LaurieWrites

Just Another Wall

I'll just put it right out there that I am a fan of terra firma. I like my feet on the ground in places like restaurants and stores that sell pretty things. I haven't gone on a roller coaster or a ferris wheel in years, although every summer I start to psych myself up...and it doesn't happen. (Maybe someday.) Beach sand is generally the most porous surface I'll stand on for an extended period of time. I don't even wear very high heels unless the outfit really warrants it.

So when I had a chance to go along on a rock climbing session at the women's retreat where I taught nature photography last weekend, of course I said yes. I mean, why not apply the "Alice through the looking glass" philosophy every day from here on out? You know the backwards one? The one where you take the thing that makes sense and turn it upside down and do or say the opposite? I'd say I'm pretty much embracing that philosophy lately (with admittedly spotty results, but still. It does make my life much more interesting.)

In the case of this past Saturday, it appears that it's the best way to work through any existing fear of being hoisted up on a rope for the purpose of scaling a fifty foot wall, which is to say: a lot of fear.  I stood outside on a genuinely beautiful Maryland spring day, one of the precious few we get every year before the humidity melts us all into the pavement like Dali clocks. I signed a waiver that said it was okay if I died doing this rock-climbing thing, after which there was a brief instructional period. It's always helpful to learn how to navigate your impending demise, it seems. When asked about my climbing experience, of course I said "stairs" because I am oh so very funny. Our impossibly fit instructors had heard this before, I believe, and smiled politely before they showed us how to get into our harnesses (yes, there were harnesses) and how to tie knots in the ropes that would hold us to each other and also to the ground. I basically failed Girl Scouts (culminating in the Great Humiliating Skirt-Making Incident) so my fingers had to push through that 10-year-old-girl memory to go "I'll get you, bastard knot. You'll be able to pilot the SS Minnow when this is all over." Which is to say, it might last for three hours before it runs you ashore, but not much more.

Still, a knot was made. See? Also, my girls are not this large at the appropriate distance. Here they're kind of distracting me with some sort of optical illusion that I know to be untrue because I'm looking down at them right now in person and the contrast is rather disappointing.

After the knot-tying we got into our harnesses. (And yes, this is something people do on purpose, ostensibly for fun.) Then we went down to the rock walls.

Oh my God.

Hottie climbing instructor showed us how to belay for each other, which actually keeps the person climbing stable in the harness as she climbs (or in my case clings pathetically to, seeking some kind of foothold, any kind of foothold would be nice, thanks) the wall. He didn't seem alarmed by the relative...flatness of the wall we were standing in front of, which was of course the flattest wall in the history of walls, oh dear Jesus, and of course my only thought at that point was could I go join the other small groups who were clearly standing in front of walls with a plethora of little ledges and places to actually STAND ON?

Belaying was hard for me too, because I am so not coordinated at first when trying anything, what with the mental blocks and all. I also seem to have a chemical imbalance that makes my hands do the opposite of the orders being barked at me, while I scream "SIR YES SIR" at a dude who has never been will never be in the military. This belaying involves this directional motion of pulling and stopping and braking, and even when told "DO NOT MOVE YOUR HAND OFF THE BRAKE AT ALL," of course I moved my hand off the brake because, well, screw you guys, this is the first TIME I've ever TRIED THIS and it's DIFFICULT and there's a HUMAN BEING on the other end of this rope, so whatever, I'm freaking out just a little bit and I could really use a cold drink so shut it.

Eventually he said my belaying technique was good enough to send this poor nice lady in my group climbing up the wall. She looked at me with my clearly faulty belaying technique with fear in her eyes. It is a testament to her sheer faith in humanity and also her extreme stupidity as a mother of small children who would get no insurance money because of that f'ing waiver we signed that she didn't say, "Nu-uh. That girl is NOT hauling my ass up this rock. Look - she's staring at the lizards again." (They were everywhere! And some were blue! And so pretty! Sorry.)

But somehow I managed it. It is also hard. People, generally speaking, are heavy - those of the normal adult-size anyway. My coach was all pleased because eventually my brain and my hands started working together, and I was a belaying fool. Belay I could, all the livelong day. It was nice out, for real. But then when she was done, after I'd gotten into this rope-pulling groove, he wanted me to climb this wall. (I don't know why that picture won't flip, by the way. Tried everything. It just won't.) Of course I said no, because that is what I do. After careful consideration and a break for a Diet Coke and to take some pictures of lizards and snakes, I told him I wanted to climb the one next to us, which actually looked doable for me. I knew that if I started on what he readily admitted was the most difficult wall there (Oh REALLY? The FLAT ONE? On my first day? Right!), I'd never make it, and therefore hate it, and never do it again. So I tried the second one.

 

This was still without a doubt the most difficult physical activity I have ever attempted. It was really, really hard, a hard that I couldn't have imagined from the ground, even. And I am at a place in my life where I am just too heavy, and also, more upsetting to me, clearly lacking my formerly reliable level of flexibility. I started off okay, but then about halfway up, things started not to make sense, and I lost my center of gravity. My knees banged into the rock, and I got nervous because you have no idea how much I need my knees right now for a variety of things. And I looked down, which is a mistake for me as well. I tried really hard to keep my feet in the crevices and to work with my hands also to move myself up, but beyond a certain point, the crevices were few, my limbs weren't working in concert and I guess my mind wasn't focused enough to make it work. I made it about 3/4 of the way up the wall before I asked to be let down, because literally my legs couldn't hold me up anymore, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it in my current condition. The fact that I'd had about five hours of sleep in two nights didn't really help either.

 

You're supposed to be able to yell "TAKE" when you need a break, and the belayer lets the rope go slack so you can sit back and ostensibly relax in your harness, take in the view and whatnot. I apparently wasn't ready for the concept of relaxing in that particular venue yet. Maybe if I had, I could have gotten a reserve of strength back and made it up. Maybe next time.  I was disappointed I didn't make it up the whole way, but the fact that I tried this at all is pretty amazing, which you'd probably agree with if you knew even a little bit about me and my general lack of participation in most activities where people on the ground can watch me struggle with my insecurities about success in physical challenges, and also, let's face it, see my ass. The fact that these things don't really bother me so much anymore is quite nice. I'll rent out the billboard when it's completely conquered.

On Monday I was ridiculously sore. I mean...so sore that every step brought a litany of bitching that I couldn't really control, so I mostly kept it to myself. My ears were sore. Bruises sprang up on my knees, which I involuntarily went down on about halfway up the rock because I was like, "My feet? I'm supposed to scale this with my feet?" It's such a collection of movements and choices, like some lazy metaphor for life, that's what it is.

Tuesday was a little better, so I decided to ruin it by going back to the gym. I realized while clumsily ascending that wall that if I were a. still practicing yoga and b. down by about thirty pounds I could knock that sucker into next week. I've always been pretty flexible for someone who isn't thin, and the fact that I didn't feel flexible AT ALL when I tried to reach over for the next available ledge to grasp onto really bothered me. I'm in NYC for the week, and walking around last night I kept discovering new, painful muscles that I think had been curled up in horror since they confronted fifty feet of sheet rock, so that's been fun. Today, it's my shoulders that are finally unclenched, and my biceps hurt. From Saturday, can you believe? Serious business, this rock climbing thing, and seriously out of shape = me. I guess now that I'm moving into a house with  three men and eight bikes (not even kidding) I need to catch up.

That sissy Tobey Maguire is so lucky special effects exist, because the only wall he's climbing has steps carved into it, I know for sure.

All the photos (including the snake and one of the lizards, plus some super flattering shots of my aforementioned ass!) are here.

Dear man singing on the elliptical machine next to me,

Please stop.

Thanks.

Update on 2007 quest to become a morning person:

Failing miserably. Moving on to other, clearly more attainable goals. Like flying.

I hate to have my top post be a whining dirge.

I sort of got my shit together today. Or at least I swept it aside so I could focus on other things...you know, like challenging people to verbal duels and eating Southwestern chicken eggrolls.

Ah, back to my usual charming self.

The thing is, you know, that my previous entry could be boiled down to this: I love when things are nice and happy. And also when they make me smile and feel good about myself and you and the world in general. When things do not do...these things...I get a touch morose. I start retreading. I go over old shit. I perseverate, and try to fix, and make things better all by myself, and go, "If only I'd worn the GREEN shirt! It would have all just WORKED OUT!!"

That's what's going on, a little. I'm fighting with myself again. It is so not a fair matchup.

Tomorrow I go rock climbing for the first time, though. I think that'll be pretty great.

She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous

Today - yesterday now - not so good. It was very scattered. I was out of sorts. I was agitated and irritated with myself for a variety of reasons. Still am. I have things I need to write that aren't getting done. I feel like some of the same conversations in my life happen over and over with no satisfying resolution (both personal and professional.) Worst of all, my stomach is all in knots over something that makes me unhappy in the very unhappiest of ways, but a something that I have absolutely no inclination to deal with in a useful or even vaguely direct manner at this moment in time.

Thank God I have a specific great friend who I can admit that to who doesn't judge me, in addition to all the other great friends I have. This is a situation where I can say the embarrassing - the unspeakable, apparently, although I talk so much I can't believe that anything falls into that latter category. I can talk myself into whatever I want, whether it's right or wrong, but there is so much that I don't say because I'm afraid it will make me sound as crazy and as vulnerable and as....stuck as it sounds in my head. It is so important for me to get this crazy thinking out of my brain and into the open. You know, so I can pollute your air with my crazy. But mostly because once it's out there, it's not that secret, stupid thing that I can't BELIEVE came from my own psyche anymore, because I SWEAR I'm so much more well-adjusted than that, these days! I mean, a few years ago, sure - nutty as a fruitcake. But now?

Yeah right. Totally stable. Anyway, the stating of the thing is important, because it's better once it's acknowledged and has a form and a shape, let's say, oh, like Spongebob Squarepants. That's a good shape. And I'd say 85 percent of the time (estimating wildly) it's better off that way.

Of course the cruel irony here is that my current stomach knots exist due to formless, shapeless, ridiculous things - something that I cannot make sense of to save my life...something I just don't understand, and that frustrates me, in spite of my best efforts. I can be so clueless sometimes. Literally, today, I was rambling on about this stuff to my friend, and she made a perfectly reasonable suggestion about something I could do to handle this thing that's bothering me, that I appear to have grasped onto because I was just - well, I was just too damned happy there for a minute. I was coasting along really well, so fucking it up by embracing habitual feelings of rejection, inadequacy and powerlessness? EXCELLENT IDEA! That's so much better than all the power and competence I can project if I really try. And I was all, "Uhhhhhh. No. I can't. I don't want to," although for a minute I was silent because I was embarrassed to say the "no" and the "I can't" and "I don't want to." She knew that was what I'd come up with, I'm sure, but I really wanted to surprise her and myself with my damn it all to hell nerve...except I knew I couldn't. And in my psyche, the combination of feeling stupid and feeling like I'm letting other people and myself down is a one-way ticket to The Bad Place.

And I realized that I didn't want to, and, more to the point, I couldn't, do what she was suggesting because I was afraid to. The thought made me cringe and curl up inside myself in a very bad, very negative, very familiar way. I knew that she believed in my capacity to "woman up" in this case way more than I believed in it myself - that she could see the path clearer than I could. I want to go there, really. I want to stop this lameass bullshit. Except for when I don't, because I'm afraid that changing so much so fast is going to put me out on a ledge just a little more narrow than I can stand. Maybe I'm happier in my little pockets of denial, in the very few situations in my life where I smile and nod and banter in the moment and only later acknowledge - and only to myself - just how far that is from authentic behavior. How truly, truly unnecessary the effort is that I'm making, and how if there was a thought bubble over my head, the words inside it would be in such stark contrast to whatever nonsense was spewing from my mouth. I want to be honest and I want to be a decent person but it's times like these when I realize that I have so much farther to go in so many categories, and I wonder if there isn't some sort of accelerated summer course for all of it so I don't have to go through any more years of "learning experiences" disguised as emotional torture.

Oh God, now the heart is bleeding all over the Internet. Pixels of pain and angst, and I know, I know, just SHUT IT! Blah. But now what I really I want is to get some flowers, and also to get in a car and drive somewhere, and listen to music all the way to wherever that is. I want to be somewhere where I can breathe. I guess I have too much to do to really make that happen but that "too much to do" is what makes me really want to fly away. Or drive. Or whatever. And with an airtight plan like that, how can you lose?

Thursday links (and some running off at the mouth, as it turned out. Shocking.)

I'm off work today, and should be doing all manner of productive things. Like, say, packing. (I move soon! I'm excited, but the actual act of packing and moving? So DUMB. I hate it. I'm to the point where I just want to dismantle my bed and only move that critical piece of furniture...just start over with everything else. By the way, got a truck? ;))

I should also go to the gym, and go for a walk, and finish this proposal I've been working on for days with no resolution.

But whatever. Instead I'm spending most of my time pondering why I'm in a house that currently lacks olive oil AND balsamic vinegar, which it seems are staples of everything I eat, perchance up to and including breakfast foods. I also haven't bothered to find my glasses yet, so I'm spilling things on myself, just nearly sliced my hand open with a jagged can top (nice motor skills, too) and have a caffeine high like I haven't experienced yet...this week.

Enough yapping. Links!

This piece reminded me of the time I mentioned John Cusack and Steely Dan in my classroom (on separate occasions, mind you) and my students stared at me all glassy-eyed both times. And I sort of barked at them, I think, a paraphrase of the words "ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? FOR REAL????" And then I walked across campus afterwards muttering to myself ("Not old. Seriously not old"), feeling high blood pressure and fibromyalgia coming on simultaneously, and thinking about maybe taking up Bingo.

My favorite new site, co-written by this lady. (Found via blogstar Maggie Mason, naturally.)

Did you read the one about the Mother's Day Showdown at the Golden Corral? No? Nordette brings you up to speed, here. It is societal madness at its height. I mean, the thought of going to the Golden Corral on any day (especially on a bound-to-be-crowded holiday) is enough to make me want to hit someone, but it's likely to be myself, in the head, for having such a ridiculous idea. But another person? In a restaurant? Please. (Scroll down for my recounting in the comments of the only fight I've ever seen at a concert. That was a good time.)

Spinner's list of the "25 Most Exquisitely Sad Songs in the World". Springsteen's "The River" is on the list, if that gives any indication of how keyed in the editors are to what "exquisitely sad" really means. It's a better-than-decent read. (via Heather Armstrong, as it's clearly my week to rip off links from the blog glitterati.)

Check out Derek Powazek's posts this week (starting on 5/14) about why he and Heather Champ left JPG Magazine. It's really a sad story. 256 people belong to the "I deleted my jpg account" group on flickr already. Derek's former "partner" must stand to gain something from this, or I don't know why he made the choices that he did.

I can't imagine being a part of something this cool from its inception (especially as a creative endeavor with your husband/wife), only to have yourself essentially "written out" when it really started to take off. I've enjoyed following Derek and especially Heather's photography for almost as long as I've been writing online. They seem like a class act together and separately are two of the most engaging writers and photographers on the web. I particularly enjoy her work with film - the "real deal", as it were.

I met Derek briefly at SXSW when he wrote that he'd be the guy carrying around copies of JPG, and if anyone wanted one, just come up and ask. I had a subscription, but wanted to get a copy for my friend in Austin. He could not have been more gracious when I nattered on about how much I enjoyed his and Heather's work, even when I said something embarrassing about her like "she's so understated, yet effective." (This is why I don't like to meet people whose work I admire. I always say silly things.)

Anyway, I could tell how passionate he was about the magazine and about photography, and having been involved in a couple of "ideas" in publishing that never got off the ground, I really admire what they created.

In other news, I, too, hate Verizon. But what do I love??? The Office. I download this show and watch it over again, which is an otherwise-unheard-of level of commitment for me in my current television life. Shear Genius, I only flirt with you. (But not you, anyjmore, Tabatha and Tyson!! Haha! Owned!) Perhaps the relationship is deepening, but I'm not ready to deal with it, yet. Shut up.

The Office, though - married. The "Beach Day" episode last week made me laugh out loud - rare, because most stuff on tv just isn't that FUNNY. That said, will you buy me one of these? I'm a little embarrassed to get one for myself.

smile

Thing that makes me happy:

Middle-aged chubby couples holding hands.

Thing that makes me...not:

the cumbersome thirty-something man licking his female companion up the ARM in the Starbucks. Gag.

Back to the happy stuff...I love Craig Ferguson. Lordy be, I enjoy him. If I went to anywhere in England, Ireland, Scotland or Wales, I'm quite certain I'd never make it home. I don't know from where. Hanging from one of the hands of Big Ben? Riding a large domesticated animal in Wales? Drinking a beer in Ireland? (that's likely.) Or doing whatever one does in Scotland? Meditating by a loch? Planning Madonna's wedding? Not a damned clue.

In any event, do love Craig Ferguson.

Also tonight, I spent too much money that I should be saving at a girly sort of skin care party. I couldn't help it. Everything smelled all citrusy and delicious. Lord HELP ME with the things that smell citrusy. I kind of lose my mind. I rationalized it quite nicely with my apparitions of all the writing jobs I fully intend to be putting myself out there for. Soon.

Today I had a really profound experience,which I'll admit to here although it sounds ridiculous. I was driving to work and I wasn't even listening to any music that really means anything to me. I was just listening to the radio, I think, doing that daily thing where I was late and worrying over it, although I knew no one would really care. And I was also thinking about the lunch I was going to, with someone I respect very much, and how that would go. And the sunroof was open, and the weather was gorgeous.

And all of a sudden, a remarkable truth flooded my brain. I realized that subconsciously I was thinking about a chat I'd had the night before, and how it had gone, and how it was just...whatever it was. Nothing remarkable on the surface. Just words. Just. Words. And somehow the sun streaming through my roof and the nothingness on the radio and finally-warm weather and my own tattered heart collided, and  from somewhere deep inside, I unexpectedly started to cry. They were real tears, it seemed, and I knew that they had been waiting there for quite some time, perhaps until I was ready to accept something. Until I was ready to really feel something that for a very long time I wouldn't allow because that would mean that what had happened really had - that I couldn't wish it away or pretend it never did.

It wasn''t really sad, although I felt sadness mixed in with everything else that it's possible to feel about one particular thing. It was the perfect storm of a conclusion, emotion on its purest level. It was, "this is how I feel, still and always, and this is the effect it has on me." I don't have to do anything in response to it. It doesn't mean that anything will ever change because of this. It just is. It is an inescapable part of me.

And this is in spite of all the other noise on the surface of my life, and the things I do and say on a daily basis to make it so different. You just, when it comes down to it, can't escape truth. No matter what you do, at an unexpected moment, it'll come to you. And in this case it was difficult, although kind of beautiful in its own weird way. There was a purity of thought and understanding for a few minutes, and to be honest I wanted to reach out and hold it in my hands, so I would never forget it. I wanted it to instruct me. I wanted to use it for something. I wanted to write it down just then.

Happy Mother's Day

Originally uploaded by rubyshoes.

Drunken MySpace Pirates Can't Teach

Have you heard about Stacy Snyder?

I wrote about her on Blogher, where we cover the impact of social media, among other things. It's been argued there and in many oher places that Snyder should have made her MySpace private, or not had one at all. And it's not clear whether or not she shared her page with her students, or "friended" them, or otherwise involved them in her online life. That does muddy the waters, although still not so much that I can't see the bottom.

But the issue at hand for me is that she was accused of promoting underage drinking, although she is now 27. This is why her dean changed her degree, days before graduation, from education to English (because it's okay for English majors to be drunk and disorderly Captain Jackie Sparrows.)

I have a MySpace page. I know, right? So silly. But it's simple fun for me in a land of complication and oh-so-seriousness. I don't have to DO anything with it. I'm far too old to be promoting underage anything. I don't tell my (over the age of reason) students that I have one, but I do discuss the benefits and dangers of having an online presence quite openly with them. This is relatively new stuff, and arguably speaking, there's not much you CAN'T tell from some of their profiles. Whether it's at all accurate, or stuff they want the world at large to know, is another story. I tell them that nothing is private, really, if you put it online (and this I know for sure.) And that this is the persona, real or make-believe, that represents them in this venue. I take this responsibility very seriously, because I know these things can cause problems as much as they can be harmless. I doubt I would have graduated from high school, much less college, if I'd had these digital distractions then. Too much too soon.

I'm personally more offended by the sea of glittery hearts and seizure-inducing slideshows myself, but that's just me. And also, if one more kid who's only seen gang signs in the movies insists on making one in EVERY photo - especially if you've never been out of the suburbs? Stop. Someone stop them. It's a public service, I swear.

I don't think I say anything out of order on my silly little page. I get fun notes from some friends, and I keep up with some tour schedules of some bands that I like. I do not post any pictures of myself that one couldn't find on Flickr, and I do not own a pirate hat, so that danger is out. But what does concern me is how anything can be twisted. How any "code of conduct" can be broadened after the fact to include the use of a media that we are all really just starting to come to terms with as a part of our lives, and in fact our reputations. I do agree that setting an example is important. But in this case, I would only find this fair if the Facebook and MySpace pages of every Millersville University education major were examined. I don't know Snyder or anything about her social life other than what one silly photo would suggest. (and shudder to think if that was all someone had to go on to judge me and my personal and professional integrity.) I do know that she has two little kids and was going to school, ostensibly working, and somehow managed to get out to a party two years ago. I imagine some of her classmates might have equally engaging photos of themselves posted in their profiles. Just a guess.

I am biased, because I believe that messing with someone's degree - the investment of time and energy it takes to set and meet a career goal, particularly as a nontraditional student - is serious stuff. If there's a good reason here, I'll be really interested to learn about it, and of course believe that consequences are non-MTV-style real world stuff. If there was a real wrong done, so be it. I know it's important - the well-being of students is important, and it's even more important to put good teachers in classrooms.

But on some level, come on, and I'll still question whether the punishment met the crime.

Because as you'll find in this article,

Fact: The Millersville U. mascot is a swarthy, eye patch-wearing pirate named the Marauder, with a colorful sidekick parrot who goes by the handle Skully.

Little People My World

I was in the middle of writing a very emotive post about a concept called "that thing", but I think I'll stop and just tell you to read this, because Mimi Smartypants kicks ass.

Also, my life is full of babies, lately. I'm a little melancholy about it, to be honest, although mostly I'm so happy, because I love little people. I babysat for my goddaughter and her brother this weekend. She is so cute it should be illegal, and he is a ton of fun in that "I'm four and doing every possible thing within a mile radius to assert myself and you need to watch me" sort of way, It was a very happy day. Then today one of my favorite co-workers came into my office carrying her daughter, who just turned a year old, and wanted to talk about this project we're working on. And it was so much better and infinitely more satisfying to talk about this project while I was patting a little girl on the back (although she had conjunctivitis too, eesh) and stroking her hair and talking to her, while at the same time talking to her mom. We talked in very chilled out fashion about how I sure do want a child, both emotionally and intellectually (so it's not just that hormonally driven "MUST HAVE BABY NOW" thing that genuinely hits women. I can actually tell you why.) This woman is one of the sanest people I know, and seemed to understand my thoughts on the matter like few people I've spoken to about it (and I've spoken to a VERY few, for a variety of reasons). And we also talked about how I don't have any inclination to do this monumental act of parenting alone, because I just don't have the temperament for it and really do believe that I would need a partner to do my best at it. I watch my single friends who have children and admire their tenacity, but I don't think I could do it on my own. If I had to, I would, of course, but given the choice, no.

And therefore, the people who tell me not to worry about this because of medical advances and I can freeze my eggs? And the people who tell me to just do it on my own, cause I'll be sorry if I don't? Especially people who have never frozen their eggs, who do not have eggs to freeze, and who haven't done it on their own?

Yeah. It's best not to say those things.

I'll be on the other side of an age this year that will make it that much harder to produce a child, so I'm in no sort of denial about my situation. I know the odds are pretty slim. I haven't delayed it, as the media is fond of suggesting, for a "high powered career" or because I'm selfish and don't want to be responsible for another human being. My life situation has just not come together in such a way that it supports the creation or care of another human being. And as much as that does honestly bum me out when I'm completely honest about it, it's just the way it is. I can't go back and undo anything, or do it differently. I didn't have the information I had then to make better decisions, or not to waste my time, or to try to send out stronger subliminal signals to attract more manly men.

It just didn't happen. But it's so good to be with these babies, anyway - just so I don't feel totally at sea in a world of grown-ups. I'm much happier when the entire spectrum is represented. We also went to the playground and Andrew pretended it was his castle and he was the king, and Kelsey and I went down the slide a few times, with me managing not to crush her or otherwise upset her. It's good to play with stuffed horses and make-believe castles, to answer unanswerable questions and pick up a newly walking baby when she falls and brush the dirt off her butt. I wish I had photos of Kelsey trying to walk, because she's just figuring out what her legs are for and how they work and what their limits are. She gets around pretty well - doesn't need to be carried, although she likes it, oh yes she does. But I'll be honest, if someone was willing to carry me around, I might be pretty okay with it, too.

It was fun.