shitassmotherfuckerdamn

I went climbing Saturday. Will and I camped near Lake Tahoe in a climbing mecca called Lover's Leap. It was a beautiful fall day with a beautiful granite wall waiting for us to tackle it. Which Will did. I on the other hand did not so much tackle it as struggled up the little fucker, but with high spirits I might add. It actually was very nice crack climbing - I had a couple good hand jams (yes I know the lingo), and there were nice dikes in the rock to get good hand and feet holds. But I would say it all went down hill when a roof in the rock required a move I was not prepared to do - and all the good holds were gone. What the situation ended up being was me, hand jamming for dear life, legs doing the sewing machine - which was really helping the situation, for a good 20 minutes, and saying every swear word known. I fell a good 3 or 4 times only to be pried from the rock, swinging away from the safety of having something to hold on to, dangling in mid-air who knows how many feet above the ground. Will, like a good boyfriend, then hoisted me up a couple feet with the rope, so I could make the necessary move. Once I was safely over the roof, a round of cheers exploded from below, as my audience of expert climbers who had been watching the whole time rejoiced in my having made it. Will sent out a yipee back to them. I did not. I'm glad I couldn't say anything at the moment because if I had been forced to acknowledge them, it would have been the words that had been coming out of my mouth for the last 20 minutes. I don't think they would have appreciated being sworn at. But after a few more moves, including some face gripping, and a couple more "Mother of's..." I was at the top. thankyouverymuch.