Jack of all Trades

#415- College Degree

2019-08-28T18:30:00.000-06:00

Without a doubt, this blog, and the strange experiences it documents, are my way of making up for my false-start into adulthood. When I wrote my first entry I was a nineteen year old college dropout, a dishwasher working every other weekend, and a mostly nocturnal hermit that would only leave his room for some sort of microwavable entree. The last nine years have been spent with the hope of making up for wasted time, lessons and experiences. This past week, I made some real progress towards that goal. I got my first degree.

My first stint at college lasted such a short time, it left me rather traumatized about the whole thing. If someone told me to give something a college try I'd be like "So you want me to show up for like a week, fall asleep a couple times, and rack up thousands of dollars in debt? Cool." Needless to say, I didn't have much school spirit, so the thought of going back was out of the question for years. Fortunately, slowly but surely, I began to convince myself to give it another try... a real college try. So I enrolled at the community college down the road and began taking whatever classes would fit with my work schedule.
Cue the montage! There were the late nights spent attempting to absorb entire study guides before a big exam, times I got the cold sweats before checking a grade, times where I would have rather eaten dirt than gone to class. But there were also really interesting classes and teachers that surprised me with their humor and passion when discussing their subject. It wasn't always easy to juggle school and work, but it all worked out. One of the highlights was finding out that I had made the Dean's List while taking five classes and working which only served to boost my academic momentum. It was all pretty great, except for that last math class, that class can suck a fart.

So now I have a degree, and I'm currently working on my next one. I know that it's just a piece of paper, but I hope it's also a reminder. One to let me know that its never too late for me to finish what I started.

#414- Rubik's Cube

2019-07-06T09:14:00.000-06:00

Solving a Rubik's cube has been synonymous with intelligence within pop culture for decades. Will Smith's character in The Pursuit of Happiness impresses the head honcho of the firm by completing the puzzle in a taxi, and Sean William Scott's character in Dude, Where's My Car? activates the "continuum transfunctioner" which is a very mysterious and powerful device and it's mystery is exceeded only by it's power. Anyways, Hollywood and people in general, seem to hold those who can solve it on a pedestal. And if there's anyone who wants the glory and social affirmation that comes with solving the cube, it's this guy!

First solve!

In my pursuit to conquer the cube, I found that there a huge subculture of "cubers" out there. Some like to spend their time speed-cubing while other's enjoy challenging themselves with more advanced puzzles (not your standard 3x3x3, more like a 17x17x17 puzzle). There are entire channels dedicated to these sort of puzzles in all their mind bending forms, complete with surprisingly vibrant communities of subscribers and commenters. I even watched a documentary on the cubing world that can be seen for free here.
Obviously I don't have the skills nor the attention span to really dive into this sort of life, but I figured that dipping my toes in would suffice. Armed with YouTube tutorials and some very beginner algorithms, I spent the past four days slowly chipping away at the process. My goal was to posses the bare minimum skills to solve a cube in any state without looking up any of the algorithms. It didn't matter how long it took for me to solve it, as long as I could do it on my own.
Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. Sure I was able to solve the cube eventually. But that only dispelled my personal belief that only super-genius' could conquer it. The algorithms are not nearly as hard to memorize as I thought, and as long as you like procrastinating on your summer classes, this is the perfect pursuit for anyone with too much time on their hands!

#413 Surfing

2019-04-08T13:51:00.001-06:00

Stef and I are currently a week into a ten day vacation in beautiful Sayulita, Mexico. The food is unbelievable, the weather is gorgeous, and the tequila flows freely, which all makes for a much needed brake from the school, work, and wisdom teeth that preoccupied most of my time recently. Sayulita is a beach bungalow known for it's waves and I had my heart set on trying it months ago.

Not a farmer's tan, it's a white "rash-guard"

I did attempt to stand on a surfboard once about six years ago in Oceanside, California, but wouldn't go so far as to say I got anywhere near surfing. I demonstrated my dog paddle, got swallowed whole by a single wave, and spent the rest of the afternoon nursing my chest that had gotten torn up by the sand on the surfboard.

Today, I didn't want my efforts to be wasted away in vain. We got a hook-up from our friend Chris (a.k.a. Jessica) and her husband Rob who live here for some surf lessons from Rob's nephew (who is also named Rob). I scurried into my rash guard and tried my absolute best to pay attention to everything Rob was saying to me while we were still on the beach. I have this tendency to zone out at the exact moment when someone is giving me actual useful information. A lot like how I indulged in daydreaming for the entirety of the safety protocol spiel when I went indoor-skydiving and proceeded to flail around the turbine for my turn. I did not want surfing to end up like that.

After trying to absorb everything Rob said to me, it was time to hit the waves, and to my surprise, I was holding my own out there! In fact, the first wave I tried I ended up riding back to the shore. Granted, the waves were lil babies, and Rob did give me a much needed push. But as I got the hang of it, we wondered out further and Rob pointed me to some bigger breaks. After a few awkward attempts I was catching my own waves and having an absolute ball.

Update- I wandered back down to the beach today to see if my luck would hold up for one more session on the waves. If it weren't for the tequila breakfast, I would've been discouraged by giant waves pounding the shoreline as I arrived without Rob the instructor. I wish I had photos of todays waves, they were so massive that I couldn't even paddle out past them, I kept getting swallowed up whole by the ocean and spat out like a piece of stale chewing gum. The first ten tries were laughable. Not only could I not stand up on the board, but I couldn't even begin the process of standing up. It was like as soon as a massive wave would come by I would forget everything that I had learned the day before and swallow several gulps of ocean water instead.
But, I did not go home defeated. I paid for an hour rental and goddamnit was I gonna get my money's worth. So I swallowed my embarrassment (along with some more saltwater) and tried again...and again...and agin. In my hour long stint in the water, I was able to ride four of them. I was visibly pumped after each victorious attempt, and it has so far been my highlight of the entire trip. I successfully surfed some real waves (not like the baby one in the photo above) by myself!

Siesta on la playa

#412 Wisdom Teeth

2019-02-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

Before-
Over the past two years I've neglected the cyclical toothaches and words of warning from the dentist. Sort of like how George Costanza had convinced himself that refusing to see the doctor was synonymous with avoiding getting sick, I've done the same with my teeth. Even this past November, when I was hit with a brutal infection on the right side of my jaw (which is apparently pretty common with neglected wisdom teeth), I chose to eat a square meal of ibuprofen instead of seeking actual medical help.

High spirits

But I can't avoid this forever. The orthodontist made sure to drive that point home during my consultation with him. He put on a disposable glove, stuck a finger in my still talking mouth, and felt around for a suspiciously short time before listing off all the terrible things that would surely happen if I didn't get all four teeth removed as soon as possible. Nerve damage, loss of other teeth, social ostracization. Pretty grim stuff.

I don't remember taking this

So it's the morning of my procedure and I'd would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I hate these sort of things, especially the part of going under. That's probably the most jarring aspect. I haven't been able to eat or drink since last night. It doesn't help that I tend to overthink pretty much everything, and my imagination (like everyone else's) doesn't do any favors for my anxiety. So wish me luck I guess.

After-
It's about eleven hours later and I made it through the procedure more or less. A part of me thinks that some of my mental bandwidth will be forever lost in the gaseous ether they pumped me full to know me out. After watching my drooling myself on video, I can certainly see why they require a designated driver for all surgeries. It wasn't fun, but it also wasn't the "big deal" my imagination had cooked it up to be either. I spent much of the afternoon spilling soup on my chin, sort of sleeping, and remembering faint whiffs of stupid things I had said while coming out of the procedure. Instead of me trying to write about an experience I was only present for in the most generous of terms, I'll just leave this video of the aftermath here for you to laugh at.

#411- Anxiety

2019-01-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed a change in my regular posting schedule. Instead of posting sporadically every three months or so, I've slipped a bit and am now aiming towards the whatever, I'll get there if I get there sort of pace. Some recent life developments are to blame (or credit, depending on how much you like these sort of rants). The first of which are all of the brown moving boxes that have taken over the living room of my apartment in preparation for a move. The second is the spring semester of school I started. They're both exciting in their own way if you squint hard enough, but both will be major sources of boredom or backaches too.

Anyways, the reason I'm making an appearance at all is to talk about a newfound obsession in my life. See recently, it's come to my attention that I am an anxious person. This news may feel underwhelming to someone with the benefit of not being me, but let me tell you, this discovery has kind of shaken me up.
News of my anxiety came as such a shock to me because had always thought of myself as an adventurous guy. Hell, I'm the guy who started this very blog to document the adventures I was having. Even after my attempts to stroke my own ego, I began to feel the rumblings of something very unsettling.
The first year of noticalbe anxiety was a lot like a connect-the-dots picture. Anxious episodes were like dots scattered throughout my weeks and months, often small and seemingly insignificant. Sometimes I would feel cloudy, other times I would be preoccupied with an ineffably sour feeling. But most often it would simply be too difficult to muster up the motivation to get up and do something. It was only once I took a step back that I could see how the dots connected to form a web of anxiety closing in on me.
Things got really bad at one point in time. I felt trapped in the most peculiar situations. I would lose actual sleep dreading the thought of having to drive a car, or go shopping, or even ride in an elevator. I found myself crumbling under the anxiety at times too. I rerouted my commute to avoid even sparse traffic, I would forgo groceries in order to avoid sweaty hands, and I'd spend my weekends laying around watching TV so I wouldn't have to leave my apartment. Aside from work and the occasional skate session, I felt housebound.
I assume if you know me, even a little bit, then you wouldn't peg me as an anxious person. Even while I was busy rerouting commutes, I was convincing myself that I was the same adventurous guy as before. In fact, I hear that most anxious people go virtually unnoticed.
In the past three years or so that anxiety has noticably affected my life, I've made some progress that I'm proud of. Here are three things that I think are worth a quick shoutout if you're feeling anxious:

1) Meditation and Mindfulness-
Meditation has been a staple of my day for over two years now. It's helped me accept and even appreciate some less flattering aspects of myself. Most importantly, I think meditating has helped me reestablish my relationship with anxiety. Anxious thoughts are still present, but I don't always respond like I once did. But sometimes I still do, old habits die hard.

2) Journaling-
Frustrated? Write about it.
Happy? Write about it.
Whatever you're feeling, write about it. A journal is a nice reminder that what you're going through will not last forever. Good or bad, it will pass.

3) Some really good books-
I've become infatuated with the subject of positive psychology and mindfulness. Here's some ones I've enjoyed:

Dare Barry by Mcdonagh

Waking Up by Sam Harris

Advice Not Given by Mark Epstein

The Headspace Guide to Meditation by Andy Puddicombe

The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg

Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert

When by Daniel H. Pink (great for habit formation)

10% Happier and Meditation for Fidgety Skeptics (by Dan Harris and Jeff Warren)

The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh

I don't know if anything you read here will be of any value to you. I figure that it can hurt. We spend so much time pretending to be perfect versions of ourselves that our actual selfs may feel neglected. My hope is that I can make an effort to be more of myself and not just the parts I'm proud of.

#410- Design A Skateboard Graphic

2018-08-15T18:03:00.002-06:00

It's with a heavy heart, and a sunburnt neck, that I have finally come to terms with the fact that summer is pretty much over. It's a bummer I know, but rather than sulk in a state of sesaonal depression before the leaves even begin to fall, I figure that now is a great time to write about what has to be one of the best highlights of the entire summer. Designing a skateboard graphic.

My Graphic!

On January 1st, which is most certainly not summer, I got an email from Brian, a rad dude/friend/skater/fill-in-the-blank for Square State Skate (the skateboard lesson/camp I work for) asking if I would be interested in designing a board for the upcoming summer. I considered this to be a huge deal. Skateboarding and drawing are like my two favorite things ever (well like, I like Stef and my dogs too, but whose keeping track right?). Skateboarding, and the art that is so tightly tethered to it make up almost all of my adolescence.

The Original World Industries Sticker-rama Board

I'd routinely ditch class to roll around a desolate parking lot, spend class lectures drawing skateboards, parks, and related skate iconography instead of taking notes, and avoided any and all normal social teen functions for a chance to ride around on my board. Maybe the teen version of me had a problem, but teen-me would argue that I had the answer, and frankly I'd have to agree with him. Skateboarding is the absolute best, I have it to thank for the qualities I value most, the friends I have, and the lessons I've learned.
So when given the chance to design my own board, and in turn, insert myself as a tiny cog within the vast machine of skateboarding, it felt like a dream opportunity. I got to work instantly, and over the next four months, and countless renditions and revisions, I sent off my final draft.
The design is inspired by an old World Industries graphic of a dirty downtown cityscape, full of vice supplying stores. The original board also included a sticker sheet full of a colorful cast of questionable characters; mostly prostitutes, pimps, and a dog peeing (oh and one dog that was also a pimp).

Obviously, since the board was being made specifically for a kids skate camp, the more colorful content needed to be changed pretty drastically. In my version I traded the locked up liquor stores and dinged up cop cars for a more bubbly cartoonish feel of downtown Boulder, Colorado. If you look closely, you can spy the names of all the counselors hidden within the board. And my favorite part is the sticker sheet. Although there are no pimps or even any dog-pimps on mine, there is a hover boarding alien and a few cellphone-fueled zombies, which I would say is even better than a canine pimp any day.

First board, ridiculous smile

This was a great experience. A long, arduous, and often never ending, but none the less great experience and I'd love to more stuff like it. Receiving the first board in early July (more than a half a year after starting the design) was somewhat surreal and very very cool. Thanks Brian and Square State!

Day 409: Sell A Car

2018-02-18T17:41:00.004-07:00

Hey guys, guess who has two thumbs and has already fulfilled one of his three New Year's resolutions? Thats right. This guy!
But Kyle, which one of your resolutions did you accomplish? I assume you ask. Unfortunately I haven't spent the last two months "traveling more" or "trying new things" so by process of elimination, I must have sold my car.
Yes, you read that correctly. I sold my car. If you know anything about me, then you probably know that I hate -I'm sorry, hated- my car. I've no doubt relayed the horrors that vehicle brought on me every opportunity I got. I wear my bitterness on my sleeve, like a stain of black ink. Whenever car stories are being swapped, you can be sure that I'll be there to cut through the lighthearted conversation with an over-the-top recount of the time my ride tried to kill me. You'll know it's me telling the story too because I still turn red whenever I think about it...Not that I'm holding a grudge or anything. Surely I wouldn't stay sour over a lemon (that's a car pun). All I can say is don't hold your breath, I can be pretty petty if I put my mind to it.
It's a long story, one that no one ever asks to hear. So instead of offering to tell you, I'm just gonna start...

This car was the best

I loved my 1996 Subaru Outback. It was a small manual transmission wagon painted an obnoxious shade of red. It was the first car I ever bought, I even wrote about it here. That car was the best. I affectionately named her "Earl the girl" -I have no idea why- but she plowed through snowy winters, mountain passes and a sporadic oil change schedule like a champ.
Back in August of 2014, Earl the girl was the target of a hit and run. Stef got a case of whiplash and I (and this is true) ended up getting shingles from the cumulative stress of working full time, dealing with uncooperative insurance companies, being broke, and taking too many classes during the summer semester. But other than that, no real injuries.
Being without Earl, I took what little money I was given from the accident and put it all towards the first car I saw at the first dealership I visited. This I learned, was a bad idea. This new car was much more expensive than Earl was, surely it would be just as good if not better than my dear Earl. This was a bad assumption to make.
I buy the car, and it has it's quirks but nothing too crazy. The window tint is heavily scratched from what I assume was a dog, many of the lights (dome lights, mirror lights) don't work even after fuses and bulbs are replaced. Whatever.
Our story begins on December 31st, 2014, which was about three months after purchasing the car. A last minute plan to spend the new year in a cabin tucked between the Colorado Wyoming border is made and we cram five people and a dog into the car and hit the highway. It was about 85 miles to the cabin, and the sun had set hours prior. It was a miserable 2 degrees outside by the time we hit the dirt roads. Trying to navigate to the cabin proved to be a bit of a guessing game. I've been there countless times growing up, but I've rarely been the driver, and had never driven without someone to follow behind. Plus we were far outside of any cell phone reception.

I bet you're sensing some foreshadowing right about now.

The temperature dropped down to -2 degrees as we slowly climbed up a particularly steep hill along the pitch black dirt road. I remember the temperature, because it's the last thing I saw on the console before the car blew up. We were inching up the hill when a violent jolt erupted from the engine. The car recoiled and began making a grotesque mechanical gargling sound. The engine hacked up a constant stream of dirty smoke that enveloped the car and any power felt from the gas pedal was cut.
Kevin, Mouse, and myself took it upon ourselves to assess the damage. I lifted the hood, which only added to the comical amount of smoke that was pouring from it.
"Well, it's definitely blown." Mouse said, using the flashlight on his phone to cut through the smoke.
"What the car? The car's blown?" I asked panicked. I know nothing about these machines.
"The turbo." Mouse said.
"I have a turbo?" I asked.
"Had a turbo." Kevin clarified.
"I stood in the bitter cold, watching my frozen breath, trying very hard not to freak out. It had been about 40 minutes since we had seen another car, and even longer since we had any cell reception. Other than the five of us, nobody knew that we were going to the cabin that night and there was no way the car would make it the rest of the way. The roads got progressively more demanding the further into the mountains one drove. I struggled to digest these odds all with the realization that it was currently minus 2 degrees outside. By then it was around 8:00 at night, the temperature would surely dip much more the longer we waited. That realization, that we were stranded in such cold weather, without shelter or communication to anyone, was my first taste of legitimate fear. It was a thick primal sort of panic, the first time I really thought "could this kill me?"
You're probably thinking five kids and a dog are stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken car on a freezing winter night? Is this the premise for a low-budget slasher film? And I'd have to agree with you on that. I'm sure it's in pre-production already.
After somewhat gaining my composure, as well as pondering which Freddie Kruger-esque monster would fulfill our crappy slasher flick, I got back in the driver's seat a tried to imitate a demeanor of confidence towards the situation.
"We need cell service. We need to head back" I tried to say with authority.
I don't think anyone bought it, not even Kevin's dog. Regardless, I start the car and attempt to backtrack down the hill. The engine sounded like a blender eating up Hot-Wheels. I could feel the zeros being added to the repair bill with every foot we drove. There was no doubt that every hill was doing monumental damage to the vehicle. It was painful to listen to. My whitening knuckles tightened on the steering wheel more and more with every unnerving clunking sound that came sputtering from under the hood.
This went on for quite some time.
Each hill was a roll of the dice. The vehicle had absolutely no power, any part of the road with even a slight incline could easily stop us. I tried to gain as much momentum as possible from hills and coast up what I could. Some small bumps (we're talking, less steep than your driveway) took several attempts to climb over.
A car that cannot go over small hills is not conducive to driving in the mountains. I knew it would only be a matter of time until we found ourselves stuck between a valley of two hills that we could not get out of. This worried me, along with pretty much every other aspect of the situation.
Thankfully, after what seemed like hours, I spotted a pair of headlights on the horizon. It was a car heading towards us. Moral was suddenly at an all time high in the car as I flashed my brights and honked my horn in excitement. The car didn't seem to respond to my cries for help as it didn't slow down, just kept driving. I started to worry that the car wasn't going to stop as it approached us. At the last moment desperation kicked in and I jumped out of my seat and leapt in front of the car's headlights waiving my arms frantically. Thankfully, the car chose to stop before hitting me.
The people driving ending up being Godsends. They lived part time on one of the properties around, so not only did they have extra gallons of drinkable water, but they also had phones with special coverage for the mountains. So I grabbed the phone and dialed the one number I could remember, my mom. I explained everything as well as I could, apologized for ruining whatever New Year's Eve plans she may of had, and promptly asked her to pick us up at the Forks (the only landmark I could think of. It was a cowpoke bar that located where the dirt road forked. Get it? Clever name right?)
Not to drag an already longwinded story out further, but we somehow ended up making it to the Forks, causing immeasurable damage to the car along the way. But it didn't matter, never have I been so happy to see such an unsuspecting bar. We celebrated our new leases on survival with some beers and nachos while we waited for my mom to pick us up.

thanks again mom

We made it back to our apartment before the midnight Ball Drop but by then, I was so over everything that I went straight to bed, hoping that the next year would be better. The repair bill was extensive. Just about everything under the hood was damaged and would need to be replaced, which basically doubled the cost of the already expensive car that I was leasing.
So call me bitter, but I never could look past that experience even after the car was repaired. For instance, I still say the car instead of my car. I just want to distance myself ya know? I know that it's not the car's fault either, but still. Oh and if you think I was being dramatic about the danger posed when the engine blew, I read an article in the newspaper the next very next day about a man in the same area who also had car trouble that night. He earned a spot in the newspaper because he wasn't as lucky as us. He was unable to get picked up by his mother at the Forks and had to spend the entire night huddled up in his car. He ended up with frost bite on his feet and nose.
So yeah, I sold my car, and for good reason. The car drove fine afterwards, but I think we can all agree that I could use to lose some of that damn baggage. Whew, anyone know of any good cars for sale?

Day 408: Smoke a Cuban Cigar

2018-01-10T20:17:00.000-07:00

I'm not gonna make a big deal or anything, but seeing how it's the start of a new year, I thought I'd come up with some resolutions for 2018:

Travel more
Document my travels
Get rid of my pile-of-garbage of a car (that one doesn't really apply to the blog though)

Pretty simple, the goal is to do a lot more of the same with this blog; travel and try new things. Should be a good year.

I was lucky enough to be invited along to spend a week in Cabo San Lucas with Stef and my grandparents. I hadn't been on anything close to a vacation in like three years, but as I found out, I had no trouble dusting off my beer goggles and tacky Hawaiian shirt for a week of leisure and overeating south of the boarder. Overall the trip was a huge success, we didn't even get kicked off the plane this time, which was a nice change of pace.

Just as the title promised, this entry is about the greatly revered and equally contested Cuban cigar I tried while in Mexico. Full disclaimer- I don't smoke and think it's totally repulsive, so I knew going into this that I wasn't going to like it, but that sort of thinking hasn't seemed to stop me yet. And those of you long time readers (just kidding, I know nobody reads this stuff) might remember an entry similar to this when I attempted to smoke a normal cigar for the first time and was not a fan.

Nevertheless, I went against every piece of advice my grandfather gave me (mainly "If you decide to smoke one of those things, I hope you're ready to sleep outside until the stench wears off") and sought out to find an authentic Cuban cigar on the streets of Mexico. This, I found to be an easier task than I originally thought. I mean seriously, walk out on the beach and throw a stone, odds are you'll hit a vendor willing you to sell you some.

I'd seen other douches smoke in the ocean and wanted to try

I chose to buy a single cigar from a man in the town of Todos Santos (which is home to the Hotel California! Unfortunately, after closer inspection, we found out that it wasn't the Hotel California and was was even involved in some sort of legal tussle with The Eagles over the naming of the building. Oh well.) The man in the shop gave me the whole spiel, had me smell and touch several cigars from behind a display case in an attempt to persuade me of their quality. And negotiating the price wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, because whether we're talking dollars or pesos, I'm pretty much broke. If he wanted to make a sale, he was gonna have to drop down to my level. Anyways, I splurged a bit and bought one and to celebrate, the salesman poured two rounds of his homemade tequila for everyone in the store. The tequila was swarming with floating herbs and spices in it, which only served to deepen my suspicions about him.

Hotel California! Just not The Hotel California...

This brings me to the actual act of smoking the cigar, which was much less exciting than what pop culture had led me to believe. I pictured flowing showers of golden light to rain down as I puffed like the suitcase from Pulp Fiction, but all I got was a soggy stogie that smelt vaguely like trees and old men. Completely underwhelming, and certainly not worth 20 bucks. But as a 20-something male in Mexico, I cant find it in myself to regret that terrible tasting cigar. I think smoking a Cuban is sort of a right of passage of dudes my age; like pretending to like straight whiskey or finally getting into Fleetwood Mac. It just seems to be something dudes my age start to do. Anyways, here's to looking like an absolute kook on the beach, banana shorts and all. Thanks Cabo!

Day 407: Grow a Beard

2017-11-25T22:52:00.001-07:00

All thanks to YouTube Videos...

I've had a "beard" for years now. A thin, patchy sad excuse of a beard. One that didn't demand much attention or authority from anyone (see previous post for proof). But I've never had a capital B-Beard. I think it's inherent in all men to want to grow a beard at least once in our lives. It's primal, it's masculine, and since I'm neither of those, I figure all the more reason to give it a try!
On the surface, the act of growing a beard feels a little unfulfilled. Even sitting here now, I feel like I have to make the case to even write about it. Because after all, growing a beard has more to do with the absence of shaving than any actual growing. If you don't have a beard yet, wait a few days. I have to admit that I was apart of this camp for many years, many baby-faced years. But as much as it makes me cringe, and as stupid as it sounds, I think there's a case to be made for beards.

Baby-faced this summer

Let's just clear real quick -in the past three months, I've routinely watched beard tutorials and vlogs on YouTube. The videos provide almost no valuable information, but I keep watching because I'm amazed by the ever-growing subculture of loyal facial hair enthusiasts. Every interest, hobby and fetish has it's own click, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised that -thanks to the internet- beards do too.

One more confession -although I hated pretty much every Jabroni in the beard videos I watched, I still bought all the crap they were slinging in their vlogs.

"Beard brush?"
"Sure."
"Matching comb?"
"Obviously."
"Beard oil?"
"Don't know what it does, don't have too."
"Beard balm."
"Take my money."

I'd actually recommend it

Its all pretty silly, but that didn't stop me from splurging on a beard kit to manicure my peach fuzz in the mirror religiously. And you know what? I actually think I see some results. I had only ever grown out my beard once before and it looked terrible. It was a scraggly untamed mess. But no that I'm armed with an assortment of overpriced products, I can comb/sculpt my beard into submission.

Now that my beard is past the scruffy stages and entering wilderness territory, I think I'm gonna see how big I can go with it until I either cant take it, or even my bounty of beard care products cant handle it. I figure I can keep it through at least the winter. We'll see.

Day 406: Total Eclipse

2017-10-23T21:57:00.001-06:00

First things first, apologies for not posting sooner. I've done loads of fun new things since I last posted in March, but completely forgot to write about most of them. But I don't feel too bad, because I doubt anyone reads these posts anyways. So you know what? Apology revoked! Yeah that's right, I'm posting sporadically and I'm not even sorry.

Maybe just a tiny bit sorry.

A total eclipse is something so strange, so seemingly fictitious, so Old Testament-esque that I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into until well into our fourth hour of sitting in a collapsable lawn chair along a once deserted stretch of highway in the middle of Wyoming. I realize now why I didn't fully understand what the eclipse was about even after the 7 hour drive. I realize, not due to a lack of interest, or preparation in the days leading up to the eclipse, but because (and this is going to sound very corny) the experience of seeing a total eclipse is one that escapes any sort of description. Words don't do it justice, photos and videos won't either. And that leaves me here, someone who witnessed something so utterly surreal and only my words, pictures, and a video to try and share a piece of what I felt. I know full well that explaining the experience is a futile attempt, but I'm going to try anyways.

Front Row Seat

The journey started the day before, when my mom and step dad (step dad? When did that happen -oh yeah, earlier in May. Congrats you two!) drove up to the family cabin with a friend of my step dad (man that still sounds weird to say) and his wife. Anyways, we had a great time in the mountains doing outdoorsy things, but that's not what this story is about. It's about the arguably great lengths five consenting adults went to in order to witness the shadow of the moon.
At 2:45 in the morning my alarm went off (thats the first 2:45. There's a second one, one at a completely acceptable time too. That's not the 2:45 we chose) and by 3:00 we were packed up and on the road. The theory behind this early start, was that the tiny city of Casper Wyoming is too small for the impending flood of eclipse enthusiasts and scientists that would be on their way to clog the highways by the crack of dawn. We still had a considerable drive ahead of us, so we figured that we would rather beat the crowds and wait rather than catch the event while stuck in traffic.
According to the selfie I took upon arriving at the local Starbucks, it was exactly 6:09 when we made it into town. The town was just starting to wake up, but our crew had been burning at both ends for hours by then. So we get some coffee, we pick up some supplies at the Walmart-
A quick thing about Walmart: I have never seen so many questionable people all congregate in the same area before. And I mean weird, strange people, and that's even after visiting Trinidad. Half the parking lot had been taken over by some sort of pseudo-tailgating community of busses, trucks, and telescope waiving tourists. The line for the Walmart bathroom was overflowing with barefoot children brushing their teeth and the line was over ten people long. It was terrible.

Here's where the story really begins. We get our supplies and head back out of town to get "The Perfect Spot" to view the eclipse at. Notice that "The Perfect Spot" is both capitalized and in quotations. There's so much importance placed on the spot we were to view the event because -as I found out- to witness an eclipse at even just 99% totality is like not witnessing it at all. It's true! If you're not within the line of totality, then you might as well have closed your eyes completely during the entire thing.
By now it's like 7:00, which means we have literally almost 4 more hours until anything remotely cool happens. I'll spare you the details, but it was a a lot of sitting and waiting (and throwing rocks into empty Starbucks cups in a ski-ball style carnival game I made up).

Our Devo cover band album

The actual event takes about an hour, which is another thing I was clueless of. With the help of solar glasses, we took turns looking into my telescope and gasping at the small chunks of sun that were slowly being devoured by the moon. Without the aid of the telescope however, there seemed to be no difference in the daylight around us. As the event approached, the dirt lot we camped out in had become completely saturated with enthusiasts. In fact, I heard that over that weekend, the population of Wyoming doubled.
The sun slowly sizzled into a thinning crescent shape. When it was nothing but a bright yellow toenail in the sky the atmosphere started to change rather drastically. The lighting in our campsite was dramatic, I remember looking at the other people's faces and thinking that they looked off. It was like our skin was so pale that it seemed to be fake or synthetic. The air chilled so quickly that I had to layer up with a hoodie and jacket. It honestly felt like a 35 (F.) degree temperature change. The light and temp worked to make the entire scene feel erie. It also helped that the collective group of well over 100 observers fell deafly quiet. Traffic along the highway seised, except for the occasional unfazed trucker.
I think it's the contrast that makes the experience such a memorable one. Of course the sight was amazing, but it's the blistering heat followed by the sudden chill and the use of both sunglasses and eclipse glasses before it getting too dark for either that I think back to. These changes happened within minutes, which is truly something amazing when you're talking about appreciating nature. As humans, we don't have the context to truly appreciate all the time that went into things like mountains and oceans. They're massive natural monuments that take eons to shift at all. But an eclipse is like watching nature be it infinitely unbelievable self in a frame that we can fathom. It's probably what observing the cosmos would feel like if we only had the patience to watch them churn.
And as the moment approached, I knew that it was important. I knew that I would never forget what I was about to see. Piece by piece, the rest of the sun was swallowed and finally saw what all the fuss was about.

And for the record, I totally agree. Words and pictures do not do it justice. So I wont even try.

(STAR)bucks!

Day 405: Meditation

2017-03-29T22:33:00.002-06:00

I know, I know. I can tell what you're going to say (just kidding, nobody reads this). You're gonna say "But Kyle, haven't you already tried meditation before?" Well first off, good job, you're very attentive. I did in fact try meditation way back on day 105. I probably looked up a YouTube video or something and closed my eyes and pretended to follow along. This, is not that.
As part of this year's resolution, I have taken time out of each day to practice meditating. Some days for 10 minutes, while others for up to an hour. Sometimes guided (usually guided) and sometimes not. I've picked up some books on the subject and have reached past the yogi threshold, past the point of no return.
By far, the hardest part of beginning this practice, has been getting over my own perceptions and assumptions. Sitting quietly, looking inward, these are not easy habits to instill, but they're even harder habits to explain to others. Or at least I feared they might be. In all honesty, whenever the subject of mindfulness came up I was met with nothing but curiosity and remarks like "I've always wanted to try". So once I got out of my own way, the actual act of meditating was surprisingly easy. I sat, and watched my breath. And each time my thoughts pulled me away from my focus of my breath, I'd gently (not always gently in the beginning) return back to the breath. That's it.
The process is simple, but that's not to say it is easy. For the first month, I couldn't go more than two breaths without getting caught up in some sort of train of thought. I'd spend the entire time returning to my breath and leave feeling like I had wasted my morning. But with some more practice, and a lot of really solid advice from some books, I've (very slowly) started to make some progress.
I'm still nowhere near mastering my inner mind (and from what I can tell, that's not going to happen), but I do have to admit that there is a noticeable difference I can feel since starting 93 days ago. Not to say I'm cured of anxiety, or self-doubt, or any of the other human emotions we're all plagued to feel, just that now, I have and awareness of them. They're nothing more than thoughts and feelings.
Even the difference I notice after taking time to focus on the breath is worth the time. I feel calm and grounded, and I find myself looking forward to the next time I can slow down.

If you would like to learn more, here are some great places to start:

Day 404: Stick And Poke Tattoo (a rebuttle)

2016-10-03T15:28:00.001-06:00

I'm not kidding, we went to Panda Express and everything.

I was offered the chance to revisit a challenge that I felt was in need of a rebuttal. If you remember, I was eager to prove how serious my intentions were early on. In fact, just seven days into the resolution, I decided it was time to test my commitment in a very permanent way; perform a Stick and Poke Tattoo on myself.

"The work station"

Stick and Poke Tattoo- A form of body modification that answers the question "how can I further compromise the gamble of my tattoo?" By trading the sterile environment and the trustworthy experience of a professional tattoo shop for a sewing needle duct taped to a spare chopstick of course!

The tattoo was supposed to serve as a self inflicted "re-birthmark" of my new philosophy towards life. Trying new things and such. But unfortunately, virtually no ink stayed in my skin. After an hour of repeatedly stabbing my thigh, I had nothing to show for it. Blame it on my timidness to puncture myself I suppose.
Ever since that attempt, I never felt comfortable calling it a success. I mean sure I bled a bit, and some ink stayed in. But was it really a tattoo? It certainly was not a proper symbol of my new outlook. Kevin and myself didn't think so. So we gathered all the materials and beer and started stabbing away. This time, it was personal.

Kevin going ham on his leg

Just like the time before, my tattoo wasn't shapping up like I had imagined. Kevin had bold, dark lines that seemed to pop from his leg, while mine only looked red and irritated. It was discouraging, so I did what I needed to; I drank more beer, and pushed the needle further.
I soon found that ink was finally starting to set in my skin. Success! I was well on my way to completing the long standing challenge. Unfortunately, my goal was to get ink in the skin, not to end up with anything good. By the end of my session, my tattoo was bold, and dark. But it was also the kind of image that required you to squint and cock your head slightly to fully process what you're looking at.

I think this speaks for itself...

So I did another one just to be sure. This time I was going for bold lines and a recognizable picture. I still cant say that I have a good stick and poke, but you're damn sure that now I can say I have one.

All in moderation.

Day 403: Solo Hiking

2016-09-27T12:48:00.002-06:00

It had been a while since I had deliberately tried something new. Like, over an entire year. So today I decided to give it a go. To dig myself out of a routine rut, and try something new. And as I looked outside -in search of possibilities- the choice was obvious. It was a beautifully mild autumn day, and the mountains of Boulder looked too good to pass up.

This aint no phone camera

The hike was peaceful. At times eerily quiet, except for the crew of workers who were repairing the trail. I tried my best to enjoy the hike and not just look forward to getting to the top (which I guess is a metaphor for life too). Stepping and breathing cautiously.

I was under the impression that I had summited Chautauqua before during the initial resolution. But today I discovered that wasn't totally true. In fact the trail we had taken just five years before, zigzags much further up the face of the mountain. So I chose to see just how far it went. The view was incredible. I even ran into a fellow solo-hiker named David at the peak who offered to take my picture. Thanks David!

A solid way to spend a Monday afternoon. Enjoy some pictures from the endeavor.

Woah Momma.

Day 402: Wear Makeup

2015-07-05T21:09:00.001-06:00

Stef stabbing my eyeballs

I had a good run. Over four hundred challenges. Four hundred new challenges, experiences and lessons learned. With all of these challenges, it's actually sort of surprising that something like this hasn't happened sooner. I would've figured that I would be doing things like this -things that bring a new meaning to the word "uncomfortable"- all the time by this point in my project. Today got weird, I let Stef slather me in makeup, and I'm currently writing it up and attaching pictures to show my friends and loved ones. I'll admit that it all sounds pretty weird, but I'll also say this; experiences like this are long overdue. I started this project with a couple of things in mind. I wanted to get out and have some more fun, sure. But I also instilled this routine behavior in my daily life so I can get a clear feeling of where my boundaries are. Many of these experiences; Attend a Women's Workout Class, Take a Pregnancy Test, and Practicing Witchcraft, have done a lot more for me than get me a few strange looks from friends and concerned messages about my recent life choices over social media. These experiences helped me pinpoint exactly where my comfort zone was, specifically so I could use these experiences to step past the boundaries I had placed around myself. Sure these challenges are silly, a boy taking a pregnancy test, or dabbling in witchcraft, but I feel like there's something to be said about following through with these sort of things. Of course I knew I wasn't pregnant, and never would be, but if I never put myself in many girl's shoes, I'd never know about that small slice of their life. I, thanks to my odd behaviors, am now more relatable to women who have gone through that. I just feel like life is too beautiful and exciting to deny myself the simple pleasure of experiencing as much of it as possible. Even if that means getting a little (or according to my father, very) silly every now and then. So yeah, today I let Stef put makeup on me. Then I even put some on myself. I did it, not because I have any intention of ever doing it again, or even because I found myself remotely attractive with it. I put makeup on today, because I wouldn't have any idea what it's like if I didn't. If I didn't follow through with it, my comfort zone and experiences in life wouldn't been limited because of that decision. Enough of me defending why I do the weird things I do. On to the makeup!

Fierce

It's safe to say that I know absolutely nothing about makeup. I figured that foundation was going to be the foundation of the process, but that's about it. I remember Stef viciously trying to poke my eye out with a black pokey stick. There were brushes and creams and even some lipstick. I felt better that I pressured Ryan to join in on the fun, and together we looked like the ugliest, sluttiest, girls in school.

Day 401: Bubble On The Tongue Trick

2015-07-05T20:33:00.000-06:00

Things were getting late on our Fourth of July celebrations and I still hadn't found a new thing to try (big surprise). I mentally searched through files in my memory of things that I could try (with minimal effort). One idea stuck out in particular, an idea that was suggested to me by Stef. She told me that her cousin could produce a saliva bubble on her tongue, then blow it off, like the bubbles we all used to play with back in the days of Rugrats and Choco-Tacos. I'll include a video tutorial that I watched, and that'll explain just about everything you need to know.
I will say that I was not successful in blowing a bubble off my tongue. I'm fairly certain that I was able to produce the bubble a couple times, but I don't have the best view of my tongue so I could be wrong. I only drooled on myself once, but I definitely spat everywhere. I would say that I'm willing to try it till I master it, but this challenge (and the tongue dexteriety required) were all too similar to the frustrations I felt when I attempted to Whistle Like A Man. My tongue is really terrible at super intricate movements, it's a wonder I can even eat at all.

Day 400: Power Yoga

2015-07-04T11:20:00.001-06:00

I've tried yoga as a challenge before, but I was assured by Stef that Power Yoga (with Jillian Michaels) is a whole new experience, and I gotta say, I agree. It was seriously hard to do, and I'm not just saying that cause I'm a weakling. I was sweating within seconds of holding my first pose. And I was totally taking a knee a couple times when Stef couldn't see. The stupid planks to downward dogs to warrior three's to whatever else she said was too much. There was this one pose in particular that I hated most of all. She was balancing on one foot and getting her chi on. She seemed to watch me through the screen of the TV with a knowing grin as I struggled and sweat. Try it if you dare, yoga, and power yoga, just are not for me.

Day 399: Make A Blow Dart Gun

2015-07-04T11:14:00.000-06:00

With the MEDEYUM sticker!

This one was awesome! And I totally owe Ryan for coming up with the idea AND buying all the materials to make it happen. He picked up some pvc pipe and other tools and met at my place to tackle some major blow-dart awesomeness. We followed some instructions via YouTube video, and replicated them the best we could. The bullets were made from cone shaped sticky notes fitted to the size of the tube, and we completed the gun with some sweet camouflage duct tape. This challenge doesn't need much explanation, just this sweet video of a shot I got on film.

Day 398: Online Dating

2015-07-04T11:03:00.000-06:00

Oddly enough, this one was suggested to me by my girlfriend. She wanted me to get a Tinder account (probably just cause there's juicy gossip on there I hear). I scrapped the Tinder idea though, I felt like things would've just gotten too weird. I wanted to experience the online dating sensation, but I didn't want to get an actual date. So I downloaded an app that sounded a little more wholesome, Plenty Of Fish. To my knowledge, the two apps are pretty similar. There's a fair amount of swiping and chatting. And if things go right, there would be that awkward meet up and forced small talk between the two of you. Thankfully, I have Stef, so I didn't have to worry about any of that happening. So with her approval (she didn't care at all), I began my very short lived online dating life. I filled out my profile and picked a username that I felt would suite my mature taste, DeezeNuts420Blaze. And I filled in the blanks for my occupation: Carnival Worker. With my profile looking strong, it was time to hit the flirt game. I won't go into detail, rather, I'll post a screen-cap of what my 5 minutes of online dating summed up to be. Probably not my thing, but who knows, there's plenty of fish in the sea.

Day 397: 1 Second Party

2015-07-04T10:51:00.000-06:00

So today, June 30th, is kind of a special day. Today, there is a leap second added onto the day to counter balance the Earth as it's rotation slows down ever so slightly. Kind of like a leap year, where we get an extra day, a leap second just makes sure that our calendars and our cosmic orientation are both aligned as the Earth slows. This was all explained to me by Ryan, so if I'm incorrect in any way, blame him.

Since it's such a special day, and more importantly, such a special second, we decided to celebrate. We wanted to express our excitement for the extra second with a party...a one second party! We got silly string and little TNT poppers and drove to Danny's house to commemorate the occasion. We were never totally sure which second we should be celebrating, so we figured that any second would do. Check out our video of the party, sorry you missed the invite!

Day 396: Olive Oil Hair Treatment

2015-07-04T10:37:00.000-06:00

This one is another one that comes from the strange inventory found at my local grocery store. Hidden deep in the hair care section, is a packet, of olive oil. It's a treatment, or maybe a conditioner. Whatever it is, it's a dollar, and that's good enough for me. I bought it and ripped it open to test out during my shower. Unfortunately, it wasn't real olive oil. I was a pretty regular looking conditioner that used olive oil in it's recipe. I was hoping that it would be strait up olive oil that I could use to cook with once I was all squeaky clean. So it wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but I must say, I was pleasantly surprise with how nice my ratty hair looked all day afterwards. It was silky (ish) and looked more kept than it normally does. I didn't get any complements though :/

Day 395 :Lactose-Free Cheese

2015-07-04T10:29:00.003-06:00

The night was getting late, and- as I so often do- I found myself sniffing through the isles of a grocery store determined to find something new and novel. I checked the usual hot spots that I knew of, the super organic hippie section is one of my faves. But to my surprise, I had already tried just about everything they had to offer. Devastating news to receive at 10:00 at night. I kept hunting till I found something that would work. Lactose-free cheese. The name was a complete turn off, but (being a vegetarian for almost three years and exposing myself to my fair share of gross meat alternatives) I decided to give it a try anyways. I bought it and returned home to make a sandwich with the cheese before bed. A snack and a challenge completed sounds good to me.
Unfortunately, I knew that I was going to hate this even before I bit into the cheese. The smell that it gave off as I opened the single slice was ungodly. A repulsive mixture of actually fart and what I can only assume to be year old cheese hit my senses. It smelled so bad, like a lactose-intolerant mummy just farted or something. Anyways, I tried not to let the smell discourage me and I took a bite. Awful, just so bad. It tasted so bad that I can't even come up with a witty way to tell you how bad it was. It just sucked. I took one last bite for good measure, but that was another mistake, then I threw away the rest of it cause it was so gross. Never again impostor
cheese, never again.

Day 394: Baking From Scratch

2015-07-04T10:11:00.001-06:00

The best part

Cupcakes! Ryan, Stef and I made cupcakes! We didn't buy that boxed crap either. We got good, wholesome (sarcasm) ingredients, like sugar, powdered sugar, and heavy cream, and mixed em together. We made quite the mess, and we started baking them before all the ingredients were actually mixed together. Aside from the minor hick ups, the cupcakes turned out pretty OK. There was an overwhelming flour aftertaste, but I could still dig em. The clean up was the worst part. That powdered sugar can end up in the darnedest places. Whatevs, I figure that after yesterday's BaconFest, I need to re-introduce myself into the healthy eating community (I use that term loosely) slowly. I figure I'll be back to normal with my oatmeal and quinoa in 3 to 6 months.

Day 393: BaconFest

2015-06-28T12:19:00.000-06:00

College Boy!

After yesterday's bummer of a challenge, there was only one thing that could lift my spirits. Bacon. Keystone, a mountain town about an hour and a half from me, was holding a festival in honor of the treat America holds so dear, bacon. I first heard about this festival the day before, when my buddy at work invited me to tag along. I'm not sure why I was even surprised to hear about a festival for bacon. It's America, of course there's a BaconFest. American's are bacon fanatics. I've personally seen tattoos that depict entire scenes made up of nothing but bacon. People's love of bacon seems to know no bounds. This love for bacon, is a love that do not share with the rest of America. Don't get me wrong, I love me a club sammich, or maybe a bacon burger every now and then, but my love of bacon doesn't even register in comparison to the other attendees of this festival. The crowd was a blur of bacon. I caught glimpses of bacon t-shirts, pajama bottoms, and two full on bacon tuxedos. Guests were sporting plastic pig snouts and face paintings of bacon strips. I decided to try to immerse myself the best I could in the culture -and to do so- would have to disregard the pains my heart would inevitably tell me once I started eating.

We hunted for the tastiest treats the festival had to offer, and I was on the lookout for the strangest. We found chocolate dipped bacon strips, bacon wrapped hotdogs, bacon flavored whiskey, and (my favorite) bacon mac and cheese. Tempting smells filled the mountain town and I followed them wherever they went.

Danny eating something good?

My favorite part of the entire day, must've been the bacon college that the five of us went to. It was a seminar entitled "Bacon Eating 101", but really it was just a small outdoor auditorium a local smokehouse rented to talk about all the flavors of BBQ sauce they carry. They talked about how charitable they were, and about their low prices -yadda yadda yadda. What was cool about it, was they picked two volunteers from the audience to come up on stage and race to make the owners signature meal; a four pound carnivorous creation called the bacon log, and my buddy Danny was chosen to compete. I'm not sure if I was intrigued because it looked appetizing, or just...intimidating. This excessive amount of food was essentially a blanket of weaved bacon strips with pounds and pounds of meats, cheeses, and chili. The contestants prepared the log and rolled it up when finished. Once the owners were done with their sales pitch, they asked the crowd to judge the winner (of an awful stomachache and $25 gift card) by a round of applause. Obviously we went nuts when it was time for Danny's applause, and he won. They smoked the giant pile of meat, and we got to take it home with us (to feed us through December). Afterwards, we all got diplomas from the bacon professor, and I thought that was pretty silly.
It was fun, and strange, and pretty tasty. I'd probably do it again.

The Bacon log

College Boy

Day 392: Take Legal Action

2015-06-28T11:36:00.000-06:00

Tom Martino

I'm sort of just going with this one cause I don't have much choice. Unfortunately, this last year has been really stressful for my car/financial situation. I'll explain in detail, in a letter that I wrote and will attach to this entry. You can read it, but you don't have too. All you need to know, is that I've been sold an unroadworthy car from a dealership (and yes, I'll drop their name in the letter...several times). The car is very dangerous to drive, and I'm very much afraid for my well being while I drive to work. I've tried a handful of times to get the dealership to work with me, but it's proven to be nearly impossible for them to even call me back to talk about my complaints about my purchase. This entry isn't funny, nor was it fun, but I think it's one of those things that happen in life that ya just gotta go through. I've been taken advantage of from this dealership for almost a year now. Most of my income goes to them, or the repairs I was forced to pay for (again, I'll explain everything in the letter below). Frankly, I feel like I have no choice but pursue legal action. I wrote a letter explaining my entire situation, and I sent it off to news outlets, the BBB, and even Tom Martino (a local consumer advocate). I plan on taking this dealership to court, and this was the first step. Feel free to read about my past year dealing with this company. I did my best to keep it professional and objective, I feel like feelings and emotions will get me nowhere when dealing with the cold dealings of a company.

Hello, my name is Kyle Garlock, and I would like to submit a formal complaint about the Mountain States Toyota Dealership. Last July, my car was hit by a driver who fled the scene, and I was forced to find another car. Mountain States was referred to me and I decided to look for the same type of car I had previously (a 1996 Subaru Outback). I test drove a 2005 Subaru Outback, and purchased it. Almost instantly, I learned that this car was obviously un-roadworthy. It gave off a concerning smell as I let it idle (unlike anything I've ever smelled before), and the hood would give off a faint amount of smoke (I noticed this while stopped at a light usually). The acceleration was inconsistent and the brakes made a squealing noise. These symptoms were alarming, and I had the vehicle checked, but no problem was found.
On New Year's Eve of 2014, I was driving my vehicle to a cabin in the mountains. The temperature that night was down to -2 degrees, and we were far out of any sort of cell phone range when my car's turbo blew. The car (with my friends and myself) was engulfed in a cloud of smoke. The car had no power to climb the dirt roads and we were stuck in freezing temperatures with no way to get back. Fortunately I was able to flag down a lonesome passerby, and use their phone (which had service specifically for the area) and get a ride back home. I read in a newspaper the very next day that someone else's car broke down in a similar area that night. The man ended up getting severe frostbite on his foot.
I tell that story, not because I don't realize that turbos blow, but to explain why this car is so un-roadworthy, and to highlight Mountain States Toyota's horrible customer service ethics once I brought my concerns to them.
The repairs and towing costs of my vehicle were expensive, they amounted up to about half of what the car was worth in the first place. Insurance wouldn't offer any help (because I wasn't in an accident) even though I pay for full coverage. The extended warranty that I purchased (worth around $800) from the dealership, denied any sort of coverage (I was promised by the dealership that my warranty would cover about 60% of the repairs).
Frustrated and in desperate need of a reliable vehicle for work and school, I asked the dealership to help a struggling college student out. The salesman I was taking too, promised that if I payed for all of the repairs out of pocket, then Mountain States Toyota would reimburse my original purchase of over $11,000, and turn that into credit towards a new/used car. I had no choice but to borrow money in order to repair the damages (a blown turbo and a cracked engine block).
After two and a half months of bumming rides from friends and family, my car was finally "repaired". The repairs added up to almost $7,000 and has had a devastating impact on my financial situation. I took my car, and receipt to Mountain States Toyota to trade in my car in hopes of getting a car that I can feel safe in. Unfortunately, the salesman I talked too previously refused to hold up his end of the bargain (to reimburse me with store credit, if I pay for the repairs of the vehicle myself). The salesman I talked to informed me that the previous salesman quit almost immediately after making that promise to me. When I asked the current salesman to honor the promise that the previous salesman made, he refused and said that the only way I would get a working car, would be if I purchased yet ANOTHER car from his dealership.
It was only after extensive research into possible causes for my vehicle to do what it did, that I discovered that my car didn't have an oil change for several years prior to me buying it. The CarFax report that it had been in Mountain States possession for several years and there was no record of there being an oil change for well over 5,000 miles. I was sold a car that hadn't had an oil change in almost twice the recommended millage.
I have visited the dealership a handful of times (when my work and school schedule open up) to try and talk to a supervisor, but I'm always met by an employee that promises they can help me, but never do. I tell them my story, then they proceed to try and sell me another car as if I can even afford the car I currently have (with the full coverage insurance/insane interest rates/ and costly repair bill). I've tried reaching out to the General Manager to discuss my expensive, and regretful purchase from their dealership, but they have refused to speak to me.
I do not have any other options at this point. I work full time and am in school. I can not have the most expensive thing I have ever purchase make me feel like I may literally die while on the way to work or school. The health of the vehicle has gotten much worse over the past months. If the temperature is over a mild 70 degrees, the car almost certainly will not start (sometimes it takes several hours before it will start). And recently the engine will buck and shake while sitting at a stop. I have driven it when it suddenly stalls and the power steering cuts out. If this happens while commuting to the Elementary school I work at, I fear that I may very well be killed.
This is the most expensive and most regrettable purchase I have ever made. It is made worse only by the fact that the company (Mountain States Toyota) that promised several times to help me, has done nothing but lied, cheated, manipulated, and ignored me as a customer. When I asked for guidance and assistance, they replied by trying to sell me yet again. Please help me, help stop a company that has absolutely no appreciation for customer service ethics.

Day 391: Hiking the Apex Trail

2015-06-28T11:22:00.000-06:00

I said it before (when I wrote about hiking the South Table Mountain), and I'll say it again; I'm not doing this project simply so I can rack my brain on the daily. I do this project so that mustering up the effort to say "yes" to opportunities becomes a bit easier. I do it so that finding motivation to get up and go out into the world will (with a bit of effort) become second nature. So I've been on a hike before, so what. I've never been on this hike before. This trail, with these people. The sights I saw, and the experiences I had today were genuine and novel. Just because today's entry isn't as obscure as some of my others, doesn't take away from the experience of it. Hell, I'd count hiking a different trail everyday if the opportunity came up.

Today's hike was beautiful, which helped distract me from the awful car troubles I've been having lately. Stef and I met up with my sister (Sarah) and her friend, Holly in Golden (a town that I am crushing on hard lately). Golden is beautiful, and a perfect spot for a hike. We got all packed up, and walked from Holly's sisters house to a mountain (how's that for prime real estate?). It was hot, and I kept giving myself kudos for remembering to bring/fill my newly purchased Camel-back. The four of us, and three doggies, trekked up the Apex trail, stopping only so the pups could lay in the cool creek, and so I could Geo-cache. The tail was narrow, often with a dangerously steep hill on the side, and the mountain bikers who raced down didn't seem to care much about my personal space or well being. But we kept hiking, whenever a biker was spotted, we would scoot as far to the side as we could manage, to not get knocked off the side of the trail. The hike wasn't hard, but it sure was hot. I was sweating and panting like one of the pups. The trail seemed to swoop behind the mountain, and kick back and fourth up the backside.

At the top of the hill, our gang took a much deserved rest under the cover of some trees. The view was stunning, a crystal clear view of a micro-sized city. Denver could be seen on the horizon, just a tiny dirt mound in the distance. We hung out, drank a refreshingly warm beer, and took some scenic photos before descending. The trip down was more of the same; hot temps, and beautiful Colorado views. Take a look at the photos, they're the real story!