I've been camping for the past four days or so as a way to decompress before starting my new job. I hiked, I sunburned, I was held captive in my tent by hail. I read, I wrote, I saw a peeing weeny, and I stopped and stared at the peeing weeny.
I seriously thought it was raining again this morning, but no. Some guy decided the tree BY MY TENT was a fabulous place to water. Considering he (and the other 4,000 hikers that day-trip up there) was getting ready to start a multi-mile hike up a mountain, I thought it was pretty damn lazy of him not to cross the street and use the bathroom...which is on the way to fucking trailhead. Instead, I heard the dulcent tones of liquid falling, climbed out of my tent (as it was sunny), saw a peeing weeny, and horrifiedly dashed back in my tent. Commando whistled as he walked away.
I like to think that, as a woman of drinking age, I do have many weeny options available to me. Say I want to see a strange-to-me peeing weeny, I could ask around amongst friends and neighbors, I could just hang around the Hill in Boulder when the students are drunk, I could even go into a bar, walk up to some guy and say in a sultry voice, "You know what is sexy? A man peeing. Wanna show me?" None of these are as shocking as waking to random pee. All I can say is that it's good I had a few days of decompression before this happened. You think I'm mean to little old ladies in bars? Wait 'til you see me rub a hiker's nose down in his own urine.
An Erinku:
planner
lost?
argh!!!
argh!!!
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