Being an Adult is Stupid

Being an adult is overrated, I decided after writing last week's blog post. Yes, I set the oven on fire, but my awesome adulting skills don't end there.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GAS STATION
Gas stations, for instance, can be a pain in the ass. I tend to forget what side my gas tank is on even though I have driven my car for six years.

Once, I forgot what side the tank was on at a very small station with very tight pumps. I started to pull into one of these very tight spots. Then I thought, Wait! The gas tank's on the passenger side! As soon as I had managed to turn the car around, I remembered the tank was, in fact, on the driver side. I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times and attempted to turn the car around again when a guy on the other side of the pump tapped on my window.

"I'm done. You don't have to turn your car again. You can just pull around to the other side."

He was so nice, like he really felt sorry for me, that I didn't even have the heart to act huffy and embarrassed by my unintentional damsel-in-distress image.

"Thank you so much," with a sheepish grin is all I could muster.

Another time, I couldn't get my credit card to work at one of the pumps. I was about ready to either a) go inside the station or b) give up and go to another station to avoid going inside this station when one of my colleagues pulled up to the pump next to mine.

"Hi, Becky!"

"Hi," I grumbled. "I can't get this stupid pump to take my card. This isn't the first time. I think I'm going to leave."

"Here, let me try," she said and got it to work on the first try.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GROCERY STORE
By the time I make it into the supermarket, my hands full with my grocery list, reusable bags, and produce sacks, I'm lucky I don't bite the heads off of the five billion clerks who ask me if I need help finding something just because I spend twenty minutes comparing labels.

The last time I went to the grocery store, I thought I was doing a good job avoiding helpful clerks. This one worker kept following me around, but I was able to move faster than her as I ducked in and out of the narrow aisles. It turned out she was following me because my reusable grocery bags had fallen off the bottom of my cart.

"I think these fell off your basket at the front of the store. Are they yours?" she asked breathlessly after chasing me down.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE COFFEE SHOP
Last week, I ordered a vanilla latte. I hadn't drunk a flavored latte in forever.

"Wow, this vanilla is really strong," I said. "I had forgotten how sweet flavored lattes are."

I lifted the lid to sop up the foam and discovered absolutely no espresso in my vanilla latte.

"No wonder I don't feel very alert."

Instead of taking it back and demanding a new one like an adult, I went about my business. Who has time for that anyway?

Sad, though. If you've been a faithful reader of my blog, you know how much I love my coffee.

BACK TO THE OVEN THING
After I set the oven on fire, I figured out this is why no one wants me to cook for them.

The night I set the oven on fire, a lady in a black SUV got angry with me as I drove to rehearsal. She was waving her arms at me by the time we exited I-84. I guess she was upset she couldn't get in front of me at some point on the interstate before the exit.

"Give me a break, lady. I just set my dinner on fire!" I said through our closed windows.

"What did you cook tonight? Did you burn anything down?" a friend of mine asked me the next day.

"I stayed away from the oven," I mumbled.

However, my track record is getting better. I used and didn't break our food processor or our espresso machine this week. I also roasted potatoes in the oven on Sunday.

And guess what? I didn't set anything on fire.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Quesadillas On Fire!

I have decided I shouldn't be allowed to do domestic things anymore. To illustrate this point, here is a recent post from my Facebook page:

"So . . . the fan in the bathroom quit working, the spin cycle on the washer sounds like a machine gun, and I set the oven on fire yesterday. I am totally killing it at being an adult this week."

(I wrote this while waiting for the windshield guy who was supposed to repair a crack made by a stray rock kicked up by an SUV driver in one of the thousands of road work zones in Boise right now.)  

A friend of mine responded, "If by 'it' you mean the appliances in your house . . ."

I should probably add ovens to the growing list of things I'm not supposed to touch, along with power tools, serrated knives, and open tuna cans.

I had made the stupid dish a lot, but the broiler decided this was the perfect time to set everything on fire. By everything, I mostly mean the quesadillas I was trying to quickly get on the table since I had rehearsal that night. My husband, Dan, thinks I have a tendency to exaggerate.

I noticed a slight burning smell coming from the oven, so I opened the door and unleashed a billowing cloud of smoke into the kitchen that also proceeded to drift into the living room.

Funny thing. The smoke detector didn't go off. Maybe I should get that checked.

Then I realized the quesadillas were on fire, Quesadillas-En-Flambé. I blew on the quesadillas even though I knew it was pointless and, not to mention, ridiculous. It was a reflex. Don't judge me.

I shut the oven door, turned off the heat, turned on the fan above the stove, and assessed the situation. I have a fire extinguisher under the sink, but I wanted to salvage the quesadillas if possible. Like I said, I had to go to a rehearsal and didn't have time to pick up anything new or fix something else.

I peeked in the oven and noticed the flames were not as large. Hmm . . . could keeping the oven door shut be the best way to put out the fire?

I shut the door again and Googled, "what to do if food on fire in oven." It popped right up. Apparently, I was not the only one . . .

Google said to shut the oven door (check), turn off the broiler (check), and wait for the fire to go out. If it didn't go out, I was supposed to call 911. I felt pretty good about the fact that I had already followed Google's advice without even realizing it, aside from the couple of seconds I spent blowing on the food at the beginning of the ordeal.

Dan came home to find me staring at four quesadillas, smoldering on the stove top.

"I kind of set dinner on fire," I told him. "What should we eat?"

"The filling still looks alright, and so does the bottom of the tortilla."

My engineer husband figured out that we could tear off the charred top and fold the bottom over, leaving each of us two half-quesadillas. (Thank you, recipes, for always making four servings.)

"Google says we should clean out the oven after it catches fire," I said after dinner.

We leaned over and checked out the inside of the oven. Then we glanced at each other.

"Yeah, you're right. Too much work," I said.

We're awesome at being adults.

No harm, no foul. The oven is back to normal.

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Pokémon Takes Over the World (Or At Least Some Public Landmarks)

The other day, I posted an anecdote on my Facebook page about a snake encounter during one of my trail runs. One of my younger friends posted a picture of a cartoon snake and posted that snakes were pretty easy to catch as long as they didn't jump.

I was so confused.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have recognized the reference to Pokémon GO, a phenomenon that, unless you're living under a rock, you most likely have heard of if not participated in by now.

Actually, even if you're living under a rock, someone will eventually track a Pokémon there, so good luck escaping.

My initial reaction to this new augmented reality app was, "Great! As if people need another excuse to constantly look at their phones!"

I get mad at people walking around the neighborhood and talking on their phones when they are supposed to be exercising. "Trying to jog here!" (If you're going to take the effort to dress in all of that spandex, at least leave the phone at home.) How am I going to find the patience to deal with crowds of people staring into their phones, trying to throw tiny balls at late '90s/early 2000s cartoon characters?

However, when I stopped grumbling and actually listened to the reasons why people were playing the game, it struck a chord.

"Pokémon GO has given a lot of dorks/nerds/socially anxious people a reason to get out of bed and go outside and actually talk to real human beings. It makes us happy and that's something a lot of us struggle to find."

"I suffer from an anxiety disorder, and the game gets me out and into the sun, exercising and actually enjoying all of it."

"I've made new friends walking around the streets, chatting with people about what team they're on, where they found their rare things. Watching the people downtown is exhilarating. Everyone is excited and happy. Everyone is friendly. Everyone is bonding over this silly little app. It's a beacon of light in a time where so many dark things are swirling around us."

The app uses GPS technology to lead players to Pokéstops, often based on artistic or historic landmarks, encouraging participants to learn about their cities.

"Things I walk past every day downtown that I thought were just graffiti are actually historic works of art. I never knew there was a Challenger Memorial in Boise."

"When I first began playing Ingress, I lived in Koreatown, and the game literally showed me the best parts of my neighborhood and helped me to learn a lot more about Korean culture."

The Pokéstops are based on Ingress, a sci-fi game that has been around for a few years. Pokémon GO used the portals already established in Ingress and introduced this type of augmented reality gaming to a wider audience.

To me, it sounds a bit like Who Framed Roger Rabbit? meets Capture the Flag. I loved Who Framed Roger Rabbit? but I was not a fan of Capture the Flag. Back in my teenage years, I would hide in a ditch for hours hoping that no one from either team would spot me. Most of the time, I didn't know which team I was on. Were flags even involved in that game?

Pokémon was after my time, but a lot of people from my age group are into this game. I thought for sure this would be one of those weird Millennials-Still-At-Home fads, but that hasn't been the case. However, the differences seem to lie in the rationale behind playing.

The twenty-something and younger crowd played out of nostalgia.

"An actual dream has come true for many. As kids, you play the game and then go to recess to catch Pokémon on the playground. Then everyone stopped playing pretend. Flash to 2016 . . . AND YOU CAN [catch Pokémon] and it's everything you imagined. Better even."

"Growing up I wanted them to come to life and, in a way, now they are!! It's a way for me to get out and have fun with my childhood."

"This game lets us get outside and travel just to get a certain Pokémon. It's cool because around certain climates or whether it's night or day, only certain Pokémon come out. This is exactly like the Pokémon show is except not so hardcore."

"I was not allowed to watch it as a kid and therefore didn't play it either . . . Finally, Pokémon GO rolled out and I saw it as my chance, even at 22, to finally involve myself in this world . . . For me it's become something that finally connects me to this world I so craved to be a part of while growing up, and I am grateful for that. It's essentially a way for me to be a kid again . . ."

My Gen X friends tended to focus more on the public landmark, geocaching, and exercise aspects of the game. They also emphasized this was something they could do as a family.

"It also got me out of the house and walking around last night with my husband, where normally we would just be watching Netflix on the couch."

"It's been fun to find things as a family. A little worried about the 6 year old who is obsessed already."

"My older son just got into it. I find it partly fascinating and partly concerning. I suppose that's the battle between my inner child and my inner grown-up. I'm seriously considering downloading it because it seems to be a great way to spend time with friends and family using electronics, but actually interacting. If it turns out I don't like it, I can always quit...I think. (That's the part that concerns me.)"

A couple of hours, this same friend of mine commented, "It's done. I took the plunge."

"I think it would be kind of cool," my husband, Dan, said the other night. "Is it weird that I’d like to try it?"

Of course, everything that involves social interactions has its dark side.

Reports of criminals using the app to commit armed robberies and muggings are discouraging. Someone discovered a dead body and another found a loaded gun while searching for Pokémon.

People aren't looking where they are going and are running into things, kind of funny and disturbing at the same time.

Some of the Pokéstops have been completely inappropriate, like the Holocaust Museum and Arlington Cemetery.

Just use your brains, friends.

I think the park by my house must have some Pokémon running around in it. I am pretty sure one guy was playing on Wednesday. He got out of his car and walked around the pond. He leaned on his car for a bit. Then he sat in his car. A few seconds later, he got out of his car and walked around the basketball hoops. He was staring at his phone the whole time.

On Thursday, I saw the same guy sitting in the park picnic shelter with a friend. They both had phones.

In this same park, I ran by a girl, stopped on a bike, who was checking her phone. I glanced at her screen. Sure enough, she was throwing objects at a cartoon monster thingy.

As I turned into the parking lot at the dentist's office, I noticed another girl stopped on a bike, checking her phone.

"As long as no one shows up at my house looking for Pikachu!" I thought.

Later that day, I received a notice from our neighborhood app, warning us to lock our vehicles.

"Our truck was rummaged through last night. It doesn't appear that anything was taken . . . The nerve of some people," the message read.

I almost replied, "Maybe they were looking for Pokémon."

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Distorted Guitars And Unintelligible Lyrics

My husband, Dan, and I miss the music of the '90s. This is hard to admit because it means the '90s are over. Our coming-of-age decade is long gone, and we are left sounding like all the generations before us.

"Music isn't as good as it was in the (pick a decade, any decade)."

Luckily, for Dan and me, there is a '90s nostalgia wave to ride right now, probably because those of us in our thirties and forties are the ones who can afford to go to concerts.

Dan and I still buy entire albums. Sometimes we even (gasp) buy CDs, rather than the digital version that ends up on some ethereal cloud that I am not entirely convinced exists. We don't buy albums on vinyl though. We're not that nostalgic. However, I do own a record player.

Dan and I attended Treefort, a local music and arts festival, last spring and found ourselves gravitating toward the '90s-sounding bands. We could care less about the current, overly synthesized “alternative music” that screams EDM and the '80s. Give us distorted guitars any day.

Are these hip, late thirty-somethings attending a rock concert? Ear plugs required.

The other day, Dan bought the new Garbage album. The kid at the cash register scanned it and said, "This is a great album."

He said it in a way that made me think it had been a discovery for him, as if this album may have been the first time he had ever heard of Garbage. Six albums ago, he may not have been born yet.

A couple of weeks previous to this, we were in a coffee shop in Cody, Wyoming. The state's Songwriters' Festival was in a week or so, and nomadic young musicians were starting to roam the town. Three of them, two girls and a guy were in this coffee shop, strumming guitars and looking up YouTube videos on laptops, probably for songwriting inspiration.

The guy was talking about Eddie Vedder like he was some sort of former icon, the way I think of and admire Bob Dylan. The girls had never heard of the Pearl Jam frontman. The guy started strumming his guitar and singing some sort of version of “Yellow Ledbetter.” I say some sort of version because I sure as hell didn't recognize whatever he was singing. Of course, no one could understand the lyrics to that song back in the '90s anyway.

Several '90s bands are still making records, and, like many of us, they have mellowed with age.

The Toadies released an album of acoustic versions of their music. Radiohead doesn’t seem to like electric guitars and drums anymore, and PJ Harvey taught herself how to play saxophone. The most recent song on the radio by The Strokes (more 2000s, I know) included a synthesizer.

“Has Garbage mellowed a little too?” Dan asked after we had listened to their new, "great" album.

You can always count on Weezer though. The latest albums definitely recall their '90s heyday sound.

I was in the North End the other day, and a young woman noticed my Sleater-Kinney shirt.

"I was a pretty young when they first started playing, but once I came of age, Riot Grrrl changed my life," she said.

I told her I preferred that era and that I didn't care for today's alternative music with all the electronic stuff.

"Some bands can still shred, but indie pop has taken a dark turn," she said.

We both sighed and stared off into the distance.

I have to remind myself the '90s wasn't all rock guitars and unintelligible lyrics. The I Love the '90s Tour will grace Boise with its presence at the end of August. Their take on '90s music?

Vanilla Ice, Tone Loc, and Color Me Badd. Oh well, no accounting for . . . you know the saying.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Time For Another Mountain Biking Post

Note: The day after I wrote this post, I woke up to the tragic news that a mountain biker had been attacked and killed by a grizzly bear in Glacier, Montana. My thoughts and prayers go with his family.

Summer is in full-swing in the Duggan household, meaning I have gathered enough material for yet another mountain biking post.

This year, I am getting serious. After my first trip out and several icings of my nether regions later, I finally bought some padded biking shorts. I call them my butt-saving shorts.

The first trip to which I am referring occurred around Memorial Day, and my husband, Dan, rode ahead of me in the beginning. But I made him switch places with me after he pissed off some pedestrians by not saying, "On your left."

“They are on a biking trail. They should expect bikers,” said Dan.

“It’s not a biking only trail," I pointed out. "You're supposed to give an audible signal. I know it's difficult for a ninja, but it's on the state driver’s test and everything now.”

A few minutes later, a biker who passed us and called out, "On your left," in a friendly voice.

“See that’s how you say it,” I said.

Dan spit on the ground.

“Gross. I don’t like boys anymore.”

“He was weird," Dan said. ''Who takes a road bike on a dirt trail?”

“Gees, you're really judgy about who can be on this trail today.”

"Would you drive our Fusion on one of the dirt roads around here?" he asked.

“No, but people do. It’s Idaho. People drive anything anywhere the hell want.”

A week or so later, we were mountain biking in Montana, and we almost got chased by a bear. I say almost because we didn't actually get chased by a bear . . . or approached by a bear. We didn't exactly see the bear either, but we got close this time.

In Big Sky, downhill is the more popular mountain biking medium, so when Dan and I showed up at one of the cross-country trailheads, the maintenance guy was so happy to see us. He gave us all kinds of information on which loops to ride, which directions to head, and which portions of the trails were still closed. There was no one else at the trailhead, translation, no one else to scare off the bears ahead of us.

It began innocently enough. We saw a lot of elk scat and a few hoof prints going up the mountain. We reached the top of the loop, a nice, challenging climb. As we started to descend, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Dan," I called in a shaky voice, "I don't think this is from an elk."

Dan would normally take one look at the scat and brush it off as horse or some benign animal. But I'm proud to say I've leafed through "Whose Scat is That?" enough in the bookstores that I can recognize some animals by their feces.

"That probably is a bear," he conceded. "I don't know how fresh it is . . ."

"Let's hope it's not five minutes fresh."

There was no sense in turning around. We were over halfway finished with the trail, and the bear could have easily been moving the opposite direction. We ran across a bit more scat and a bear paw mark. I talked to Dan loudly and often, and Dan kept vigilant and wore bear spray on his hip.

Toward the end of the trail, I swear I heard a weird growling noise, but Dan thought it was most likely the wind.

"Those trees were making some strange creaking noises in the breeze, Becky."

"Yeah, but do they sound like this?" and I let out a long, rumbling belching sound.

Dan just stared at me for a minute and then shook his head and continued down the mountain.

Why do you take me on these scary trails?

Right now, I am in rehearsals for a theater production. The other day, a friend of mine was reminding me to be cautious during my outdoor endeavors.

"I've heard the rattlesnakes are really out in the foothills right now," she said. "We don't want you getting injured."

"Yeah, me neither," I agreed. "Let me tell you about the time I almost got eaten by a bear."

More mountain biking fun:
End of the Summer Mountain Biking Fun
The Mountain Biking (Almost) Disaster
Adventures in Mountain Biking

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.