So, if y’all remember correctly, Kyle and I decided last Monday that we’d go hiking.  Which required the purchase of some big boy hiking boots.  So we got up Monday morning, drove down to our friendly neighborhood Dick’s Sporting Goods, and browsed the shoe section.

And that, ladies is gentlemen, is when I discovered the awful, awful truth.

Dick’s Sporting Goods is sexist.

I submit for your consideration:

This is the men’s hiking shoe section.  Look at all the nice men’s hiking shoes.  Oh, and next to the hiking boots are some work boots!  What a nice display.

And this is the women’s hiking shoe section.

Oh, hell no.

Why, may I ask, does half of the women’s hiking boot section comprise of Ugg boots?!  Is that what they think women are supposed to hike in?  Or maybe they think that for a woman, hiking down to the DSW is the most hiking we’ll be doing.

Jerks.

(I bought the second ones from the top on the far left.  Don’t judge, a girl still needs hiking boots.)

Inspired by the beautiful Northeast autumn that we’ve been experiencing and the lovely walks we’ve been going on, Kyle and I decided that we’d take up hiking as a hobby.  Which, 20-20 hindsight, is sort-of like saying, “Dude, I like climbing stairs.  Let’s go rock climbing!”

None the less, we went to the sporting goods store, purchased ourselves some bonified hiking boots, and drove up to Lake Placid.  The place is riddled with well-marked hiking trails, and enough gorgeous scenery to choke a walrus.  We found a lovely little trail, a mile long that ends at a scenic pond.  The perfect trail for a couple of beginning hikers.

The good news is that we learned.  Things like…

1) What we were doing before?  Not hiking. That was actually more like strolling through a grassy state park.  Hiking?  Is on a mountain.  With steep inclines.  And big rocks.  Lots of big rocks.  Oh, and mud!  Fucking mud, I’d only been wearing my new boots 20 minutes when I managed to accidentally step into the world’s deepest mud puddle.  Awesome.

Look at those muddy boots. They're so sad!

2)  A mile is really far to walk when it’s uphill and your path is covered in rocks. We were really proud of ourselves.  We were kicking this trail’s ass!  That pond totally had to be right around the corner.  And then we saw the sign.  The one that said that we’d only gone .2 miles.  The one that told us that we were sad and pathetic people.

3)  A pea coat and messenger bag is not what one would call “appropriate hiking gear.” Turns out, you need more equipment for hiking than just boots.  Like, a backpack that holds more than a water bottle and iPod.  And a coat that doesn’t constrict your body in a wool sauna.  And a shirt that keeps the girls a little more…ahem…secure.

Like I said, the good news is that we learned.  And once we get ourselves some proper equipment, we’re going to go back to that trail.

We’re totally going to kick that mile’s ass.

I am a total holiday whore.

Okay, so not a wearing ugly Santa sweaters whore.  And I don’t do the sparkly heart-shaped deely-boppers for Valentine’s Day.  But I do love holidays.  I start listening to my John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album shortly after Thanksgiving, I think St Patrick’s Day should be spent completely inebriated, and yes, I DO expect Kyle to get me something for Valentine’s Day every year.  (Even if it does take a little arm-twisting.)  I love the good food that goes with most American holidays, and I like that for a few weeks or even one day, I get to escape for my dark, cynical little world and feel that there is still some good and still a reason to be happy left in the world.  So even if I don’t get to celebrate them, I really do love holidays.

However.  There are two major holidays that don’t rock my boat.  One is Easter, because once you get too old (and by old, I mean health-conscious) for Reese’s peanut butter eggs, there’s no point to the holiday anymore.

The other?  Halloween.

I hate Halloween.

It was college that ruined it for me, really.  I didn’t always hate Halloween.  As a kid, though I was never bonkers about it, free candy and a class party was always something I could get excited about.  And costumes were easy, because with the exception of the year my favorite aunt bought me the bad-ass store-bought (store-bought!) Little Mermaid costume, I was the same thing every year: a ballerina.  Which really meant that I wore whatever I’d worn in my dance recital the previous June.

But, again, once you’re too old to be knocking on doors and getting candy, about half the significance of the holiday goes down the tubes.  All that’s left for adults is an excuse to go to crazy costume parties and get shwasted once a year.  Except that when you go to a fine arts college and major in theatre, EVERY party is a costume party.  Literally.  About every two weeks, there would be another party, with another theme: Pirate Party, Anything But Clothes Party, Superhero Party, Pimps ‘n Hoes Party, Song Lyric Party, Dressed to Get Fucked Party, White Trash Bash, Rock Star Party…the list was endless.  I dug going to parties, but it was starting to feel like I couldn’t go to a party just…as Stephanie.  I had to be someone else.  The magic of getting to play dress-up and be someone else for a while wore off, and I found myself just wanted to be me.

Of course, the magic might not have worn off if it weren’t for the other reason I despise Halloween: I suck at coming up with costumes.  Hardcore.  And in this day and age, I have two choices: my costume must either be very clever and witty, or very skanky.  And I am good at pulling off neither.  Especially when the former requires a good deal of time and money to put said costume together, and the latter requires of smoking hot body, and I have none of those things.  It just seems like a lot of money and effort, and for what?  So I can get drunk and make an ass of myself?  Shit, I don’t need to be in costume to do that.  I can get drunk and make an ass of myself just fine in regular clothes, thank you.

But I suppose I can’t be too upset with Halloween.  After all, it was at a Halloween party that my husband and I first got together.  But this year, I may keep my costume simple, and go as a drunk girl.

After all, I’ve got everything I need already in my closet.