Firsts

For Memorial Day weekend, I went to the infamous Duck Beach - a gathering of about 1,000 LDS singles on the beaches of North Carolina. For the three years I lived in NYC, I haughtily rejected this East Coast tradition. Yet for some reason it made sense to me to fly from Seattle to Washington, D.C. and then drive 6 hours to spend 2 days in a house with 40 people I barely knew.

Part of me just wanted to observe the spectacle. However, my hopes for one day making a juicy documentary have been dashed: there was surprisingly less drama than I would have expected from a Mormon Spring Break. But the trip did allow for many firsts. For example, it was my first time to:

puke on an airplane,

see my dear friend Melissa pregnant,

be in the state of North Carolina,

stay in a house that had an elevator, movie theater, pool, sauna, hot tub, billiards room, dozens of flat screens, integrated sound system, and beach access, but not a garbage disposal,


sleep in movie theater stadium seats,
(That's not me, but that is the very room I slept in.)

meet someone who actually, sincerely, honestly likes Glenn Beck,


eat at Chick-Fil-A,


attend a church that was so crowded that people were sitting in the hallways,
(The ward had even rented chairs from the local school.)

roll my own sushi,

and kayak on the Potomac with my bro Jeffrey.

In five days, I get to experience the "first" that I've been anticipating for four years:
first time on the continent of Africa!

Bodies Everywhere

One of my roommates, Aubree, is a body builder. My four other roommates and I recently went to see her compete in a Fitness and Figure competition.

I was nervous. I had almost had a nervous break-down when Aubree taped a tiny photograph of a bikini-clad body-builder onto our fridge. I eventually came to realize that she (the half naked woman on my fridge) was more athletic than pornographic, and that she was also an important motivation for Aubree. However, I feared some sort of personal and/or feminist meltdown upon seeing hundreds of life-size versions of her up on a stage.

For months, the roommates and I had watched Aubree diligently weigh her portions of chicken, spinach and raw oatmeal on the same kitchen counter with our half-eaten cookies, cakes and brownies. She did not drink water for the three days leading up to the competition.

The morning of event, I got to spray glue onto Aubree's butt so that her bikini bottom would not shift around. I am not being sarcastic when I say that it was a personal highlight. I also got to touch-up some of the tan on her back with a real paint brush.

At the competition itself - held in the Snoqualmie Casino - I felt like a foreign tourist on an anthropological study. My observations, however, were neither objective nor scientific. For example, the roommates and I quickly became expert fake tan critics ("Too orange, honey. Too orange!") and expert fake boob spotters ("That is so disproportional."). We also became pretty adept at spotting trembling women who looked like they were about to pass out on stage ("Up! Stay up!").

Some of the more inspiring moments during the competition included shout-outs to Jesus, and New Testament quotes in the program. One woman - who still had visible cellulite - won an inspiration award for losing 150 pounds. There were also a handful of women in the 50 and over age category who were extremely impressive. The man featured above appeared during intermission and testified that body-building had kept him out of jail and off drugs. He now does body-building outreach in prisons.

The women in the competition were empowered in the sense that they had made their bodies into works of art - art that is both alive and ephemeral. I was impressed by their work, sacrifice and diligence. Yet I also found it ironic that in order to be that "fit," they had to go to unhealthy extremes.

Aubree competed towards the end of the evening. She did not win a tiara for being in the top five, but she had a very loud cheering section, she looked great, and she was pleased with her first ever performance.

At roommate check-in in the car on the way home, we all still seemed to be feeling comfortable with our curves and soft spots. No meltdown necessary.

What Precedes Us

I attended a Mormon singles conference last weekend in Huntington Beach, California. One night, I was sitting in a hot tub with a bunch of people I didn't know. (Let me just take this opportunity to say that no matter how comfortable you are with your body, it is always awkward having "getting to know you" conversations with strangers in swimsuits. I don't really want to be acquainted with a man's chest before I know his name.)

Anyway, one guy was asking me questions about my life, and as he pieced together my biography, he said, "Wait a second. I think I've seen you before on youtube!" I silently panicked while trying to remember what he possibly could have seen. Suddenly, being half naked with this guy felt significantly less awkward than the conversation we were having.

It turns out that a few months ago, my parents had collaborated with some family friends to set me up with this guy's roommate. Like all good 21st-century stalkers, they had googled me and found this year-and-a-half-old footage of me and my brother Jeffrey lip-syncing. Although my new friend claimed that both he and his roommate thought that I was very "entertaining," his roommate never called me.

Exactly two days after that conversation in the hot tub, I received a voicemail from the film's intimidatingly cool co-star, Jeffrey. He has just moved to Washington, D.C. for a summer internship, and in his own words:

On the first day of my internship, when an old family friend, Rachel, was introducing me to people, this middle-aged man told me that he recognized me from somewhere. He started saying that he recognized me from TV or something, and I thought he was just trying to be funny. But he insisted, and finally claimed that he had remembered where he had seen me: on youtube. And then it clicked. He had seen the youtube video of us dancing to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." It turns out that Rachel had looked it up and shown it to everyone in the office, and it became a joke in the office even before I had gotten there.

After these back-to-back revelations, we took down a family holiday video we had made for our other brother, Ryan - ridiculous family behavior that should not be in the public domain. We also changed the name of the lip-syncing video from "Jen and Jeff Nuckols singing" to something a little more discreet. Little did we know that when we covered the TV with a green sheet and drew posters with Sharpies, we were preparing for one of the most important performances of our lives.

Travel Buddy Reunion

This is my friend Abe. We met a year and a half ago on a bus in Vietnam.

Some of you may remember him and his friend Adam from posts about how they protected me from a chopstick attacker and how they helped me get to church.

The three of us only traveled together for about four days, but I cried a little when they left me in Cambodia and went back to Boston.

Abe was in the Northwest for some grad school interviews last week, and our shared Seattle experience was quite different from our shared Asian experience:

• Instead of eating rice and tropical fruit, we ate Mexican tamales and red velvet cake.
• Instead of watching the sun rise over Angkor Wat, we watched the sun set over the Olympics.
• Instead of sweating ourselves into a state of dehydration, we wore coats.
• Instead of traveling by tuk-tuk, we made illegal U-turns all around town in my gold Honda.
• Instead of scaling ancient ruins, we hiked an urban park.
• Instead of getting full body massages, we... hmm. There is no parallel.
  

Dad, this is ample evidence of why you shouldn't be worried that I don't have a travel companion lined up for the second half of my South Africa trip.

Just pray that I run into more nice Jewish boys.

Some people have pets. I have sandals.

I lost my Chacos in Hawaii. Somewhere between the car, the beach, and four hitchhikers, they disappeared.

I don't consider myself an overly materialistic person, but I was devastated; they have been my companions for the past 6 years.

We went to 10 different countries together.

Together we river-rafted in Jackson Hole, traversed Dominican waterfalls, and attempted to look granola while walking around town.

When they got stinky or muddy, I would carefully wash them off with the hose and let them dry in the sun.

They brought other good things into my life: when I wore them to visit Brazil, my Brazilian friends were so appalled that they took me to buy a new pair of strappy plastic high heels.

We were even in a motorcycle accident together. The other rider's combat boots were shredded in the accident - it was a miracle that my feet survived unscathed.

After an appropriate two-week mourning period, I went to R.E.I.:

I hope we can become good friends.

My Last Spring Break Ever

My younger brother Ryan has lived in Kona, Hawaii for the past four years, and I have visited him once - four years ago. For my birthday yesterday (happy spring, everyone!), my parents gave me a trip to go see him. Here are some of the things that I just finished putting into my suitcase:

1 tent
5 books
1 bike helmet
1 book of crossword puzzles
1 pair of hiking pants
4 pairs of opened-toed shoes
3 seasons of Arrested Development (Well, I borrowed these to take with me, but Ryan actually already owns them.)
2 swimsuits
1 pound of Sees candy

This has the potential to be one of the best weeks of my life.

Things I Hate, Part I: GUNS

The gap between gun owners and people who don't own guns - that is a vast gap in our country. It's two different cultures. - Ira Glass, host of This American Life

I went shooting last weekend. I shot a real gun, and I liked it. It was the first time my hands had ever touched a firearm.

It happened on a date with someone whom I had briefly met only once. When he proposed the date, he refused to tell me what we were going to do, but he promised that it would be "mind-blowing," and he recommended that I not wear heels. He was bringing a friend, and he told me I could invite one too. ("Hey Christy, do you want to do an unnamed activity with some guys I don't know?") She and I had dinner at Whole Foods before they picked us up in the largest, shiniest Ford truck I had ever seen. I think my entire Accord could fit into the truck's cabin. I couldn't help but ask: 12.5 miles/gallon.

Once we were in the car, they announced that they had brought their guns - my date owns about a dozen - and that they were taking us to an indoor shooting range. "You should probably know upfront," I said, "that I voted for Obama, I hate the NRA and I barely believe in the Second Amendment. But, I am always up for a new adventure." Which is true. Which is why I was actually pretty excited.

The first thing we saw when we arrived at the "range" were two dudes getting arrested for drug possession. Awesome. Undaunted, we got outfitted with bullets, goggles, ear plugs and targets - one of which was a creepy picture of Osama Bin Laden holding a machine gun. Christy had gone shooting before, but the boys very patiently taught me how to load, aim and shoot. Turns out, I'm a pretty good shot! I destroyed Osama's pocket and his beard, for which I credit my excellent teachers. We shot a revolver that had a strongish recoil and hurt my hand, and two different slick 22's. A few times, I forgot I was holding a gun and would turn to ask the guys a technical question, waving the firearm in the air. They calmly reminded me what was in my hand and asked me to put it down.

I think I understand gun appeal now. It's really empowering to control this intense machine and get it to do exactly what you want. The 22's we used were small, light and easy to handle. Shooting them was so simple; it really felt like no big deal. And that is exactly why I think guns are so pernicious: just a quick "no big deal" flick of the finger has power over life and death. That's scary.

I don't feel the need to go shooting again any time soon, but our gentlemanly friends did an excellent job of working to close the gap between gun-owners and gun-haters.

This weekend, I'm taking my date to a choral music concert. I hope it's mind-blowing.

The World Needs More Canada

I spent President's Day weekend stalking Canadians in the streets of Vancouver with my camera.

I started by running up behind people and taking pictures of their backs. Some I secretly followed for blocks until I got just the right shot. Then I got bolder and held up my camera as Canadians walked passed me, hoping they thought I was photographing the scenery behind them.

Finally, I started approaching random strangers and asking for photo opps directly. In typical Canadian fashion, every single person smiled and said of course. At first I thought they were being so friendly and gracious because they were trying to be good Olympic hosts. Then I realized the real source of their generosity: they have free health care!

It was all an attempt to capture the random and creative uses of The Great Maple Leaf that have made the streets of Vancouver come alive.

I do love being American, but all weekend, I really wanted to wear a red maple leaf too. It's kinda . . . hip.

Go Canada Go!

(Thank you, Laney and Christy, for being so patient with my incessant photo stalking, and thank you Cassie for working your photoshop magic to create this collage.)

Baby Picture Therapy Part IV

Final baby picture epiphany: I am lovable. Not in a narcissistic way, but in a theoretical way - the way everyone is lovable.

Once, a therapist put an empty chair in front of me and told me to visualize my six-year-old self. As soon as I could "see" her, I started to cry. I felt overwhelming love for that little girl; I could feel her worth.

That feeling was accompanied by the realization that, as a child, she had done absolutely nothing to merit love. She had not dated anyone or won any auditions or memorized the states in alphabetical order or earned her Young Womanhood medallion. She was just a regular kid who deserved to be loved because she was inherently good.

Then I thought of all the mean things people would say and do to her. But what hurt the most was realizing that I was the meanest of them all. I told her how sorry I was for all the lies I fed her, for the years when I called her fat and ugly, for the times I berated her for failing. It was a difficult conversation.

In the past year, I have fallen in love with a lot of babies. Thank you Libby and Sarah, Thorvald and Astrid, Schroeder, Gracie, Ramona and Lyle for reminding me once again that you don't have to do anything to be lovable. I love you because you are.

While I had that experience in therapy years ago, my little collection of baby pictures reminds me of that moment. They make me want to treat this little girl well - to encourage her, to cheer her on, to tell her nice things, to give her the best, to help her live up to her potential.

Everyone deserves that.

Baby Picture Therapy Part III

Baby Picture Epiphany #3: I heart Tupperware.

As a lover and eater of leftovers, I've always appreciated Tupperware, but I never knew our connection ran so deep.

Maybe this explains why I really enjoy eating soggy leftover salad.

Maybe it also explains why I still get so frustrated when there are dozens of plastic lids and containers in the cupboard and NONE of them fit together. Yesterday I resorted to wrapping a Tupperware container in plastic wrap. Seriously, where do all the matching lids go?

This appears to be a mystery that I've been trying to solve since I was two years old.