Hello New Mexico

Greetings from “The Land of Enchantment!” Not nearly as good a tagline as “Famous Potatoes” but I’ll take it.


Todd and I had our first New Mexican experience at “The Whole Enchilada Festival,” an annual weekend event that’s capped off by the creation of the world’s largest flat enchilada. We rode on the rickety Ferris wheel, ate giant gorditas, listen to mariachi music and of course, watch the spectacle of something like 100 lbs. of cheese, 75 gallons of chile sauce and 750 lbs. of fried tortilla bake under a reflective cloth held up by 6 kids. Tasty.

When we had our fill, we headed to the parking lot fairly satisfied with this “cultural” experience in our new town and then BLAM! We find Todd’s Ram and about 40 other vehicles blocked in on both sides by rows of what I can only assume are cars belonging to the most unintelligent people in town. Oddly, my first thought was “Oh crap, is this how it is here?” I even asked another stranded driver that question. I guess I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave functioning civilization by moving down here. That’s horrible.

So we took a whole lot of action but there was little to no RE-action meaning we pretty much had no choice but to wait it out. Luckily, we when got back to the truck a woman had just pulled in to “the unintelligent” row another car column over. There was a big gap between us and the other blocked-in car on that side so we asked her to pull out and after some really poor hand signal maneuvering by me, we were free!

Lifting the enormous tortilla from the giant press into a humongous vat of hot oil.

Layering on the chile sauce and cheese.

Stupido.

All in all, I like it here. Our house is very peaceful with a fantastic view of the Organ Mountains. The Mexican food is AMAZING and I can’t wait to explore the outdoors around the state. Yes, this is a plea for everyone to come visit. If you take a plane here, you have to fly into El Paso. Imagine, you could see two states on one vacation, how efficient and wonderful!

See you soon,

D.Riggs

Small thing: Boxed red wine.

Pura Vida

Todd, my friends Michelle and Bryan from Chicago and I took a trip to Costa Rica over the 4th of July holiday. We visited San Jose, Santa Teresa/Mal Pais and the following is the story of a drive Todd and I took to the town of La Fortuna, which sits next to the beautiful Arenal Volcano.

After dropping off Michelle and Bryan at the local “airport” (this place made a Greyhound bus stop look legitimate), Todd and I trekked our curiously indestructible Rav-4 rental toward the Gulf of Nicoya to catch a ferry from Paquera to Punterenas, the first leg of our journey. We were running late because a couple of incidents (unintentional 2-hour breakfast and burying the car in the bottomless pit of mud called a driveway) had set us back over two hours. Luckily we were in Costa Rica, LAND OF NO RULES, so Todd had no problem speeding past the guy who was already going 30 km over the speed limit (or what I like to call “speed suggestion”) because we were simultaneously being passed by another car. We ended up getting there with time to spare; it turns out that similar to Costa Rican laws, Costa Rican time is rarely enforced. Finally on the ferry a casual 30 minutes or so after its scheduled departure, we relaxed and indulged in a random assortment of fairground-type food, one of which revealed its innards and freaked out Todd enough for him to stop eating it.

The ride was an hour and a half of smooth sailing. When we got to the other side, Todd drove the car off the boat, I hopped in and we were off toward the north central valley. Well, until we weren’t. Just as we got out of the ferry town, we came to a standstill. And when I say standstill I mean Tetris, but with cars. What the hell were people thinking? We were obviously not moving yet drivers just kept coming around us as if there was some place to go. Instead, the small two-lane road just bloated with cars like a dam on a river. I was worried that the road was impassable and started trying to figure different routes on the eleventy-billion maps I had, but then I looked around at everyone in the other cars and they seemed utterly not surprised. Nothing on their faces said, “Crap, what’s going on? I’m worried.” In fact, no ones face in Costa Rica had that look ever. So we attempted to adopt the same aloof yet serene expression (Todd did well at this) and shortly after, cars started moving. Amazing.

The rest of the drive was nearly a constant climb in elevation; it was gorgeous. We past through thick rainforest, small towns with roadside stands and fields of what looked like tropical corn, marijuana and maybe coffee cherries. After 5 hours of hearing me imitate the car in a sad cartoon voice that said, “Shift me, shiiiiiiift me please!” (drive one Camaro in your life and you think you know all about manual transmission), we made it to our hotel that sat perched on a hill across from the volcano. We successfully road tripped in a country that doesn't have addresses and the road atlas looks more like a map of human veins than a navigation device. Hip hip!

We spent a couple days exploring the fantastic area of La Fortuna and Arenal then had to head back to San Jose to catch an early morning flight. I became a little weary on the drive as I thought the rug might be pulled out from our magical car ride when we show up at Budget driving something that once looked like a car. However, after reviewing the copy of our rental paper and seeing that on the car illustrations where employees are suppose to mark existing scratches, etc. the man back in Santa Teresa had just scribble over every inch of the car at every angle. So this other man at the San Jose Budget looked at the papers, looked at the car, looked under the car, looked at the papers, looked around the car then looked at us and said, "Okay." "Okay" the universal word for "we don't speak each others language so I am just going to fill the silence even though I don't necessarily mean 'okay.'" They even charged us less than we were expecting. "Thank you for driving our car through rivers. Here is a discount." This was the complete opposite of what I experienced renting a car in France. "Oh mon dieu, look at deez scratch. You pay 800 Euro."

Overall, the trip was incredible. Like I'm ready to move there. But did you hear? I'm moving to New Mexico. Another year and another town eats my dust.

D.Riggs

Small thing: I love when a dog sits when you tell it to sit. I feel so powerful.


After our flight from San Jose to Tambor.


Todd standing outside our bungalow in Santa Teresa.


Walking down the beach at sunset.


The view from our hotel looking at Arenal Volcano.


Plantains!


I wanna go fast.


25,000 for gas! Just kidding, just kidding. It was in colones. I really had you going there.


Harvesting tropical corn.


On the drive. The trees are blurred because we are going 500 mph.

Gob's Magic Act Over and Over -or- Death by Parenthetical Expression

Do-do do dooo, dodo do-do-doo...it’s the final countdown. You know the song, by Europe (not a collaborated effort by the continent but the name of the band)? It’s been in my head for nearly a month whenever I start irrationally counting the days (23, 24, 25…26) until Todd comes as if I can accelerate time.

Since he left 14 months ago, I have stopped and started biting my nails six different times. I use Burt’s Bee Lemon Cuticle Butter compulsively, which gets me to stop biting because it instantaneously makes your nails look fantastic (no matter how mangy they are) thus deterring your desire to bite them. Of course it eventually runs out and in the short period before getting to the store to replenish my supply, I decimate (10 nails, what an appropriate word) my month or so of effort. I guess in all honesty, I don’t actually break the nail-biting habit I just replace it with an applying-moisturizer-to-my-nails habit, which is healthier but you wouldn’t congratulate a heroin addict for taking up the more wholesome option of weed would you? OK so not the same thing and in fact, maybe you would (totally pathetic, I just Googled “what is the worst drug?” to try to make my analogy accurate). Nevertheless, once I'm off the wagon, it takes some mustering (uh yeah it's a word) to get back on.

So here I am in yet another nail-biting slump, reflecting on what I have done in the past year without Todd (writing this blog is not on the list...being a huge slacker is). I said goodbye to the Windy City (and most of my belongings) in May of 2007 and stayed at my parents for a couple weeks. I even managed to convince some Chicago friends to come to Omaha during the College World Series (I promised hot chicks...I did not deliver). In June, I left to Seattle and moved in with Liz and Chris for a couple months to do a little figuring about you know, life. Basically I reverted back to my time in France by drinking lots of wine and reading in the hammock. Oh well and actually Chriz (haha, get it?) took me on several adventures in nature so that was excellent, and I did in fact land a REAL job. My first full-time job...at 25...and I’m not a lawyer or in any other profession that requires copious amounts of schooling. And guess what? It’s in Boise, Idaho. So I moved again. One car ride from hell over (Liz and I somehow got cholera. Or I had just watched The Painted Veil the night before and I was overreacting to what was probably just an adverse reaction to some fish tacos), and I suddenly live in the most unlikely place I could ever imagine I would.

Now I’ve been in Boise for over 8 months. Words that describe Boise in a nutshell because this post is already too long: high desert foothills, lots and lots of Caucasians, NPR, Northwest style houses, longboards and cruisers, rednecks, every outdoor sport imaginable, hip married couples, BSU football and geographical isolation.

I hope to get back on track with this blog so if anyone is out there, keep me on point!

Talk to you soon,

D.Riggs

Small Thing: Being self-checkout savvy.


Climbing Mt. Shuksan with Liz and Chris.


Betsie and Rob of Boise. My favorite people to be a third wheel with!


Haley. My bitchy roommate.

Kya

Here Today, Gone Yesterday

I missed my flight. I don’t mean “frantically running through the terminal only to get to the gate as the plane closed its doors” missed my flight. I mean “showed up at the airport a full 20 hours after the plane departed and feel your heart sink into your stomach” missed my flight. “Well we could re-book you tomorrow afternoon for $952.80,” said Ronald, the very friendly but seen-it-all-before customer service man. Umm, no thanks, I would rather buy 20 pairs of shoes.

What kills me is that as my flight was arriving at its destination, I was leisurely picking raspberries with my sister. I wish I had been saving someone’s life or something way more important to make me feel better. “Good thing she missed her flight otherwise this man would have died!” Most women I know love the idea of “everything happens for a reason.” I personally thrive on it. I am in a constant state of waiting for reason. So I royally goofed the date of my flight but maybe that’s because the plane was going to crash. Let’s see, google.com…no plane crashes, okay well that’s good because I probably would have fallen into a psychological black hole of life/meaning theories then ultimately found myself in a state of deep depression and really, who has time for that? Maybe tomorrow my sister’s home will catch on fire from some random butterfly effect-like occurrences and I will luckily be there to stop it before it devours the house...I wonder where the fire extinguisher is. For now though, because I clinch to the philosophy of reason, I’m going to believe that the cats desperately needed outside and it was a good thing I was there to open the door.

Well, I hope my entire family has fun together climbing and hiking at Mt. Magazine in Arkansas. I wish I could see my cute little Korean mom and make her laugh by doing chest shimmies. I wish I could have a beer with my dad and I wish I could try out the crag climbing that Arkansas has to offer. I wish I could be there for all the fun and most of all, to help eat. I was really looking forward to the incredibly detailed menu of food my aunts planned out. Hmm maybe, had I gone, I would have puncture or broke something climbing sans insurance…

D.Riggs

Small Thing: Famous last words. Not of the mortal kind, but the funny kind like, “I hope it doesn’t rain” as it starts raining. Or “I hope I don’t have bad luck flying today” as I walked into the airport.

Oh, and I also want to make a note about how my sister and I both have a tendency to laugh in bad situations. When I told my sister that my flight had left the day before she looked like she wanted to laugh but was holding it in. I too wanted to laugh but didn’t want her to think that I thought it was funny. Because I didn’t, the laugh was by no means a product of the emotion I felt inside. What should have been coming out was cursing or crying (which showed up eventually) but initially it was an out-of-breath laugh. I recognize that a lot of people do this when Murphy’s Law has exhausted every brain cell in their head but we do it at the most inappropriate times. Times when a “What the hell are you laughing at?” response is elicited. I guess all I want to say is that I apologize if I ever do this to you.

What's That You Say?

I think that I miss out on a lot of things because I can’t hear that well. I don’t actually know if I have a diagnosable problem, but I’m sure that I say “what?” at least 50 times more than the average person per day. Often times I find myself making a game out of it when I’m involved a conversation in an inconvenient (i.e. very loud) place. It’s called, “laugh, frown, or look outraged:” these of course being three major reactions of a good (girl) listener. You can usually detect the tone of the discussion through body language and facial expressions. But be sure to keep the responses fairly neutral in case you have judged the situation wrong. If you ever find yourself in paused conversation with your talker staring at you expectantly, just say “yes,” or even safer, “umm, yeah,” and then let the person continue speaking while you attempt round-about ways for them to repeat what they had asked.

So maybe this is a slight exaggeration, but don’t be surprised if you can think back to a time when I appeared to be mulling things over as we talked. I guess if I was really invested in being a good listener I would have the talker repeat things for me. Although I’m pretty sure there is a “what” quota in any conversation and when I’m at a surplus, the talker will lose interest in talking to me. It’s not worth it to them anymore. That is very sad for me.

You should see me in a conversation with at least three people when listening is not dependent on me. Sometimes I’m not even there. If early on it’s established that I can’t hear, I just start looking around the room and then abruptly bring up random subjects that I’ve thought of as I was in my own world. My friends are used to it and so am I. I forget that it is so unbelievably rude when there is somebody new hanging out with us. “What’s with that girl? Is she too good to listen to me talk? What a whore.” Haha.

D.Riggs

Small thing: Birds walking.

Todd

I added a link to ourguytodd.blogspot.com where letters from Todd are posted. They are general type emails that he sends to his family.

If anyone is interested in sending something to him, here is the address:

1 Lt. Todd Severson
1 PLT A CO, 70 EN BN
Bagram Airfield
APO AE 09354

I think it doesn't actually cost much to mail because you are sending it to a place in the States and then they send it from there. I know he would really appreciate it, even if it's just a "thinking of you" note. Thanks for your support friends!

D.Riggs

Pictures

Down in Florida for the All-Military Soccer Tournament.


Bears first touchdown at McGinny's.


Last minute ski trip to Colorado. Night skiing at Keystone.

Nothing Degrees

One of the worst things about single digit temperatures is the overwhelming presence of immortalized dog pee. All over the sidewalks of my neighborhood there are small patches of yellow ice…petrified urine streams…marked territory frozen in time. You can see the distinct point where the warm flow began to freeze and the stream halted on the lower slope of the sidewalk. It makes a shape like a blob and I have no idea why I’m still writing details. But just think, someone, somewhere at sometime has slipped on frozen dog pee. What a bummer.

Of course the worst thing about single digit temperatures is single digit temperatures. I mean it is so damn cold that whenever I go outside a small ball of anger slowly grows inside me and pushes its way out in the form of tears. Why leave the house? Because it’s a competition between you and nature, clearly you are losing but you can’t get the obligatory “participate” ribbon (which is always purple) if you don’t compete!

And speaking of losing, nothing is more depressing than seeing 200 Bears fans looking across the bar at you like little kids who just hurt themselves and they are waiting for your reaction in order to decide whether they will cry or not. Well, they chose to cry and fortunately for me and my wallet, the band-aid was beer. Hooray emotional drinking!

Well I’m off to Kansas to stay with Todd for a while. I quit the bar, sublet my apartment and when I return to Chicago, I intend to find myself a full time job and see how that tickles my fancy.

D. Riggs

Small thing: The effectiveness of squeegees, very satisfying.

A long lost blog

I am a bad driver. I spent a long vacation back in Omaha this holiday so it was inevitable that I would eventually have to drive. In Chicago, I’ve learned to love my driveless lifestyle. I would go as far to say that I would be okay never driving again.

So anyway, I get behind the wheel to venture to Blockbuster to feed my new Grey’s Anatomy addiction, and as it turns out, I’m now the asshole who 1) cuts in front of people because I only get more indecisive when uncomfortable 2) who wonders why everyone is flashing their lights at me only to find my lights were off the entire drive as I pull in the driveway and 3) (the cardinal rule that you never break) who drives slower than the speed limit! I’m so disappointed. The “like riding a bike” factor did not come into play.

I remember when I was first learning to drive. My dad took me out in the Plymouth Voyager (if you’re picturing a mini-van with fake wood panel siding you would be correct), minutes before the end of some Husker game that they were shamelessly losing and then miraculously won in the final seconds. It’s pretty regular for my dad to turn off the TV when he has given up on the team; he makes an “ahherg” noise and shuts it off as he walks out of the room. It’s not particularly because he’s a huge Husker fan, but I think it’s maybe because it’s not an efficient use of his time to watch a bad game.

So we’re driving around a parking lot and my thigh begins to cramp and I ask my dad if that’s normal. He looks at my foot and realizes I’m not resting my heel on the ground; I have my toes on the pedal and have been holding up my heel the whole time. Sometimes I think that until about two years ago, I wasn’t very smart because I recall stories like that and I ask myself, “Where’s the common sense Diana?”

Now, I exercise the utmost amount of common sense. Like at my friend Nick’s birthday party when I did a handstand in the bar, I’m like the smartest person I know.

To all my genius friends and family,

D.Riggs

Small Thing: When I pour a Guinness correctly and someone notices.

It's All In Your Head

My dreams are out of control. Last night, I was working at my bar (in my dream) and a crazy gunman shot me in my temple. I had pulled one of those “you don’t have the guts to shoot me,” stunts and the little punk blew my head off (sorry for the graphics). Of course as dreams would go, I suddenly was a super stealthy police agent and I had secretly dodged the bullet and used a fake blood packet to pretend I got shot (so much for watching Miami Vice before I go to bed).

The other night I had a dream that I cheated on Todd. The actual act, or in fact guy, were not present in the dream, but in this bizarre world, cheating was illegal and I was going to get arrested. I must say I took it very well. A couple nights ago, I dreamed Chicago was a bunch of islands with about three skyscrapers on each. It was always nighttime and the sky was filled with huge elementary-school looking stars. You know the ones you drew with two triangles…one upside down and one right side up. Oh! I just realized that is the Star of David, crazy.

I’ve always had many dreams and very weird ones. I thought I read somewhere that dreams were just thoughts or memories re-organizing themselves in you brain (when I think about that, I always imagine two shelves on each side of my brain with books flying back and forth between them).

And why do people talk in their sleep and others don’t? When I was young, I used to be really embarrassed about talking in my sleep at camps, sleepovers, etc. When my friends would wake me up laughing, I would get really defensive and upset. One of my camp counselors told me that I was really smart because not only could I talk when I was awake, but when I was asleep too. I’ve considered using this impressive skill on my resume.

I’ve started keeping a dream journal. If anything, I’ve found that it helps me distinguish reality from dreams. You know when you have those moments walking down the street and suddenly a memory pops up and you think, “was that a dream?” (So many of you are saying, umm…no). Well, happy dreaming everyone!

D.Riggs

Small Thing: Geico Caveman commercials

Key West Pictures

Watch out, Odie bites!


Why on earth the crew trusted three drunkards to steer the boat is beyond me. I'm sorry Anne, I had to do it...I love this picture!


Kim and me on the "beach."

Open Call for Work

My first job was bagging groceries at an Airforce Base Commissary. I was self-employed, earned an average of 25 cents a bag, and worked about 10 hours a week. It was fun…like playing Tetris with food and brown bags (if you were anal like me and wanted everything to fit perfectly). Then there was underage beer cart girl at Willow Lakes, secretary (administrative assistant (file bitch)) for “Kiewit Construction, this is Diana.” 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. clothes folder at the horrific Abercrombie & Fitch, lifeguard at the world’s smallest pool (Leslie I can hear you laughing), front desk at a Women’s Gym called Curves before there was Curves, server at Brewsky’s, barista at Crescent Moon, caterer at the Cornhusker Hotel, master of the martini at Zen’s: The Art of Martini Maintenance (I’m not kidding, that was the name), bartender at Cliff’s Lounge, the greatest dive in Lincoln, all-knowing and powerful Birkenstock “specialist” at Footloose and Fancy, cashier at The Daily Drip, Irashaimase! server at Sushi Japan, junior copywriter at SKAR Advertising, the shortest lived hostess in history at Wave in the W Hotel (ahh! Secret shopper!), yet another intern copywriter for Two X Four Communications, and finally at present day I’m the world’s best bartender at McGinny’s Tap. I make opening a bottle of Miller Lite look easy, it’s pretty amazing.

Now if that isn’t the most impressive resume for emperor of my own private island, I don’t know what is. Any day now, I should get the call. Yep, any day. Could be tomorrow, could be next week.

But in the meantime, if any of my fine friends would like to throw out any ideas of what I might be qualified for, I’m very open. Make note that I can also stand on my hands for an extended period of time, put up Christmas decorations, and make creamy roasted red pepper soup.

Hope everyone is having a Happy Holiday Season!

D.Riggs

Small Thing: Cheesy jokes. What do you call a deer with no eyes? I have no idear. Hehe.

Halloween/Birthday Pictures

Magic 8 Ball and Rubix cube shouting out to the eighties.


Sexy Ninja spitting game on Sexy Cop.


Birthday karaoke! Introducing the Asian Kevin Bacon rocking Footloose!


"I Will Survive" Gap ad.

It's Just a Penny

I was standing in line at Dunkin’ Donuts the other day for my billionth cup of coffee and when the man in front of me received his change, he dropped a penny. I said, “Excuse me sir, you dropped your penny,” and he shrugged and did that little flip of the wrist that says, “It doesn’t matter" (or in some cases says you're flamboyantly gay). What’s that about? Are you too good for the penny? It took at least another minute for his donut and coffee to arrive thus giving him plenty of time to pick it up and a little too much time to look like a jackass (in my opinion). After he walked away, I picked up the penny and put it in the tip jar.

I think there is a divide among people; those that pick up pennies and those that don’t. Separating these two groups even more are the reasons behind the decision to pick up or not to pick up. Maybe the man was embarrassed to publicly make it known that he needs a penny, that he is financially unstable. Maybe he thought that someone else deserved it and leaving it was his way of giving charity. Maybe he was Michael Jordan and mathematically speaking, it really wasn’t worth his time to pick up the penny (although I should hope I don’t think Jordan is a short white guy).

I will admit, for one reason or another, I don’t want people to see me picking up a penny, but damnit! it adds up. My boyfriend picks up every penny he sees…covered in sludge, stuck to the ground, he’s “picked up some scurvy pennies!” as he would say. When he gets inquisitive looks he tells people it’s for good luck.

I guess there’s nothing really to conclude about all this, I just thought I would share the observation and encourage you to pick up pennies, nobody is above it.

D.Riggs

Small Thing: My day (and my friend Timmy’s) can be made by reading the “Stars are Just Like Us” section in US Weekly. (“They make the call signal with their hand!”)

Pictures

Liz and Tony painting pottery at Glazed Expressions, one of the best ways to resort back to 10 year old behavior.


Todd with Yayo, called so because she's all white...I don't like that so I call her kitty.


At Blue Bayou after the Cubs game. Bree putting Moch in her place...Canadian style!

Up Before Noon!

I went down to the Chicago Board of Trade yesterday with my friend, Anne (who works there), to watch the opening. If you're ever looking to stand in a room of about 500 and be the only one who doesn't know what the hell is going on (and everyone knows it), I encourage you to visit the CBOT, just a hop, skip, and a jump downtown. It's kind of like Vegas; just replace the blinking lights with piercing profanities, and the various slots, tables, and general gambling machines with creepy old men. I’m not kidding, these men are the guys who sit at the end of my bar mumbling to themselves and I’m just counting the minutes until they leave (that’s mean) (I tend to preface or conclude sentences by saying “that’s mean” as if being aware of it makes it okay).

It’s such a funny spectacle that money makes. People running around wearing very tacky mesh trading vests, throwing paper, making hand signals, and using a preposterous amount of acronyms (and my boyfriend and dad are military guys so I’ve heard my fair share). Anne kept apologizing because it was apparently slow and boring to her, but I was completely sold on the opening bell (imagine “RINNNNGGG” and then massive amounts of shouting), that was the excitement of my week, well a close second to the dollar I found in my winter jacket.

Speaking of my uneventful, lazy life, my friend Kim was talking about how bad she felt because she was so tired at work during the day, so I told her that when I don’t get nine hours of sleep and an nap around 3:00ish, I’m pretty much worthless…that made her feel better…and me worse.

Ta Ta,

D.Riggs

Small Thing: Seeing a shooting star. It last likes 1/100th of a second and sometimes you’re not even sure you saw it, but it gives you this wonderful sense of smallness and bigness at the same time.

Should I move to Seattle?

Since my move to Chicago about eight months ago, I've managed to sling about 10,000 drinks at people who probably didn't need them, hold down an unpaid internship (and come out completely fruitless maybe even less talented), go out to dinner 6 out of the 7 nights a week, and achieve more consecutive noon sleep-ins than most people will probably have in their whole life. And may I just say, it has been very fulfilling.

I say this all the time, but I'm pretty sure I caught this "lazy bug" in France. Blame France right, or is it Canada? Let's blame French Canada for a compromise. I used to be a very productive student at the University of Nebraska (that's probably an oxymoron) who felt frequent anxiety when there wasn't anything to do. Then I decided to go to France (the South mind you...think Mediterranean, blue chairs lining the street, 2 hour lunches with encouraged wine consumption) for a semester in 2004 (yeah that's right, I've been lazy since then). After my return to the States, I haven't been able to muster up any kind of desire to join the "rat race." (Whenever I use that phrase, I hear this crazy French man that I met in the city singing the Bob Marley song at the top of his lungs outside Tempo at 4 a.m. He was really trying to bring his point home about how lost Americans are in a sea of their own making).

My sister tells me that it's a leisure life. I agree with her because I care about my image. But really, it may be time for me to do something. The sense of urgency isn't there but maybe I can create something artificial. I used to want to be rich. Then I realized that I don't want to do any of those jobs that make you rich because well, as I've been saying, I don't really like to work.

Recently I visited my sister in Seattle and really enjoyed it (picture above is at Lake Serene outside of Seattle). The outdoor lifestyle really suites me and I really think there is something to say about being near the ocean. Even if you don't see it, just knowing it's there seems to make me feel better. So I'm thinking, maybe I'll move to Seattle. Hopefully if and when I move there I'm not thinking, maybe I'll move to California, or Hawaii, or Alaska. Is it unhealthy to move ever 6-8 months? Psychology would probably say I'm afraid of finding my purpose so I'm seeking change to occupy my time and procrastinate my future. I say there is nothing more invigorating than lifting insanely heavy amounts of shit that I had forgotten I bought.

Well welcome to my blog. If you choose to check up and read some of my posts, prepare yourself for a journey through a thoughtful mind of thoughtless material. It seems that my life is queuing in a line and I don't know what it leads to...maybe it's for free Frosties, hopefully.


My sister, Liz, killing a 5.9 lead climb with nine clips! The route was called "Ride 'em cowboy" and if my camera battery hadn't run out you would have seen why. Let's just say that straddling was a helpful skill.


Liz and I on the beach in Discovery Park. Love that laughing cow cheese!

By the way, I apologize for the massive amount of parenthesis I will be using. I'm a big fan.

Until next time,

D.Riggs

Small Thing: The "el" trains in Chicago have recorded speakers that announce, "This is [name of street]." Much to the delight of my friend Michelle and I, the Red Line has a stop named "Grand."


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