAKE CITY.

Saturday, April 17, 2010. Day Three or The Little Criticisms That Bind.

To really understand the trauma of my visit to Salt Lake City, you have to understand the serious differential in personalities between my hosts and me. My warm, fidgety body and too-jokey voice were at war with the ornamental y muy frio atmosphere of two people who look down at blogs... at parties, at drug experimentation, at dive bars and seeing bands, at going to sleep at 3am and laughing about notes written in eyeliner on a notepad left in the bathtub, at begging a boy to dress up in ninja clothes, at walking down dark alleys, at helping friends jump a fence, at kite flying on a weekday, at blow jobs in a bathroom, at what I typically find fun and maybe crazy and fleeting, too.

I'm pretty sure my hosts would have considered this picture a blemish of my self character.

I'd love to calibrate our differences at opposite ends of a personality spectrum. Our open-minded decisions, awareness of the brevity of life and considerate of wanton pleasures to their close-minded, privileged workaholic lives, critical and boring, but what do I know? My judgments are rarely accurate and I can't bash it 'til I try it. Next experiment: Act Like An Adult For One Year... (yeah right).

At our age, adult is a state of mind. FLASH ME YOUR ASS AND I'LL GIVE YOU A PBR, NERD.


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So, I didn't snap any pictures on TRAVEL DAY THREE. I was so ridiculously happy to be at a party that didn't involve cloth napkins and flower arrangements that I didn't bring out my cammy. Not even when someone slipped in the barf puddle while dancing to Miley Cyrus, grabbed on to the ironing board full of empty beer cans, sending them rolling down the hallway into a room where a blond lady was giving a hand job to a male blow up doll. Sounds gross, feels funny. And then I spent the rest of the day writing notes and blog posts and reading the internet and trying to understand what the glacier volcano in Iceland meant to me. Lucky for me, I have the whole internet at my disposal, so I have put together a collection of photos that embody the adventures I took into snowboard/ski guy culture, hot tub house parties, snow bunnies, vodka shots, doorless bedrooms and pot. Lots and lots of pot :) obviously I didn't indulge. My throat was already dry enough as it was. I just wish we had more snow on the mountain, wink wink. ANYWAY!

ENJOY!!!

And here's a short video that I'm sure Marc will get a huge boner over. There was a time when he was a part of this stinking cool scene... le sigh.

So, obviously my memories of hot tub house party night are significantly more glamorous than what actually happened. I did well for myself and limited my drinks to 2 beers and a very slowly sipped vodka shot, which probably turned out to be the best decision made that night. Somewhere in the clutter of laughing and flirting and being high-school excited to party with very attractive snowboarders, I let my hosts know that I'd be staying out really late and probs sleepover at my friend's house. I had money for a cab if it became a fight or flight sitch, but I kept being told that it was a really safe place to crash, bla bla bla...

Once they found out that I was staying the night, I guess it meant I was open for business or something? I was getting hit on pretty aggressively to the point where I wasn't going to leave the main room where the party was happening without a girl or my friend escorting me (out of annoyance at their stupid attempts to get laid than actual threat of rape or violence- I didn't once have an icky feeling (you know what I mean, girls)). The bathroom didn't have a lock, no wait, the bathroom didn't even have a doorknob and since I was still a bleeding uterus and didn't exactly want Mr. Pro-boarder walking in on me demonstrating steps 1 through 3 of tampon instructions, I had to drag couch cushions into the bathroom to prop the door closed. My friend passed out in the strangest way in his room that I just decided to sleep on the couches with three other guys with a damp towel as my blanket. And at some point in the middle of the night, someone starting breaking the glasses and plates in the kitchen before he was stopped by someone else who kicked him back into the living room. It sounds retarded and dangerous, but in retrospect it is hilarious to me. We're not talking scary guys with guns from Albuquerque, we're talking about snowboard brahs who talk about taking their little sister with them on the mountain, guys who pass out with their hands in their pants, who sleep with their shoes on next to a hustler magazine and a smoking hookah (which BTW I put out, you're welcome for not letting your house burn down), who can't talk to girls, but try anyway, who listen to John Lennon and Biggie in the car with the windows rolled down. Lost boys.

When I woke up at 7am, I walked back to Sugar House. I walked all 40 blocks because the buses weren't running due to a SLC marathon. I walked through fleets of Mormon neighborhoods. Sweet, little children riding their bikes on the empty streets while their parents tended to the flowers and grass. And there I was proudly hobbling back home in my ski bunny party outfit, eyeliner smudges down to my cheekbone, carrying my bra in my hand, reeking of chlorine, grape marijuana and irish spring soap. There's something about these lopsided moments that makes me feel correct. When the rest of the world is spinning perfectly on keel, I'm reassured in my bonkers moments that I'm doing something right. But, maybe I'm justifying my endangered youth.

I got home, felt like a bad child for running away and took a shower, scrubbing rigorously at any scents of smoke or drink. J.W. took me to see Alice in Wonderland with her friend and I relished the time spent at a movie theater with her.

Afternoon nap and being teased for staying out so late were unsatisfying so I mumbled my way through dinner. Indian food. Gross. Watched King Corn and talked long into the night about computer languages. If I wasn't annoyed before, I was at my boiling point around then. And of course, I am a nice lady so I made myself seem happy and grateful for my hosts. And then sleep! Oh, delicious cold pillow! Down blankets and silk sheets! My eyes felt like burning hot coals and my eyelids met and stuck together like melting ice cubes being frozen again. I could have slept for one hundred days. I got seven hours.

SEE YOU IN MY NEXT TRAVEL TRIP POST!!

P.S. While I was google searching "pictures of very attractive snowboarders who might be skateboarders, but really what's the difference?" I found this article on hot british skateboarders. Droooooooooooool:

SKATEBOARDING: HOT!

P.P.S. You're welcome :)