Counseling: What is your earliest memory?

I don't know why it came up but recently I was talking with Skylar about my earliest life memories and he basically called me a liar. I'm angry about this because I know I'm right.

I have four different memories that all seem to have happened around the same time, although I'm not sure of their order.

One is of my cousin Ryan talking to his mom, my aunt Sally. We were in the basement of their house and she came to the top of the stairs and the two had some conversation. Ryan is a couple of years older than me, and I remember watching them talk and being impressed that Ryan could have a conversation with an adult because I was just barely too young to understand what they were saying.

I remember pulling a little horsey on wheels down the hallway at our house, barely able to take a few steps without stumbling, and my mom stepped into the hallway holding my baby sister, who was an infant (only 18 months younger than me). There was a big mirror at the end of the hallway behind her, and I remember that when she stepped in front of it, it blocked my view. I had been watching myself get closer to the mirror as I pulled the horsey toward it.

I remember going to my great grandpa McCann's funeral. I was wearing my favorite clip-on bow tie. My dad picked me up so I could look into the open casket. When I did, I reached down and tried to touch grandpa's eyebrow, just as my dad pulled me away from it. I remember that vividly.

WHAT IF PAUL SIMON, Oakland

Paul Freaking Simon and I made eye contact on Friday night.

I'm not kidding you about this.

Skylar went to the concert with me even though he was all like "this sounds boring when does Beyonce come out do they have any avocado toast where's my participation trophy" and I was like "YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS" but he was already in the Oakland area for work and I didn't want to go to this thing alone so his attendance made the most sense for me.

I bought the tickets months ago and since Paul said this was going to be his "farewell" tour, because I think he is being translated like Yoda was in Star Wars episode XXQI, I decided that I would empty all bank accounts and take out a second mortgage on my yachts so I could buy the best tickets possible. Now Duncan can't go to college. None of you can go to college because of how much I spent on Paul Simon tickets.

And I started regretting this a bit as we got into an Uber and started making our way from San Francisco to Oakland.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

You guys. Paul Simon. I'm going to be like this close to him this weekend. I got negative eleventy row tickets to see him for his supposedly-farewell-tour-but-obviously-he-could-never-retire-from-me. He probably already knows I'm coming and that I love him and that I would give my life for him even if it wasn't really necessary, but I also feel like if any of you are friends with Paul Simon, maybe you could do this Stranger a solid and get me some VIP backstage passes? Also, if you have this connection I might murder you and wear your skin. AND I MEAN THAT ONLY IN A NORMAL WAY.

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

In Natchez

So this is the south.

Matt has been in Mississippi for several weeks. He drove from Salt Lake City all the way to Jackson, which if you look at google maps is a distance of exactly 7 light years.

I don't know how he did it.

I mean, I do kind of know how he did it. I know because he texted me every four minutes for three days, telling me every detail of every part of his journey, including where Ollie was pooping, how much he was pooping, how long it was taking Ollie to go poop--pretty much 95% pooping updates.

I knew he had been driving nearly 7 light years when I texted him and asked if he had made it to Mississippi yet. He responded with this picture and no further explanation.

Therapists are better than TV. Except no M.A.S.H.

Before we get to today's Strangerville, I have something of a follow-up sponsored post. After I wrote to you about Peggy the Therapist a few weeks ago, I got messages and emails from many of you, talking about how therapy has helped you, and how our Stranger community has functioned as a sort of therapy for you as well. Which is unfortunate, because I don't take your insurance so you all owe me like $600,000 and I'm sending you to collections.

I really loved hearing from you on this topic because it's a topic that I've grown to really care about in the last couple of years. My heart breaks for the countless people who have needed help and didn't know where to find it or were afraid to ask for it. And since I wrote that last post, I've been thinking a lot about why that barrier exists at all.

I had been seeing Peggy the Therapist for a while when I finally decided that I didn't really need to anymore. BECAUSE I WAS CURED AND PERFECT.

Mr. Pham's Patio Project

I told you a little while ago about how I hired Mr. Pham to do whatever the hell he wants with my yard. I had given Mr. Pham a vision of what I was looking for, and he didn't seem to hate that vision, although he did yell "NO" at me a few times as I was explaining some details of the vision. Then he took money from me, marched to his truck, and drove away.

Over the next couple of weeks I would come home from work to find Mr. Pham ripping giant bushes out of my yard and hauling away concrete that I didn't even realize I had back there. On two separate occasions The Perfects yelled over to me to ask what Mr. Pham was doing back there. I told them the truth: "whatever the hell he wants."

I had my own problems dealing with the dying grass situation in my front yard, one which Skylar is convinced is evidence of a hate crime. When I asked him what someone might hate about me he just said "EXACTLY" so I'm probably offended.

Finally, I left town for the Half Ironman, wondering when Mr. Pham might be done.

Mansplaining

A few years ago I was at Bob and Cathie's house and I saw Bob's 1968 beautiful green road bike in a pile of junk. I asked my parents what they were doing with this bike and they were like "we're throwing it away because we don't value things anymore" which isn't exactly what they said but that's what I heard.

So I screamed at them a thing I've screamed at them before, which thing is why my garage is currently filled to capacity with a 1970s roll-top desk, various shelving units, and other odds and ends from the 80s, "IF YOU CAN'T TAKE CARE OF YOUR THINGS, I WILL."

As I was putting the bike on my bike rack on the back of my car, Bob was like "are you even going to use that?" and I was like "ONLY EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE."

As of yesterday, that bike had been sitting in my garage untouched for three years.

Skylar is starting medical school at the University of Utah in the fall because he's a genius and he's going to give all of us free and invasive physicals once a year for the rest of our lives. He told me recently that he wanted to buy a bike to ride to school sometimes. So I told him he could have Bob's old bike if we could get it in working condition.

Yahoo! Answers XIII

(Names of the answerers have been slightly changed)

Question 1: What are the best vocational schools for cats? My cat Trixy is interested in learning a trade in case I die or she moves out but she has a hard time in school like she can't talk and stuff. Are there any vocational schools that don't require you to read and write papers or support football?

1. Whatever you do don't send her to ITT Tech. They eat cats alive there. Trust me. I'm a cook in the campus cafeteria. ~Patrickster

2. Don't waste time and resources on vocational school for your cat. Homeschool her! She'll be rebuilding engines in no time! ~Cindygrape

3. Ever since Cats closed on Broadway feline unemployment has been through the roof. ~Jandice

St. George Half Ironman, 2018

I hadn't done a triathlon since 2016 when I did the half Ironman in St. George and it was negative eleventy degrees and I was being punished by God, probably for being a really bad child in the 90s, and I committed myself to never exercise again.

Then at the end of 2016 I had a nervous breakdown, ate my feelings, and wrote a lot of bad poetry (in my heart).

In 2017 I didn't do any triathlon races and I basically forgot how to swim and by Christmas, I had gained like 30 pounds so I finally decided I needed to get back on the wagon.

I trained for the last five months for this year's St. George half Ironman, which was not easy because it was basically winter in Salt Lake City until yesterday at 2:00 PM.

On Friday at negative 6:00 in the morning, Skylar and I took off for St. George. That afternoon we packed my transition bags and took them to the various locations to drop them off.

The first transition is right next to the lake, where I decided I should probably do a quick practice swim to remind myself how miserably cold the water is.

Forest Accordion

The doors to the Sokol metro station were about 50 feet behind me. The trains had stopped running some time ago. It was dark--somewhere around 2:00 in the morning.

I was 24 years old, and at least that foolish. I shouldn't have stayed out so late, especially since I had only been in Moscow for a couple of days and I wasn't familiar with the city. But the sun sets late in Moscow in May and this had fooled me into thinking it was much earlier than it really was.

My Russian wasn't very good. Definitely not good enough to explain to a taxi driver where I kinda-sorta thought I lived, which I would have had to do since I was too careless to ever bother writing down my address.

I was staying with an American family I had met 48 hours prior to this. They lived in a small gated community on the edge of the giant city. The neighborhood was surrounded by a forest, and it wasn't well known.

I had a basic cell phone. Not a smartphone. This was 2009. The phone had died hours before.