Hiking in Sedona

Have you ever done anything that makes you go “Oh goodness, I am a bit of an ass.” I had one of those “ah-ha-ass!” moments yesterday while road tripping in Arizona with my friend A and her 70 pound Goldendoodle, Gryff, who has his hair shaved into a mohawk. We were driving to Sedona to hike and eat and play, and A had packed an awesome picnic lunch consisting of an assortment of collard and nori wraps.

Let me first tell you a bit about A so you can get a good feel, if you don’t remember her guest post on Phantom Boners or her adorable video about amaranth.

A is studying naturopathic medicine in Tempe, Arizona, and I am visiting her because we are madly in love with one another; we fell in love over our common interest in food. A is not a vegan but she does eat consciously, and she is gluten free, so cooking together is always interesting as our meals are both gluten-free and vegan. We used to run an illegal vegan catering company out of my kitchen in Virginia, called Veg-Out, and we clink our forks together in cheers before every meal. Yesterday morning I parnuded out of the bathroom (that is a word I made up, which means to strut around naked while air-drying after a shower) and found her nibbling something out of a suspicious looking bottle. “Whatcha eatin?” I asked. “Tree bark,” she responded. “It helps with my ADD!” Yeah….

A plays yoga atop the mountain

ANYWAY on our road trip yesterday we got stuck in nasty hot traffic. We got hungry and A asked me to reach into the back and grab our lunch. It was then that it was discovered we had left it on the counter (remember the ADD…). So we pulled off at a mini-market type gas station and had the following shameful interaction while LOUDLY walking through the market:

Z: Oooh they have avocados. Blech but they aren’t organic…
A: They have peanut butter
Z: Is it the good kind?
A: No.
Z: They have hummus! And they have baby carrots.
A: Are they organic?
Z: No.
A: They have papaya juice! (Opens juice and takes sip.) Oh gross it tastes like B.O.! (Hides opened papaya juice behind bag of potato chips).
Z: You’re going to hell.
(We stop and stare at each other for a few seconds in horror)
A: ZOE. THIS IS REAL LIFE.

Basically our realization was that we are sort of snotty uptight food-centric people. I live in Fairfield County, Connecticut, where most of the suburban yoga-doing Lulu Lemon wearing housewives speak in organic juice bar lingo (while also getting botox…hmmm) and A lives in hippie crunch-ville. Walking around this average American mini-market lamenting the loss of our nori wraps and bitching about their peanut butter selection made us realize that we are not the normal US citizen yet have been conditioned by our areas to think what we know is what IS (even though countless statistics show it isn’t). Also we were being shamelessly elitist and culturally blind—just ask the glaring mini-market patrons. We coined the term for how we were acting: Yupster Crunch. Sort of a mix of yuppy hipster crunchy granola folk….We were pretty severely unbathed, with our dirty hair in braids, braless and with filthy feet. Oy.

We also decided when we are older and have established our own health center in a liberal city where Alex meets with patients, I run the coffee shop/juice bar and our friend Donna teaches yoga, we will serve a home-made granola called “Yupster Crunch.”

Friendship rings. Roots over mossy rocks. How cute. Gag.

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