Going Native and Survival 101

Me in another couple of weeks

Things are really going to seed around here. I don't know who I am anymore. Exhibit A: I went out for a fancy dinner Friday night for the first time since I left New York. These sorts of dinners used to be fairly common for me back when I was, oh you know, within 30 miles of a restaurant. But I digress. Now that I live in the wilderness and have little to no occasion to get remotely gussied up (except for the mascara I apply in reverence of Molly the goat), I viewed it as a "fun" opportunity to prettify and remember what it's like to be girly. I've never wholly mastered the girly thing -- my makeup skills don't really surpass the application of kohl liner and sometimes some festive shimmer shadow. I cannot draw a cat's eye to save my fucking life and if I get a zit I'm really screwed because I do not understand foundation or cover up. I have never learned how to "do" my hair. But eyeliner, earrings and perfume and maybe some high heeled boots have thus far sufficed make to me feel fancy.

In anticipation of my Big Night Out On the Town Hamlet, I decided to splurge on some new scented shower gel (as my giant bottle of Bronners was much depleted), and in a moment of defiance I gave into my mounting affinity for patchouli, which posh perfumiers made me love slightly less apologetically, as previously all my sentimental attachment to it had directly correlated to memories of my high school drug dealer Baja-wearing boyfriend.

I proceeded home to bathe myself and do all the girly things one does, and it was at that point that I was confronted with the sad truth that I could not remember the last time I had shaved my legs. I wouldn't say I'm a particularly hirsute person but the state of my gams was truly astonishing and disturbing to behold.

By the time I left the house I was marginally presentable but the nagging feeling that I was descending into nappy-headed mountain woman territory roiled in the background. My inner hippie has at times been in deep hibernation but it seems it's on the precipice of coming out of hiding permanently despite my best efforts to sublimate it.

Did I mention that I ordered CARROTS as my main course? Carrots. Am I that girl?

Evidently. On a related note, this.

In other news, snow is officially fucking falling as I type this. The onslaught has begun.  Today was the first day that necessitated wearing my much bandied about silk long johns. I have historically been incredibly bad at dressing for the weather, partly out of sheer laziness and partly out of sheer obliviousness. I fear for myself. It's hard enough as it is to continually dress and disrobe according to health codes at the farm, like some maniacal dairy-themed Mr. Rogers -- taking shoes off, putting clogs on, taking sweater off, putting smock on, taking smock off, putting apron on and so forth. But adding winter gear to the mix? It sends the mind reeling.

Add that to the list of things I need to master in order to survive, which also contains the following items:

• Know How To Build A Fire (I'm partially proficient in this)
• Be fucking prepared: A catchall that the above-mentioned winter wear could fall under but the importance of which has been illustrated by my haying experience, ie plan for a variety of possibilities and keep gear for all of these possibilities in your car at all times (I haven't even gotten into the Emergency Kit I've been told I need to have packed and ready in my vehicle in the event of inclement weather or other catastrophes). 
• Don't be a stupid idiot dum-dum: As in, don't go 49 mph in a 25 mph zone, thus incurring a $100 speeding ticket that required drawing from a fund that was otherwise earmarked for aforementioned long johns. Also, don't wait until exactly 15 minutes before you have to be at work to realize that you have a layer of frost on your windshield that requires scraping and defrosting. Do not wear high heeled boots while driving. Do not go grocery shopping without a list. Do not stay up until the wee hours watching Gilmore Girls episodes when you need to be up at 6 am. Do not drink 2 bottles of wine and expect that some coffee will be sufficient to get you in any condition to drive an hour along dark mountain roads at 1 am. 

To reiterate, IT IS SNOWING LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER OUTSIDE AND I DO NOT HAVE A PROPER WINTER COAT. I was too busy watching Gilmore Girls to buy one, apparently. I am so fucked.

Nice knowing you!