Sunday, June 2, 2013

Chicks Dig Scars


Hospital waiting rooms taste like a plastic sheet coated with Icy Hot when you're sitting by yourself at 1:45 in the morning.

Can someone please tell the Doctor to stop playing Candy Crush in the back and come give me a hand?

For full effect, download “Bleeding Out” by Imagine Dragons, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.  On a side note, if you ever meet a kid named Pace Beckstead, do the world a favor and kick him in the prostate.

I could try and come up with some emotionally charged metaphor to describe the glories of the Lord's hand at work with the creation of Zion's National Park. But those words would be a waste of space, because a chill-giving paragraph or two wouldn't do it justice. You just have to see it for yourself.

Zion's National Park is even more breathtaking when seven random people from all different walks of life join up to hike through the narrows, reveling in one another's company, and making fun of the way all the foreign people smell as you pass them by on the trail.  Seriously, try and find me one French person that isn't wearing a decade-old coating of B.O. cologne.

Dr. Andrus: "Good morning sir, I’m Doctor Andrus, and wow that’s quite a big…"

Me: "Hey, don’t interrupt me when I’m blogging in my head. Just do your duty and just get me out of here before Christmas, understand?”

It's amusing to walk waist-deep in a river and gawk at the different tourist stereotypes that litter National Parks year-round. There are the Canadians who can't say their vowels and have oddly shaped front teeth, the Europeans who haven't told any of their women that the bra has been invented, and of course there are the classic Asians who are caked in makeup, have a $9,000 camera hanging off their necks, and who hold two fingers next to their faces in order to look a tad bit thinner.

On the flip side, I wonder what kind of stereotypes they mutter in their own heads as they pass by all the local Americans with wide-eyed glares of confusion plastered on their faces. "Look at all of these obese, ugly, lazy nincompoops wearing Hawaiian shirts and Birkenstock sandals. And how come they're all staring at their phones in this beautiful canyon? Are they that in love with themselves?" Yes, we look just as ridiculous as you do, let’s just accept that.

Dr. Andrus: "There, I'm just going to numb it with this agent, and you'll start to feel..."

Me: "Shutup Doc, I'm in the middle of telling a story here."

I think if they were to take a gander at the group of friends I was walking around with, those bug-eyed stares would have looked more like we had just been accused of witchcraft in the 1600’s.  In fact, everyone did look at us like we had just escaped from the local asylum.  After all, how many times do you walk past a group of young adults wearing Camelbaks and inflatable dragons?  Yes kids, you read that right, we were wearing inflatable inner tubes designed for children ages 2-4, shaped like Dragons, Hippos, and Rhinos. I named my Deshawn. He was very intimidating.

I didn't mind all of the strange looks I was getting left and right. In fact, they kind of made me laugh the entire time. You probably would look at me like I was a walking leper if you saw the 6'4", 230-lb. sexy beast that I am wearing a blown up dragon that looked like an oversized bib from T.G.I. Fridays. He even did a pretty good job keeping an eye out for me when I lost my balance on a mossy rock and...

Dr. Andrus: "Just about done here. You doing anything fun for the rest of the weekend?"

Me: "Seriously, why do you keep interrupting me? Zip it and snip it buddy. I've got places to be before the sun comes up."

My dragon Deshawn didn't really save me, but at least I kept a slice of my dignity getting back up from my spill in the river.  And the fact that the six other people I was with were looking just as ridiculous as I was with their own inflatable napkins, made this trip to Zion's well worth it in the end.  And one day, I’ll have a pretty neat story to tell my kids about the scar I've got on my…

Dr. Andrus: "There, that should do it.  Now you can get back out there and enjoy the rest of your night. Do you have any fun plans?"

Me: "I'm taking shots of Lortab at 3:30 in the morning Doc, you tell me."

I assume it's going to take another two hours for the hospital to come ask for my Herbie Hancock, and by that time I more than likely will have slipped into a coma by pure boredom and intoxication from Icy Hot-coated sheets of plastic.

Where's Deshawn when I need him?

What do you think?

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