Vapors.

Picture this: Me, N, and T in a Subaru Outback,(affectionately named "Fatboy"), blasting beats, having deep (and not so deep) conversations. I'm sitting in the back seat, sprawled out, windows down, basking in the sorely missed warmth of the sun while admiring my breathtaking, majestic surroundings. Suddenly, ohhh mann, I felt my insides gurgle and moan, not from hunger, but from a bodily reaction of a more sinister nature. Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about. Now normally, it wouldn't be a big deal, I would just go to the bathroom, laugh it off while grossing people out, or discreetly let it slide. However, we happened to be in a moving vehicle that seemed to absorb every single stinking odor it encountered, most likely due to it's long and sinewy frame.Unable to withstand the discomfort any longer, I decided to try and discretely unleash this silent- but- deadly amorphous monster unto unsuspecting comrades, with hopes that the fresh mountain air would aid my in concealment. Unfortunately, since my window was the only one rolled down, my attempts to direct the fresh air current in my direction and back out the window were unsuccessful.My concentrated air- stream simply blasted straight to the front of the car, flooding the cabin with stale air. It was almost scary how quickly the car changed from a place of carefree wild abandon to a deathly gas chamber from hell. The bowels of "Fat Boy" were writhing in fits of wide-spread panic that quickly turned into pandemonium, as every orifice of the poor car was opened in attempts to abandon the smell. Much to T's dismay, similar outbursts were repeated several more times during the expedition, and due to N's vast knowledge of my tendencies, were more effectively dealt with. However, my incidents were not without repercussions. That night I was delegated to the lumpy,lofty top bunk in the beach house, on account of the well known bit of knowledge , taught to many of us by Bill Nye the Science Guy... "gas rises".

Vacations!

This past weekend, L, T and I road-tripped to Manzanita, Oregon for a change of pace, people and scenery. The adventure began with superburgers in PDX, melded into a 94 mile dance party from which my ears may still be recovering, and overall led into a fabulous weekend. Weather conditions attracted a throng of surfers to Short Sands Beach just a mile up 101 from us. This local hotspot, which couldn’t be more than a half mile long, is nestled between two cliffs of Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain and can only be reached by a single track trail through the old-growth forest of Oswald Park. On Saturday, my sister tagged along, diluting our surfer-watching and sun-bathing aspirations with her desire for company in the waves, in the tide pools and in a rock climbing expedition. We found that we identify well with the surfer community, despite our inexperience with a long board, because of their athletic lifestyle, appreciation for natural beauty, and embodiment of the laid back attitude that we try to get in touch with over the summer. We returned to Short Sands on Sunday, as a colleague of mine was graciously able to cover my afternoon shift at the pool. This was not before an aggressive run up an ancient logging road in Wheeler, another small beach town about two miles from Manzanita. T’s apprehensions about training with L and I reached an all-time high as her first long run of college training began with an excessively steep climb that would have gone on forever had we not peeled off to a more rolling route to admire the spectacular ocean views.

Other discoveries of the weekend including coining the phrase “food orgasm,” which was applied several times daily to describe salmon omelets, just-baked cinnamon bread, organic fig bars, and a delicious red lentil spread atop fresh multi-grain bread. We returned to Portland fully rejuvenated for a week of work, and determined to return at least the next two weekends. We’ll take a break for Grat-a-Tat’s animal-themed birthday dance-party the weekend after that and then hopefully return at least once more before L departs for the East Coast.

Future plans for the week include a Portland Timbers game, a rodeo and/or another festival called “First Thursday” in the Pearl district, the legendary Prefontaine Classic in Eugene on Saturday, and 4^th of July festivities at the Coast on Sunday.

Villains: The Pen-Island Predator

My 13 week old blue weimaraner puppy has been satiating her drive to chew on just about anything: magazines, yoga mats, human flesh, siding from the house and, just recently, my driver’s license (I now have holes in my face). Fortunately, there exists a spectacular god-send of a product with the ability to halt the chaos for a good hour. This miracle product was patented under the name “Bully Stick” and I’ve always been slightly unclear on what exactly it is. Regardless, the little fiend finds them overwhelmingly pleasing, ignoring all outside distractions while her tiny dagger-like teeth grind away at its tasty redwood-brown exterior. Each one is about 12 inches long and has the texture of rawhide or a pig ear. My dad summed it up perfectly when he said “it’s just a long hard stick!” I capitalized on the opportunity to make several other observations. Read: Wow she really likes that stick!...You wanna play with the stick, baby girl?...Look at her go on that thing…Oh man! She dropped the stick!!!...One at a time honey, don’t be slutty-er-greedy…

My dog literally goes ape-shiz for this thing, so after a couple days I decided it was time to find out what they actually are. Google took .0048 seconds to reveal an enlightening, ironic, but most of all disturbing answer. According to wikipedia, Bully Stick is a brand name for generic pizzle, a word “used today to signify the penis of a nonhuman animal.” A shriek of laughter escaped my gaping mouth and L came sprinting to see what was up. We read aloud in unison, our voices rising to scream level as our horror escalated: “‘Pizzles are almost exclusively used/produced today as chewing treats for dogs. They are a fibrous muscle, and are prepared by cleaning, stretching, twisting and then drying…’ Oh. My. GOD!!”

Little did we know, the most horrifying discovery was lurking several lines below: “‘In addition to being used as a dog treat, pizzles are also eaten by humans for their health benefits such as being low cholestrol and high in protein, hormones, vitamins…’ EW, EW, EW, EW EEEEWWWW!!”

“Of course it’s high in hormones, it’s a freaking penis for gosh sakes!” I screamed. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!”

The article was wrought with further evidence for the human race’s diminishing palate and lacking moral compass. I’ll let you continue research on your own, though I can’t say I recommend using all five senses on this one. In the meantime, I’ll continue giving my dog Bully Sticks because it keeps her occupied and I kind of like the way she devours some bull bro’s most prized possession. If any guys read this post, I hope they wince. My dog eats testicles. Girl power.

Visions of the Past and Future

The other night, me, N, and T went to The Last Thursday Festival deep in the bowels of Portland. The streets were decorated with exotic vendors , food carts, vittles and other various oddities that would be much more difficult to describe. We had numerous awkward/very weird encounters with the locals, which included fireaters,pot-junkies,dancing randos, and people I'm not quite sure how to classify. We were also lucky enough to stumble upon the next Justin Bieber who was busy exhibiting mad game on the dance flo. (as shown in exhibit A)

However, aside from the absolutely outstanding wheat-free/vegan treats we consumed at a cafe that was sporting Camille's spirit-animal, the most memorable event of the night happened to be a spur of the moment thing. Attempting to give my overwhelmed brain a brief respite from the tidal wave of sensory distractions, I gazed into a lonely corner of the street and my eyes fell upon a ominous looking woman ,shrouded in black, and adorned with piercing hazel eyes that seemed to fracture the very framework of the chaotic atmosphere. Although aware of the obvious danger of approaching such a foreboding creature, we were inexplicably

drawn towards her. As we approached her humble table, we quickly learned she was a Tarot card reader. Eager to satiate our burning curiosity, we eagerly sat down and asked if she could demonstrate her trade. I was taken aback to hear a sweet and melodious voice flow from such a calloused looking individual, as she kindly asked T to shuffle and separate the cards herself as T was concentrating on the events or people she wanted insight on. After T was done receiving her reading, she practically glowed with excitement her from newly acquired knowledge concerning the events of her past and future. Encouraged by T's positive experience, I hesitantly edged up to her table and took a tentative seat in the moth eaten sport's chair. As I separated the cards into five piles, I was trying to follow her instructions and focus on the one issue preoccupying my consciousness. However, with each pile of cards i put down, a different face of a new person surfaced in my mind's eye. Immediately after finishing my separation, the woman gasped and said, "my goodness, I'm getting multiple people in these cards..It seems that you act as high priestess over three people in your life that hold great influence in your life. it is thereby your job to just let them be and to exist as they are. Let it be what it is and nothing more...hmmm this first person is foremost in your mind... very immature,insensitive, and self-centered... no, no not good for you at all... though he shows some promising traits he is very different from you. Let him be himself and you be you. This second person is more of an authority figure, he is very wise because he has seen much hardship and suffering in his life and you look up to him, not so much as an idol, but a friend. Interesting. This third person is also slightly immature but is more sound in his beliefs and very solid. He's willing to work at the relationship he has with you but he's still very immature, but again, more sound and creative than the first person. It is your job as high priestess to let them be who they are, accept them, but you really just need to focus on you and let these people work themselves in your life as they wish.Wow. Very Deep, very introspective. I still don't really know who is who... but I'll just let ya'll ponder that on your own. Mainly, what I took away from this enlightenment, was that apparently, I am a High Priestess with lots of issues.

(EXHIBIT A):

Vernacular: Kids say the darndest things

So I nanny 4 boys ages 7 and 8 three days a week and some of the things that come out of their mouth reward a little further consideration. I'm going to start posting selected quotes here for your entertainment/enlightenment/food for thought/whatever. Enjoy.

Today's insight:

"To have no teeth is the best because then you don't have to brush them!"

-A 7 year old with many missing teeth

Vices: Bad Boyz cont...

“My son’s a flirt, and in the worst way, girls. Not only is he cute—he’s a charmer. And, no, I will not let you go home with him after this!” ranted the head operator of a certain catering gig N and I took on. Eyes rolling at the sheer frequency of such comments, I placed a vicariously tilted pastry next to a fruit tart. Ideas started swirling around in my head that all of this hype concerning my boss’s irresistibly attractive son was partly induced by the long-awaited main course to be delivered, and mainly, nothing more than the disillusioned ravings of an aging mother.

Just as soon as these thoughts had begun to settle comfortably in my brain, they were ruthlessly uprooted by the refreshing hotness and game that just glided through the doorway balancing a perfectly seared platter of salmon and vegetables. My already awkward face must haves appeared utterly upsurd; openly gawking and drooling like a starved animal.( In my defense, I HAVE been starved of studly, lusty material for quite some time.) Never before had a seen a human being crafted with such perfection. Well, except for maybe..wait..N!! My eyes whipped around to where she was standing, hoping to exchange a meaningful, “go-for-it girlll” glance in her direction. However, I found her bottomless mahogany eyes already absorbed and sparkling with passion. Sure enough, the gaze of a certain spiky green pair of dangerously seductive peepers were holding her captive. Figures. As usual, my mind made a sporatic, and possibly meaningless analogy to explain the logic (or lack-there-of) in this situation. ‘This must be what a piece of paper must feel like when it’s between two attracting magnets in those experiments we did in 3^rd grade science labs…”

Anyway, long story short, this twilight vampire-esc specimen had the hots for N. As it turns out, our green eyed god happened to be a hard core soccer bro with a talent for turning even my blue eyes green with envy for his affection. But more importantly, N and I are contemplating the question: why bros and bad boys?? Why do they captivate the majority of our fantasies and enchant our wildest dreams? Most everyone knows -- or at least knows of -- a stereotypical "bad boy" like soccer bro. The guy with such high self-esteem he could aptly be called a narcissist. The guy who wins women over with deceit, callousness and impulsive behavior. Basically, the type of guy who resembles a real-life version of Hugh Grant's character in "Bridget Jones' Diary." I've heard a lot of theories as to why so many women seem to find bad boys so appealing and, as usual, I have created my own theory as to why this is so. In fact, none of it is really all that difficult to understand when you consider basic biology. I'm not going to get too in-depth here, I'm just going to tell ya what I think are the Main 5 Reasons Women Like Bad Boys.

Bad Boys are Broken.

When most people see a bad boy, they see a guy they might class as a loser, thug, bro, etc. etc. Or, maybe he's a perfect citizen who just look/acts similarly. Whatever the case, when certain women look at him, all they see is broken. And broken is really, really appealing to some of us. It's not that we want to be with someone who acts like a pathetic limp vegetable, but more that we want to make him better. To add spice to his life and be the only person who could fix him. It's a little bit altruistic, partly twisted, and 100% addictive.

Bad boys are intense.

I like my men to be intense on some level, and bad boys always deliver. They are passionate ( for the most part anyway…)

Bad boys are jealous.

Most non-bad-boy types will pretend that they are not jealous, even if they are. Women don't like men who act like a jerk when jealous, but if you say a little jealously isn't highly flattering, you’re either lying, or not really attracted to the person in question. Men don't need to act like cavemen for heaven’s sake, but a little jealously can make a woman feel quite sexy.

Bad boys are animalistic.

Whether the silent type or the brawling biker, bad boys live in the moment. They don't worry about what other people think, they just act on instinct. Obviously, some men are too animalistic and no one likes a man who has zero boundaries or self control.

Bad boys are taboo.

The more daddy told you to stay away from the boy down the street, the more you wanted to know why, and the more you wanted to find out for yourself. And the more your learned, the more you liked him. That's just the way it works. Meh.

Vices: Bad Boys

L is going on a hot date. And when I say hot, I mean hott. This guy is 6’ 2”, short blond hair, and he rides a ducati. Raised in Portland, goes to school in L.A.. Best of all, he’s got a reputation for being a bad boy. Damn. I’m mad jealous. It’s kind of a blind set-up and I think that’s why I wish even more that I could trade places with her for the night. Bad boys are, in NLSynergy’s collective opinion, like a deliciously sketchy mixed drink that tastes incredible, not simply from the sweet flavor, but from the intoxicating rush of having no idea what strong shit you’re putting into your body, and of accepting that for tonight, there’s no room for rationality.

There’s something so intangibly attractive about a bad boy. No matter how many times I tell myself that he’s nothing but trouble, that forbidden quality only makes him that much more tempting of an indulgence. He flirts so well that you feel as if you’re being hunted, slipping into his traps, you can honestly try to be hard to get (instead of just pretending) but it’s too late, and you’re hooked. For some, there’s something addictive about feeling out of control. For others, bad boys offer otherwise good girls the thrill of being someone else.

I used to be driven by the near impossibility of a bad boy ever sacrificing his freedom. Who doesn’t like to pursue what she’s been told she cannot have? Now it’s not about taming the rebel so much as it is about untaming ourselves. L and I are wild by nature, focused by trade. Lately we’ve been going to bed early and eating our vegetables, our wildest adventures relating to our honest jobs, animals, or the outdoors. Our need to take risks is building up like boiling water in a steam engine. And that’s why, given the first opportunity, L will be climbing on the back of some bad ass’s motorcycle and I’ll be texting her asking if he has a brother. A month from now, we may have been parts of something dangerous or we may have just had random summer flings. We may have found our soul mates, had our hearts broken, or both, but either way, whether we end up right back where we started or our life paths are changed forever, we hope to have an awesome story that we’ll tell again and again.

We’ll keep you posted…

Behind the Voice

Fooled by my own desires

I twist my fate

Just to feel you

But you, turn me toward the light

And you’re one with me

Will you run with me?

I’ll stay with you

The walls will fall before we do

Take my hand now

We’ll run forever

--"Stay With You," The Goo Goo Dolls

We are two girls whose relationship is difficult to describe. A metaphysics book deep in the red room of Portland’s Powell's book store described the energy between our corresponding astrological signs and birth years as “Palpable Magnetism”—a relationship ideal for marriage, but so saturated with chemistry that we should beware of addiction to each other (intense, huh?). Until that night, we referred to our unusually strong friendship simply as “The Synergy.” We bring out the best in each other and we accomplish more together—on the track, on the trail, in the kitchen—than we do when we’re apart.

This summer, we’re living, training, and working together in the great land of Portland, Oregon. Our adventures have quickly accumulated to the point where we can longer keep our community updated via text messages, phone calls and facebook threads. Thus, after much dreaming and anticipation, the V-Blog was born. So why V? Well we don’t want to give it all away at once, but let’s just say V stands for a lot of things…