Wild Times: Sex, Drugs, and Mammoth Mountain

I have a friend who wrote a book, which in and of itself is an amazing accomplishment since my own book is stuck in limbo somewhere between my head and a few notes in this computer, but this isn’t even his first foray into publishing-he authored Zen and the Art of Surfing, too.

Greg Gutierrez is an amazing human for many reasons. He’s an artist, an educator, a vocal supporter of the environment, and a powerful local community activist.

Also a surfer. Also a skier.

When I first started to read Mammoth Mountain, I was immediately transported back to my own college years when I split my time between San Diego State University and Mammoth, where I lived part of the year on Lupin St. For me, those were spectacular days with tons of snow, skiing from first light to dark. If I didn’t have a ride up to the mountain, I’d start walking and someone would always pick me up. It was a great little community before the whole mountain exploded in condos and timeshares and tourism.

I never met Greg back then–our paths never crossed–two ships in the night and all that, and my own experiences in Mammoth were TAME compared to his, that’s for sure!

The subtitle of Mammoth Mountain is “Follow the 1980’s life of Drew, a pot smoking, thieving, womanizer…”

Now I don’t have PROOF that Drew is Greg…but I’m kinda sorta connecting the dots, if you know what I mean.

I don’t want to give away the storyline or the ending, but this is way more than a journal that chronicles one debauchery after another…there’s serious substance here, a coming of age, a rite of passage, painful growth, self examination, and enlightenment.

He lost his way, his life went off course, but what did he find?

He found himself.

There’s love, there’s a lot of love here, and at the end of the day, that’s all we have. That’s all that really matters. To love and be loved.

And if we don’t love ourselves, we can never truly know love.

P.S. Who should read this book? EVERYONE. 

You’ve Made Your Bed, Now Lie In It.

Making the bed

                             Making the bed. Perfect, right? Yes, those are Hello Kitty slippers.

What goes on behind closed doors at Casa de Enchanted Seashells?

Besides seashells and glitter and the constant repositioning of my Princess Rosebud tiara, here’s an accurate recollection of a recent conversation between me and my Tugboat Man.

I’m not promising you that it’s at all funny or witty or full of banter — it’s like a Seinfeld episode — a whole lotta nothing.

Backstory: I change the sheets on our bed every week. That day is referred to as “Sheets Day.

Me: I’m gonna change the sheets today, it’s Sheets Day!

Tugboat Man: Do you want some help?

Me: I think I can do it myself, but thank you for offering.

Tugboat Man: Don’t be a martyr. Let me help you with your broken wing.

Me: OK, but you have to follow my orders and do everything MY WAY. Can you promise to do that?

Tugboat Man: No.

Me: Well, then I don’t want your help, cos that’s not helping at all. Helping is doing everything I say. THAT’S helpful. Otherwise it’s just called pissing me off.

Tugboat Man: OK OK. Don’t get your panties in an uproar. Let’s do this, c’mon, I need to go surfing while the tide is right.

Me: Well, excuse the hell out of me. Don’t let me hinder your surfing lifestyle, Gidget. Geez.

Tugboat Man; {Pointing to the clock by the bed} Tick tock.

Me: Pick up this end of the mattress and lift it so that the fitted sheet will completely surround the corners and be as taut as possible.

Tugboat Man: Let’s just get it done. Really, Rosebud, you are such a micromanager. Why are you such a control freakazoid?

Me: Well, I told you I could do it by myself, but since you insisted, you have to do it my way. There’s a RIGHT way and a WRONG way to do this. MY way is right, YOURS is wrong.

Me: Now I’ll teach you how to do a hospital corner with the top sheet, mitering the sides as we tuck it under and smooth it out. That’s how Mommy taught me. It’s called a “hospital corner”. You know she was an RN and that’s the way I learned to do it and that’s how I’ve done it and that’s how I want it done.

****If you don’t know how to make a “hospital corner”, click on the link.
It’s a perfect tutorial!   
http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Hospital-Corner

Me: Why are you acting like such a baby? You are really messing with my bliss here.

{Tugboat Man sloppily pushes the sheet under the mattress and moves on to the other side} 

Tugboat Man: There. It’s done,

Me: No, no, no, not like that. Sigh. You can’t simply shove the sheet under the mattress! It has to be perfect. Remember that story, The Princess and the Pea? That’s me. I can feel it if it’s not right.

Tugboat Man: OK, how’s this?

{He threw all the blankets on the bed and rolled himself up like a burrito, laughing maniacally}

Me: Oh-Em-Gee. You are worse than having a kitty around when I’m making a bed. Get up. Get off the bed. Geez. I thought you wanted to go surfing. Stop rolling around.

Tugboat Man: Why did you put the sheet on upside down?

Me: It’s NOT upside down. It’s only printed on one side, right?  You like it when the top sheet is one way and I like it this way, so when the printed top is folded over, the pretty side shows.

Me: Anyway, why does it matter to you?

Tugboat Man: I don’t know, I just like it the other way.

Me: Next time I’ll do it your way, ‘k?

Me: Now let’s take the bedspread — NOT LIKE THAT — fold down your side the exact same width mine is folded, OK?  Now it’s perfect. Thank you for your help. {Eye roll} Leave the pillow arrangement for me to do. You can’t just throw them up there — they each have a specific location.

Tugboat Man: Can I go now?

Me: You are soooo annoying. Why are you always so passive aggressive? If you didn’t want to help, you shouldn’t have offered. Yes, please go. NOW.

{We kiss goodbye. He leaves, and I rearrange everything MY way, and NOW I’m happy.}

_________________________________________________________________________

  • Do you and your significant other agree or disagree about which side of the sheet is revealed — or do neither of you care at all? 
  • And how about toilet tissue? Are you an over or an under? Hubs and I do agree on that (over).

Seashell insanity–Episode #452

Well…my tugboat man spent pretty much the entire day surfing. He came home at 2:00 p.m and said he had been trying to catch a wave in to shore for over an hour or he would have been back sooner. RIGHT.

Does he think I just fell off the turnip truck? Do I look stupid? I know that trick–the old “I couldn’t get in so I just had to stay surfing until the sun went down and the tide changed” lie.

I was so mad at him for abandoning me that I had to devise a painful retaliation to convey my displeasure. I decided that we were going to go walking in our little village of Carlsbad and go in and out of EVERY shop. That is absolute torture for my hubs, which meant it was perfect. And since I’ve gotten my Chanel, she hasn’t really had a good outing and begged to come along and see and be seen by all the tourists and locals in our little town.

We went to every single store including one where I bought some beautiful seashells, ‘cos, you know, I just don’t have enough seashells. I made him go into antique stores, sandal shops, shoe stores, clothing stores–up and down State Street and Grand Avenue without a moment to rest. When I felt he had been punished sufficiently, we went home and he installed a shelf that he made for my new shells and my seashell box we created together.

There’s more surf tomorrow, so I’ll be thinking of more ways to make his life miserable.

shelf1shelf2