Today, I spent a good amount of time buying the rest of my camping gear for this upcoming weekend. From July 24th - July 27th I will be traipsing around Bryce Canyon, and finally getting dirt on all my camping gear. It has been sitting bored in my closet for over 6 months, tags still on, along with my top-roping equipment. I got the gear cause I wanted to get into the hobby, and then walked around my life begging everyone to please take me camping. 

I even celebrated my excitement by of course spending more money at lululemon. Conveniently, and suspiciously creepily, they (for the first time that I've seen) had a pair of hiking shorts for sale.  These people are IN MY HEAD. It's like me and the store are bonded on some deeper levels, apparently one of which is the Music Genome level. I literally was in the store and noticed the speaker playing a song that I've only ever heard on my favorite Pandora station, the one that I've manipulated to eliminate all male vocals (except Jason Mraz), and I was all "how odd."  And then the next 5 songs, same story, only songs from that one specific customized station that I thought was all my own. And of course I asked the sales lady what they were playing, and she was all, "Oh, a customized Pandora station." And then I'm all, "Wait, The reason I am unwillingly becoming addicted to expensive luon is because I voluntarily listen to songs that some person at lulu thinks make people spend hundreds of dollars!!" SHOCKING. From now on, no more Fine Frenzy for me. I need to save up for my nose job. So goodbye my almost lover.

$160 dollars and two hiking shorts later I decide to go rockclimbing,  I get to the gym and reach to grab my gear and gym clothes. I see a pair of white sweatpants and then I glance at the bag of hiking shorts and note that it is Really hot and humid outside and that the gym is open to the outdoors.  I grab the white sweatpants and head into the gym, leaving my light-weight, breezy, full-movement shorts in the car, reasoning that they were too expensive to get covered in chalk. I spend the next hour constantly pulling the sticky, sweaty pants off my chiseled thighs.

I reached a proud milestone at the gym, no, not the fact that I saw a shoulder muscle, though, I am proud of it, and I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine. But I managed to rip off, not one, but two calluses 3/4 of the way. Otherwise known as a flapper. These painful partially exiled integuments emerge as your skin literally rolls off as your hand slides off its hold. They are a hazard of the rockclimbing hobby, and now frankly, I feel official. 

A fellow climber counseled me to put something on it right away, so I eagerly headed to the front desk with the promise of a Dora The Explorer Band-Aid. Instead I got a splattering of Neosporin and some medical tape. I had actually really wanted to get to know what a half Spanish half English band-aid would look like.

I get home and am greeted for the next hour by the pleasant sound of this short dog-ish critter yelling at the bird, who is yelling back.