Always camp with an Italian

My wanderlust caught up with me last week and I had to get out into the wilderness. Disregarding the promise of rain, I called up a friend and we made a plan to go camping and hiking. Our destination was Opal Creek, just east of Salem.

I learned some great lessons on this excursion:

• My friend Ari can make anything burn
• Secret camping spots make even a rainy weekend worth it
• Always camp with an Italian

My friend invited her Italian friend along for the weekend. A great call I would say because he generously provided all the food. I've never eaten so good while camping. Caprese, pasta with red sauce, olive bread, Italian espresso in the mornings, and sipping on port as we sat around the campfire at night.

That's me in the yellow.

dancing fool

"We are fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well just dance."

I am a reluctant dancer. This weekend my friend Kristen invited me to a west coast swing dance on campus. I was super intimidated to go because I stink at it, and I feel bad for the unsuspecting guys who ask me to dance. But the above proverb is my new motto in life, so I went dancing.

Somehow when I heard "west coast swing," I pictured country swing. Country swing is easy, the whole point is to get the girl dizzy by spinning her as fast and as frequently as possible. At least that's the way we danced when I was in college in Montana. All I had to do was hang on as I got flung around the dance floor.

West coast swing is not that. I quickly realized my error in judgement and began to hyperventilate. The friend I went with loves to dance, and I was not about to ask her if we could leave just because I was ready to throw myself out of the second story window.

My dance salvation came when several guys that I know from CRU walked through the door. Changing into their dancing shoes and blatantly ignoring my "deer caught in the headlights" look, they made me dance. After a couple of songs I was having a great time. I still couldn't dance, but I was having fun and being foolhardy. Thanks guys!

a knock at the door

Today I was at home, listening to Chris Tomlin and working on email, when there was a loud and abrupt knock at my door. I figured it was my friend who said he would stop by to return a book he had borrowed. "That knocking is uncharacteristically aggressive of him," I thought.

When I opened the door I was met not by my friend, but by a guy in a wide brim hat just like the old time detectives wear on t.v. Turns out he was a detective. A real live detective for the FBI at my door! So they really do wear those hats.

I admit I was scared, racking my brain trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Turns out the detective wanted to ask me some questions about one of my friends who is applying for a job with the U.S. government.

I felt all the blood in my body rush to my face, even though I had nothing to hide. It made me wonder, "How do all those people on t.v. stay so calm and collected when an agent knocks on their door?" I need to go back and watch the first few seasons of Alias to see how Sydney Bristow handles situations like this.