Release Your Inner Dirt Bag

Somewhere between Tacoma and Spokane when all of my belongings, which incidentally are literally filling my car to the gunwales, began avalanching into the front seat; I realized that the overnight bag that had been strategically placed behind my passenger-side seat was no longer accessible.  It was either clean clothes and toiletries or strapping Cooper to the roof.  Retrieving my overnight bag would surly release a title-wave of crap so mighty that there would be no turning back.  My Caboodles boxes, shoes, and heaven knows what else, would happier spreading out in the front seat.  I'm certain they would not be coaxed back into their proper places without Amber to whip them into shape.  

Therefore, in the last 3 days I have worn the same outfit and under-ware everyday.  I figured that all I'm really doing is sitting on my butt and eating cheeseburgers all day.  I'm not working up a sweat listening to books on tape.   Plus, it's not like I'm going to find my husband in Idaho Falls at the local Burger King Drive Through.  The only person (if we can call him that) that can smell me or looks at me consistently is Cooper and I don't think he cares about what I smell like or look like.  I think he likes seeing my inner dirt bag.  And, might I point out, Beyond was like an inner dirt bag exorcism.  I wore the same clothes everyday for seven days while carrying a 60 pound back through the woods. 

Anyway, my original plan after departing Tacoma was to drive to Butte, Montana and stay the night.  Then, the next day, drop down into Yellow Stone, the Tetons and stay in Jackson Hole.  Finally, I would trek my ass back to Canon City.  Well, the day I left I didn't get out of Tacoma until 11 am.  I made it as far as Spokane before it got dark and the weather turned shady.  The next day, I was rearing and ready to go at 11:30 am (so much for good intentions making it to positive outcomes, right).  I made it to Bozeman, MT and stayed the night there.

Today I was ready to head down to Yellow Stone and the rest, but as soon as Coop and I pulled up to the entrance, I saw a sign that pronounced that the only automobiles that could go through were snowmobilers.  So much for a cool road trip.  Coop and I had to turn around and head through Idaho again.  Idaho, my friends, is the worst state in the Union.  The people there do not turn on their lights in white out storms while driving and they try to run you off the road.  The state barely marks their roads and I'm lucky I made it out alive, quite frankly.  Well, just when I was about to head across Wyoming, my parents informed me that there were severe storm warnings across the state and that I-80 would probably be closed.

Cooper and I, our plans foiled once again had to drive south to the Land of the Mormons and now we're camped out for another night somewhere between Salt Lake and Provo.  I just finished eating the most terrible salad of my life and now I'm pondering the existential ramifications for letting my Inner Dirt Bag loose.   Perhaps if I continue to wear the same clothes all week, I'll have an epiphany.  Maybe I'll wear the same thing for all of 2009.  Think of the tag line I could have..."A New Year, A New Fear.  Christy Fisher's Inner Dirt Bag."  I doubt it but it may be worth a try.  Although, if I wanted to make new friends, wearing the same stinky clothes may not be the best impression.  I think my clothes may walk out by themselves tomorrow.  I just make myself feel better by thinking about all the laundry I won't have to do when I get to Colorado.  

So dear friends, I challenge you: Release Your Inner Dirt Bag.  Tell me how it goes.

I love you all and I miss you all.  I will post pictures as soon as I find my connector cord which is probably hidden somewhere impossible in the back of my car.

Remember-Team Work makes the Dream Work,  

Christy

P.S. I tried to find the origin for the term "Dirt Bag" but I was unable to find it on Google.  Maybe those of you with more access to academic search engines can help a sister out.