Squirrel Thoughts

This post marks the triumphant return of Squirrel Thoughts from my harrowing adventure maneuvering the frigid throes of the Lochsa River. I’m alive, dear readers, ALIVE!

OK, so I didn’t die. But I came close — damn close. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Um, no.)

All right, I had a blast. Before we hit the river, I thought I would spend the entire day white-knuckling my paddle, fretting over whether we’d make it through each rapid without my smashing into a boulder and rendering my legs and/or skull useless. As we approached the put-in, I wanted to get on the water as soon as possible, just so we could (hopefully) get off it in the same fashion.

But once we tackled the first few rapids, I couldn’t wait to take on more of the raging river. I loved every minute of it, and my screams transformed from “AHHH, DEATH!” to “Whoo!!”

Don’t get me wrong — my life was at risk the entire time. Sometimes, the only thing saving me from the aforementioned leg/skull crushing was my tiny foot wedged under the rubber tube in the middle of the boat.

And our guide with 11 years of experience navigating the rapids for novices like me.

And my undaunted courage in the face of danger.

And my bulging (but not in a gross, manly way) muscles.

Whatever the reason, not even the most vicious wave could knock me out of that raft, which means I’m practically a professional now! (Legal disclaimer: Allison Squires is not, in fact, a whitewater rafting professional. Squirrel Thoughts Inc. is not responsible for any claims to the contrary and hereby disclaims liability for any and all injuries that may result from reliance on said claims.)

Yes, there were a few times when I couldn’t tell if I was in the boat or if the river had swallowed me whole, but I managed to cling to it nonetheless. (Had I fallen out and died, I doubt my report would be quite as enthusiastic.)

Though I cheated death, my rafting preparations were less than promising. First, I put my Neoprene booties on the wrong feet. But it wasn’t just for a few seconds because I wasn’t paying attention or something. Oh no — I actually put the right booty on my left foot, did the same with the left booty, zipped them up, tucked them under my wet suit, took a few steps, giggled to myself and thought, “These little booties are so funny!”, looked down, wondered, “Hmm, are these supposed to feel so funny?”, contemplated it for a few more seconds, then finally exclaimed, “Oh wow, I think I put my shoes on the wrong feet!” The nervous laughter this elicited from my fellow rafters suggested they found this only mildly terrifying.

Then, while gearing up to return to the river after our lunch break, I somehow managed to put my helmet on backward. I didn’t realize this until someone told me about three rapids in, when it was too late to fix it. Granted, it was hard to tell the front from the back with these particular helmets. (Really, it was!) Still, I didn’t exactly look like a seasoned veteran skilled at escaping a roaring river’s icy clutches.

In fact, I looked a lot like this:

This photo has not been retouched. Unfortunately.

Seriously, would you willingly get into a raft on a river with rapids called “Grim Reaper,” etc., with someone who looks like that? Let’s take a quick poll:

That’s what I thought. But on this particular day, a few courageous souls did. Kudos to you guys, and thanks for the adventure.

(Note: Photos of us on the river are available here. Scroll down and click “06-04-2010 Lewis & Clark” on the left.)

I doubt the average person looks at me and thinks “whitewater adventurer.”

The evidence:

• I take my kitschy umbrella (it has Georges Seurat’s “La Grande Jatte” splashed across it!) with me if the sky bodes even a sprinkle of rain.
• I once shielded my body and screamed “AHHH, DEATH!” when I thought Zach made a risky left turn.
• I wear argyle from time to time.

Now, I enjoy the outdoors, but I would rather do so leisurely with a run along the river, a brisk day hike or an overnight camping trip, preferably at a designated campground with some form of rudimentary plumbing nearby.

I’ll be in the middle, holding on for dear life.

Why do I tell you all this?

Because tomorrow, I’m going on a rafting extravaganza on the Lochsa River in northern Idaho. And by “extravaganza,” I mean “heart attack-inducing death ride.”

I don’t exactly recall how my co-worker roped me into this. I do know that I’ve only been whitewater rafting once, and the rapids on the Lochsa are about 10 times bigger and the water moves about a gazillion times faster than on the measly stream I tackled then.

Simply put, I could die.

The Middle Fork of the Flathead I’ve rafted before has rapids ranging from classes I through III. A few of them get the heart pumping, but the majority are lame. The only person who fell out was an old lady. The fact that an old lady was on the trip in the first place is a testament to said lameness.

Conversely, our outfitter’s website says the Lochsa, a raging torrent of water no squirrel has dared ford before, has 37 Class III rapids, 25 Class IV rapids and two Class V rapids. There’s some downtime in between, but it equates to about 2.6 seconds.

Most of it looks like the scenes in this video, aptly titled “Lochsa Karnage 07.”

So, again: I could die. But I probably won’t. If (OK, when) I fall out — say on one of the rapids affectionately named Bloody Mary, Grim Reaper or Termination — I’m just going to point my legs downstream and trust the guide will save me.

And scream. I’ll probably do a lot of screaming.

As I write this, I’m lying in bed, approximately five minutes after popping a generic-brand Ambien. Which means I could fall asleep at any moment, something that until recently I’ve never been able to say.

Since the tender age of 9, I’ve wrestled with bouts of insomnia. When you’re 9 years old and your parents tell the doctor you can’t fall asleep until 3 a.m., there’s not a whole lot he can do. Because 9-year-olds don’t have insomnia. Kids that age can’t even handle a few rounds of Red Rover before passing out from exhaustion at 8 o’ clock, unless maybe they’re hopped up on Sour Patch Kids and Yoo-hoo.

A more common occurence than previously thought?

So, when my parents presented my pediatrician with this conundrum, he eyed them suspiciously, as if thinking, “Hmm. She’s perfectly healthy, and her parents don’t look like meth heads. Her father appears to be wearing an inordinate amount of Spandex, but that’s probably not cause for concern … Welp, I got nothin.'”

“Uhhh, have you tried giving her warm milk?” (FYI — warm milk is the lamest, most ineffective “cure” for insomnia ever. Anyone who says it’s worked for them is an amateur.)

Since then, I’ve tested every trick in the book to combat this sleeplessness: Benedryl, melatonin, slices of honey-smoked turkey, late-night TV (the good: Conan. The also good but I probably shouldn’t admit I enjoy watching them bad: infomercials), etc., etc. Some worked for a while, but lost their effectiveness after a few months. Others worked like a charm, but I was hardly able to hold my eyelids open the next day, rendering useless the eight hours of “a good night’s sleep.”

(EDITOR’S NOTE: It was about this time last night that I started writing a shit-ton of Ambien-induced gibberish. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I made a “joke” involving the juxtaposition of the words “yawny” and “Yanni,” to the effect of “Ambien makes me feel sleepy and relaxed, not in a yawny kind of way, but in a YANNI kind of way! HAHAHAHAHA” I also recall using the caps lock key with reckless abandon and finding it HILARIOUS.

However, I woke up this morning to discover this part of the draft had disappeared. FOREVER. So, the question now is: Did this actually happen? Or did I just imagine it happened while in the pre-slumber state of delirium brought on by prescription-strength sleep aids? We’ll never know for sure. What we do know is it’s a serious blow to humanity that this pristine prose was not preserved.)

Despite the fact it’s extremely habit-forming (which is why I held off so long on prescription sleep meds in the first place) and apparently induces hallucinations, Ambien is AWESOME. I take one before bed, conk out before I even have a chance to turn off the light, then feel alert and well-rested in the morning. I didn’t know it was possible to sleep like that!

Are the hallucinations cause for concern? Probably. Is it worth giving up the best sleep ever? Hell no! Go Ambien! Go LIFE! Whoo!!!

As any self-respecting Squirrel Thoughts fan knows, Conan O’Brien is my hero, and seeing his show last week in Denver means I’ve crossed off one of the more important items on my “must do to make life complete” list.

Before seeing Conan live, I’d say my life was around 76 percent complete. Following the amazing experience I will now detail for you in (low quality) photos, I’d say the percentage has climbed to about 97.

(And I do sincerely apologize that these pictures aren’t better. My point-and-shoot camera sucks, especially in less than ideal lighting. But you can take comfort knowing that my actual experience was much better than the photos convey.)

The highlights:

Conan’s opening act. If you had to think of the last place this guy would be from, would you say… Montana? Because you’d be wrong. He randomly busted out an “I’m from Montana!” in the middle of his act, immediately met with cheers from myself and a surprising number of fellow audience members. Reggie Watts, represent.

Conan following the NBC/Jay Leno douchebags fiasco. Understandably depressed, he resorted to growing a beard and fattening up on Dorito/Crisco smoothies. The only way to recover from such a condition, really.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Conan’s first appearance on stage! Though it’s hard to believe, he looked even taller and string-beanier in person!

Conan unveils the show’s “spectacular, budget-blowing stunt.” Yep, that’s exactly what you think it is — the inflatable bat from Meatloaf’s 1978 Bat Out of Hell Tour!

So majestic. So regal.

Upon realizing how ridiculous it is, Conan immediately orders the bat be deflated.

One of the most awesomest aspects of the live show was Conan bringing back many of the characters and skits from his late-night gigs. Except that because of the aforementioned NBC douchebags, he doesn’t own the rights to them. So, though we had to say goodbye forever to the “intellectual property” that is the Masturbating Bear, we met a new, equally beloved character: the Self-Pleasuring Panda! (Which is just the Masturbating Bear with a new head. Take that, NBC!)

Speaking of NBC douchebags– er, I mean an “unnamed network CEO” — someone from the company dropped by to stroke his kitty and let everyone know that his channel has moved all the way up to No. 17 in the rankings since Conan left! Spoiler alert: The cat dies.

Conan rocking out on guitar.

Conan rocking out in the lavender paisley leather suit Eddie Murphy wore during his 1988 tour.

Triumph the Insult Comic Dog!

The audience persuades Conan to kiss band member La Bamba. He was secretly into it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get pictures of the best part of the show — when Conan brought out the Walker Texas Ranger Lever. I was simply laughing too hard to take photos. (Though they laughed, the people sitting next to me were definitely not as into the whole thing as I was. I would have felt sorry for them if there were any acceptable reason for this.)

Do not fret though, dear readers, as the WTRL clips that originally aired on Late Nite are available on everyone’s favorite video-sharing site! The links, listed in order from favorite to most favoritest of all:

• Dad scars son for life
• The one where Walker aka Chuck Norris jumps from a helicopter into a convertible and punches the lady driving it in the face (I scoured the Internets for a clip of this one and just could not find it. So unfortunate.)
• Haley Joel Osment’s ultimate non sequitur (though I probably shouldn’t have to, let me clarify: I do not think AIDS is funny. It’s the fact that it comes out of nowhere and Conan’s subsequent reaction that make it funny. So just keep cool, mah babies!)

By the time Conan (and Andy!) got through the last clip, I could hardly breathe, I was laughing so hard. Because nothing says comedy like child abuse, lady punching and incurable disease!

I did manage to pull it together in time for the return of …

Pancake! Oh, wait, wrong photo. But aren’t her wittle furry bunny feets the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?!

OK, let’s try that again: I did manage to pull it together in time for the return of …

The bat! (I thought the bat and his “teeth that look like flags from a used car lot” were really, really funny; I apologize if you don’t understand my obsession with it.)

Conan wraps it up with one last song. If I had been down one more row, I would have been able to reach out and high-five him when he ran through the audience. That’s OK though — it was still one of the greatest nights EVER!