Wow, where have you been?

OK, confession time:

I sleep-eat. Like sleep-walking, except my motivation to walk is to eat. My first recollection of this pasttime is at my parents' house. Apparently I walked downstairs into the kitchen, located the bulk bag of Hot Tamales, walked it back up to my bed, and devoured the whole thing. My only proof the next day was an empty plastic bag on my nightstand, a horrible taste in my mouth, and a lone tamale stuck to my stomach. Hot. Tamale.

Most recently I walked to my kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Fruity Cheerios and milk, and wolfed it down. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but seriously, why do I need a bowl of cereal at 3am? This anorexia is NOT WORKING OUT! (for anyone who's a concerned family member or can't take a joke, I don't have an eating disorder. I wish I did, but I can't pull it off. That's another joke. This could go on for hours).

I spent the first part of June in Sedona, AZ... AKA the most gorgeous place in the world. My dad and his wife, Bonnie, live there. Here's the Cliffs Notes - lots of hiking - including the Grand Canyon, Boynton Canyon, and Chicken Point - met some super cool people, spent some much needed hangtime with my family, and participated in an impromptu Native American sage ceremony...trust, when you're flying on Patron margaritas, it makes perfect sense.

My dad recently opened a beautiful health club there. Go. Seriously, it's in your best interest. This man is in such amazing shape, he put me to shame. I'm proud to say he and I conquered Chicken Point together. What an exhausting undertaking! The only way I made it was my desire to not let my old man beat me up a mountain!

The most terrifying moment: A fucking SNAKE slithered from branch to branch right next to me on a trail. I was so terrified I stumbled into a cactus. My calf was on fire, and my mind was blown. My dad charged into the brush, determined to capture said snake and preserve my honor. He grabbed it by the neck and wrestled it to the ground, cursing its kin. He emerged victorious with a satisfied grin and the snake's skin hanging round his neck. I surely would have perished, if not for his bravery!!

(editor's note: in the previous passage, "he grabbed it" thru "his neck" is a pure fabrication, but a fun story we came up with up that I promised would make its way into my blog. He did try to find the snake, but I begged him to come back to the trail. It would've been a real bummer if he was fatally poisoned, since I didn't know my way back to his house, and it was hot. Desert-y hot.)

I watch alot of Law & Order. The classic and SVU. Criminal Intent is horrible. If you watch it, stop now. Speaking of SVU, I can't take the word "heinous" seriously. You know - "in the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous" - I can't help but think of Bill and Ted. Thank God for Ice T's Emmy-award winning performance to distract me from the opening.

I wish sarcasm easily translated to print.

I hate getting into mini-van cabs by myself, just to go to rehearsal or the beach. It seems excessive. I feel like I should be going to the airport. I can't justify all the empty space, I want to fill it with suitcases and the cast of "Eight is Enough."

I need one more reference to an 80's movie or TV show and this entry will be complete.

I cannot help getting overly-emotional when I read People Magazine. I cry at kidnappings, cancer, and sudden dramatic deaths. There's paralyzed former marines teaching kids to sail, long-awaited organs suddenly available to desperate kids near death, jilted women, and detailed diet and exercise regimens of formerly overweight "real" people and already sickly skinny celebrities. Those diets are such crap. It's all Diet Coke and Columbian Coke, not a handful of almonds, a teaspoon of cottage cheese and 5 sensible small meals a day. When reading People, I get angry, devastated, and feel superior to stupid people who give stupid quotes like - "he didn't have little visions. He had big visions." - well, duh. If they weren't little, and you were complimenting him, what else could they be? I know I'm I'm ridiculous about it, and can't stop! I wish I read Newsweek with such ardor.

Howard the Duck. There, all done.