The Color Of Hunger

Archive for the ‘Memories And Anecdotes’ Category

Wow. Today my blog has reached the 1,000 views milestone. This, is pretty fucking awesome considering I write about only once a month. And when I do it’s usually nonsense. Like that last sentence. And this one. And this one as well. Haha.

Hmmm, what’s new in my life? Absolutely nothing. Haha, just kidding. About a month ago I purchased my very first car. A red 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. 118,500 miles. $2,300 cash.


On the 20th of August, my two best friends and I took a road trip down to Oregon to visit a friend of ours who’s gonna be a freshman this year at Portland State University. Was the funniest trip EVER.

Saturday morning, we rode the MAX down to the street markets taking place in the heart of downtown Portland. It’s rather strange how the bigger the city gets, the meaner the people become. Everybody is always in everybody else’s way. All the time. And then you got SO many different personalities. The artists, the pessimists, the shy people, the confident. It’s incredible.

There was this artist on one of the corners who drew all of her pictures with numbers. Millions of different sizes of numbers. All blended together to create one huge image. It reminded me of pixels on a TV. I can only imagine how patient/dedicated/passionate you’d hafta be to finish just ONE of her pieces. The creativity behind ’em was very inspiring.

Sunday afternoon, we headed out to Cannon Beach. I cannot describe in words how fucking awesome it is to drive the 101 in a convertible. The weather couldn’t have been better either. When we got to the beach it was low 80’s with no wind and clear skies as far as the eye could see. The sun made the humidity almost unnoticeable. The ocean was still hella cold tho. HELLA cold. But that didn’t stop us from getting in. Of course not, duh.

Halibut was dinner, salt water taffy was dessert. After the sun disappeared, we grabbed sleeping bags from the trunk and slept right on the sand. Under hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of shiny white stars. T’was amazing. You know those moments in life where time is no longer a factor and nothing troublesome exists anymore, nothing bad can happen anywhere remotely close to where you are? Hakuna matata? Well, that night was my moment. Replay it a thousand times and it STILL would be just as exciting as the first.

However, all good things must come to an end. Mr. Reality must return sometime, right? Haha. So we took a final stroll down the beach and headed home. Eastbound Spokane, 350 miles. Amen.


Man, I loved hogging the drinking fountain in elementary school. There was only one too, in the ENTIRE school. (Great Northern – it was a two-story brick building, housing give-or-take forty kids, K-6th.) “Neiner, neiner, neeeeiner.” Drink, drink, drink. Then I’d do that thing where I’d fake like I was finished, wipe my sleeve across my mouth even, for added effect, just to bend down and drink some more. Haha! That was the best. Especially when I’d get the kids I didn’t like waiting behind me. They wouldn’t say anything. Of course not. That meant defeat and losing when yer twelve years old is simply not acceptable.
So twenty seconds would go by, and then ten more, and then twenty seconds after that, until finally they’d get so impatient, they’d go to the bathroom and drink from the sink faucet. I’d get to a point where I couldn’t swallow anymore cuz I was choking on the water from laughing so hard. It’s tough enough trying to muffle laughter when yer a fifth grader, but when kids start resorting to the bathroom sink because you currently hold all access to the water fountain, shit just gets soooo much funnier. I guess it’s the equivalent of asking for a water cup at Mickey D’s and in turn, filling it up with Mountain Dew. And then giggling quietly in the corner booth with the rest of yer friends because, dude, you just scored a free cup of pop. Take that Ronald! Mwahahaha!
Karma would always find a way to bite me in the ass though. I’d get back to the classroom after the pass over period to find my spelling test on my desk, a big red ‘F’ smeared across the front of it.
“What the hell is this!? I don’t deserve this!”
“Yer right, you deserve an F minus. But unfortunately they haven’t put that into the grading scale yet.”
I’d look to my friends for help with that sad frowny face, you know the one. Mouth open, nostrils flared, eyebrows resembling upside down pinball flippers. Like when the heating bill’s a hundred bucks more than last month. (“That’s it honey, we’re switchin’ ta blankets and bonfires. Blankets and bonfires!”) Haha. My friends would always side with the teacher though. Always. It never failed. I suppose power in numbers is a little less effective when yer in elementary school, but come on, I was all for trying new things.
“Huhu, you spelled ‘green’ wrong? How do you spell ‘green’ wrong? Huhu.”
“Don’t give me crap, Davey. I mixed up the past and present, okay.”
“Green’s not a verb, Bree.”
“Damnit Davey!”
The teacher would write that ‘F’ in the darkest shade of red he could find, too. Just for me. All the other kids’ letters would be perfectly placed in the left corner of the page, all pretty and fancy and cursive and sparkly. Some a playful blue, others a happy orange. Shit, even the D’s were written with one of those nifty purple highlighters. Then you’d get to mine and it would look like something just got murdered. (You’d search for caution tape and a body, but come back with pieces of soggy marker paper and a guilty Sharpie.) All you’d see was red. A page of red. And the ‘F’ was like, fucking CARVED into the paper. It took up the entire page, so you knew it was mine from like eighty feet away. I could hear kids whisper from the back seats.
“There’s Bree’s. So much for a writing career. Huhu.”
“Huhu, true that. What a loser. Hey could I get a drink of yer water, man? What? It’s not my fault the line was long.”
Actually, I was a pretty good student in my younger years. Didn’t talk very much, kept to myself a lot, got my shit and got out. Kinda like Wal-Mart’s motto, but personified. Haha. However, despite being a goody two shoes, I was constantly assigned the front desk. (Come on now Teach, aren’t the bad kids supposed to be sitting where I am?) But no. Even if the seating arrangement was alphabetical, I’d STILL end up in the front of the classroom. Usually by some stupid chart the teacher printed off. I guess to make it easier for substitutes to take attendance? Whatever the reason, I absolutely hated it. It pissed me off too, cuz I knew I had no power to change it. Can’t say I didn’t learn anything though. Haha.
I can honestly sit here and tell you, without hesitation, that I was the BEST cheater in the ENTIRE fifth grade. Sure, there may have been only six of us, but I’ll take credit where it’s due. Haha. Seriously though. I wouldn’t even refer to it is as cheating. I called it ‘adaptation’ and I was damn good at it. Of course, I had to be. I sat in the front desk for Christ’s sake. Standard cheating procedures were way too hard to pull off when yer front and center and texting wasn’t an option cuz I had no phone back then.
So I experimented here and there, found some things that worked, found some things that didn’t (writing notes on my palms in ballpoint pen before lunch had its downfalls), and eventually came across a creative little method known to most as “The Pop Bottle Label Switch”. It’s genius. You’ll need a color printer and the process is rather time consuming, yet very VERY effective in the long run.
  1. Buy the biggest plastic Mountain Dew bottle you can find. (It doesn’t hafta be Mountain Dew, anything light in color will do just fine.)
  2. Peel the label off gently, making sure not to rip or bend any part of it.
  3. Scan the label with the printer and open it with Photoshop or any program that allows you to add text to yer image.
  4. Smudge out the ingredients section and replace them with yer notes.
  5. Print off yer ‘new and improved’ label and re-stick it in the same spot it was before. (I always used a small piece of double-sided scotch tape. It looked the best cuz it fit perfectly and I wouldn’t have any excess tape hanging off the sides.)
When you take yer test, don’t bring the ‘notes’ out right away cuz it’s too suspicious. Wait for like a good five minutes and then take a casual drink, leaving yer drink on the corner of the desk when finished. I cannot tell you how many times this has worked for me. The results are too good to feel guilty for. Haha.

I miss…

  • being considered an athlete.
  • being considered not just an athlete, but a damn good one at that.
  • the pre-game stretches.
  • popping my left hip in just the right spot during those stretches.
  • how flexible I used to be.
  • discovering that hey, I actually do have an arm.
  • zoning out to my music during all the long bus rides.
  • the pressures of being the only senior in my event.
  • the satisfaction I got beating my PR, even if it was only by a few inches.
  • slacking off during practice by finding new body parts to tape every other day.
  • the adrenaline I acquired warming up.
  • finding something to get pissed off at and taking it out on my throws.
  • cracking my knuckles before grabbing my stick.
  • the little indent my red javelin had between the grip and the metal part.
  • jogging from disc to jav to vault.
  • Stralser yelling at me to jog faster.
  • finding different excuses on why I shouldn’t high jump.
  • Drew not buying my lame-ass excuses.
  • the lean skinny build I used to have.
  • pre-analyzing the competition.
  • making fun of Medical Lake and how bad they sucked.
  • the patience Leah and Coach B. had when I first learned how to throw discus.
  • Crystal listing off all the reasons she shouldn’t be there and how much of a jerk Bob is.
  • improving on the plant boxes, even though I despised them and didn’t understand why we used them so much.
  • Gonzaga Prep’s weird but interesting turf.
  • seeing fans actually enjoy watching me throw.
  • having a purpose behind my day.
  • how awesome State was.
  • playing “Outburst” in the tent until my laptop ran out of battery.
  • searching for an outlet to keep it going.
  • falling asleep on the bus floor with Bruh and Sis on the trips back to Cheney.
  • laughing at the idea of sleeping in the aisle of a school bus in the first place.
  • how hungry I became after competing in a 10+ hour meet.
  • eating at Miner’s.
  • ditching Miner’s for the Starbucks and Wendy’s across the street and getting in trouble for it by almost every coach.
  • chugging Monsters and devouring Power Bars ten minutes before showtime.
  • how perfect my boots fit and how lightweight they were, even for my feet.
  • meeting new people who shared the same strengths and weaknesses as I did.
  • being told ‘good job today’ by a coach from another school I had never even seen before.
  • all the different colors of all the different ribbons.
  • laughing with Sis on how they should make a 9th place ribbon solely for Medical Lake.
  • having homefield advantage.
  • how involved Missel was.
  • the anticipation between the jav landing and the marker person telling me how far it went.
  • the muscle definition I used to have in my shoulders.
  • going to bed the night before and having nothing except the meet on my mind.
  • waking up to get ready and realizing it’s still dark out.
  • putting on my spirit bands and black spandex for good luck after a 45 minute shower.
  • the smell of rain mixed with Under Armour.
  • the sound my spikes made walking on the pavement.
  • Coach Hisaw’s amazing brownies.
  • being a part of the Junior Olympics in Wilamette, Oregon.
  • how the louder the locker room got, the closer it was to the start of the meet.
  • the bounce I had in my step.
  • beating West Valley by almost twice as many points as we had.
  • the thrower’s relays.
  • throwing on Eastern Washington University’s field.
  • movie nights after a good hard day of practice, every Thursday at Cody’s house.
  • everybody rushing to the bathrooms after arriving at the C-towns (Clarkston + Colville).
  • piggyback rides to and from the bus.
  • goofing off with Lex and turning our javelins into fishing poles with stray litter we’d find on the track.
  • Hisaw getting angry at us for it, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
  • the pole vault crew.
  • the amount of encouragement I got from them.
  • being involved in the younger javelin throwers’ success.
  • doing homework at the meet with fellow athletes as an excellent source of help.
  • how good that medal felt around my neck.
  • all the pride that came with that medal.
  • getting distracted by all the amazingly attractive pole vaulters and their amazingly attractive bodies.
  • being able to bench two-thirds of my weight.
  • running that pre-game lap, sometimes in slippers, sometimes in flip-flops.
  • how huge Pasco’s meet was.
  • the sense of belonging I got when throwing there.
  • using Nike headbands to tie up my hair.
  • waking up early for Saturday morning practices.
  • learning from my mistakes, on and off the field.
  • washing away my nerves with poise and self confidence.
  • pretending to pole vault with my javelin.
  • how pumped up I got over Stralser’s mini motivational speeches.
  • the rush of excitement having my name read off the loudspeaker.
  • never understanding how the announcer always managed to butcher my name.
  • being the last one off the field at practices.
  • ringing the victory bell the day after the meet.
  • admitting proudly that yes, I do love track and field more than softball.

I remember this one time, I think I was like 9 or 10 years old. I had this awesome toy chest that I put all my toys inside of. It even had a sweet little lock on the front part. Well, one night I dug all my toys out and attempted to climb inside. Notta; I was too big. So of course I go and get my brother.
He fit perfectly with about an inch to spare in each corner. “K, now let me shut it”, I remember telling him. So I shut it, and locked it as well. About 5 seconds in, he started freaking out cuz I had overlooked the fact that my nifty chest had no air circulation when closed. Well, whenever you applied pressure from the bottom up, the lock tightened, cuz that’s just the way it was designed. So there he was, screaming and suffocating, while I helplessly screamed back at him, “Stop moving!!!” Finally, I realized I wasn’t strong enough to get him out, so I ran and got Dad. He seriously took one pull to get Austin out. There Austin sat, all red and crying, and me, pretty much the same.
I remember Dad was pissed at me the rest of the evening, and so was Mom. So I wrapped my bed sheet around me and slept behind my bedroom door that night. I’m still not sure why. I think I was trying to punish myself for what I put my brother through by not allowing myself to sleep on the bed. Genius. Bahaha!

Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
August 2019
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