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Back On The Wagon... Err Kayak, Whatever

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Monday, July 30, 2012

So I haven't blogged for oh, about 6 months. This is not a good thing. Why? I'm now carrying more adipose tissue than I was in January. Poop. I weighed myself today and I honestly think Captain Meaniehead is lying to me, or at least I'm experiencing a temporary whale-like bloating that will resolve as the evil mother nature takes a flying leap.

So where have I been, what have I been up to, other than consuming more calories than I have burned off? Well, to summarize, grad school, job #1, job #2, divorce, eating my feelings, a new love and far less cleaning up after a grown man.

I'm also in therapy, and I've learned some amazing things about myself that, uh, I shouldn't have had to be told. Amazing things as in "if this were any more obvious it would have hit you over the head and cracked your skull" kind of you're a moron stuff. I can address that another day, it is worth sharing, even if it is Captain Obvious stuff.

Anywhoodle, I have also discovered kayaking. Now what you need to know about kayaking, first and foremost, is that if someone says to you, "this awesome kayak is a bargain for $400" you should laugh and say (with a wildly intelligent look in your eye), "what about the $140 paddle, the rack for the top of my car, the life jacket, the helmet, and the polarized sunglasses entirely for the purposes of making me look awesome while enhancing my vision?"

Ok, maybe what you should know first and foremost is not the obscene amount of money that will be siphoned from your wallet artfully by the little boat, but how much freaking fun it is and how buff your arms could potentially become. You may also develop a truly bizarre tan, with freakishly pukey white legs and brown arms, but that's for another day.

I have become addicted to this little town in Pennsylvania called Ohiopyle, the center of a statepark by the same name and home to some of the best whitewater around. I'll tell you the name of the river, but I spell it wrong. It's something like Youghiogheny and pronounced Yock-uh-gay-knee. Most everyone calls it "The Yough" (yock).

In other words, this town offers ample opportunity for hitting rocks, turning over your kayak and dragging your soggy butt to the side of the river where you can get your butt back in your teeny little boat before doing it all over again. There are also multiple ways you can get in a raft and try not to poo your pants from the sheer terror of navigating a mile of Class V rapids. The class scale goes something like this:

Class I: Jenn can drink tea from a china cup, in the boat, with her pinky out. Jenn looks accomplished, stylish and entirely in charge of her kayak and remains dry. There are more waves in a bathtub.
Class II: Jenn looks and feels confident and dry. Why are all the 6 year olds looking so bored?
Class III: Jenn starts flipping over frequently and occasionally (uh, lots) of inappropriate words are being used in public. Luckily, no one can hear these words over the sound of the water and the sound of Jenn sputtering. Jenn looks like a wet dog without a groomer.
Class IV: Jenn better be in a raft with a guide because this is some serious uh, stuff and could lead to pooping in one's pants. Who cares how I look, I'm going to die.
Class V: OMFGHolyCrapolatacular, this is insane, Jenn is insane to be here, why can't I stop this ride, I'm going to die, did I really fall out of the raft at the top of a 9 foot waterfall? I need a helicopter, please get me out of here. Why is it already over and when can I go again? Where did I lose my sunglasses and why do I look like a Troll doll?

So I'm back. I've missed you all very much.

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