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For the Love of a Caveman

S.R. Karfelt/The Glitter Globe

Fact is the first time Juan took me for a little hike I spent most of it planning never to see him again as long as I lived. His idea of a little hike involved crossing defunct railroad trestles over a raging river, climbing a mini-waterfall with bare hands, taking refuge in a cave complete with rattlesnakes, and culminated in bumping into the National Guard on maneuvers. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a man on a date so much in my entire life.

But after I didn’t die, I realized that surviving it all felt great. I’d been dragged outside my comfort zone and dang if I didn’t like it there.

Oh, that end-of-my-rope feeling didn’t completely go away. Honestly there have been many times it’s resurfaced. Like when I had my gloves duct-taped to my sleeves, with mosquitoes swarming my head-net as I slipped and slid over a field of boulders on an inane quest to fish, when frankly I detest fishing on a perfectly insect-free sunny day.

Yet I married Tarzan, mostly because I love-hate him. Love always has top billing, but I’m sorry to say hate makes an occasional appearance. I don’t know how anyone can be married for a couple decades without feeling that. If they don’t feel it, their spouse must not have the most utterly wretched hobbies on the planet or they haven't been married very long.

Hiking across a mountaintop double-time hoping to avoid a fast-approaching Mama Bear and her babies, or trying not to barf in a rocking boat on stormy water, or getting lost on an invisible trail in the middle of nowhere, I’ve promised myself NO MORE. This is the LAST TIME I’m doing this. I’m SO NOT KIDDING this time. But guess what? Yep. I do it again.

Why? Is it that even the most painful experiences are great story fodder for a writer? Is it love? Am I healing some broken part of myself every time I push past discomfort and fear? I really don’t know. It might be all of the above, or it might simply be that I LIKE my inner cavewoman. Tarzan sure does. He has absolutely no clue the revenge my writer-brain is cooking up while we’re trudging through mud dragging a canoe.

He would not turn his back if he did.

You think he’d sense it.

But no worries, there will be no need to submit this blog as evidence in a trial. Because not only do I forgive with a hot cup of tea and a fire, but I’ll always need his help to get out of wherever the heck he’s dragged me to. Unless I get a solar-powered satellite-accessible hand-held GPS with wilderness coverage. In that case, you might want to print this.

Now it's your turn to be completely candid and answer one or two of the following questions.

1. What is the wildest adventure you’ve endured for love?
2. Could you love a caveman? (Or woman.)
3. Whatever question you feel like answering that has absolutely nothing to do with this blog, because I love when you color outside the lines. It's my hobby too.

The Covenant Keeper Novels - VLOG

S.R. Karfelt, Author

Last week I went on a quest and didn't return until yesterday. Okay, fine. It was a quest for fun, but a quest all the same. Tonight I return to my regularly scheduled all-night write, and that's why you get a vlog today. It's a synopsis about The Covenant Keeper Novels, Kahtar Warrior of the Ages, and Heartless A Shieldmaiden's Voice.

S.R. Karfelt, Author

Hope you enjoy it, and if you'd like me to answer any questions about Kahtar or Heartless feel free to leave them below. Also feel free to ask questions about my quest for fun, or better yet, tell me where you find your fun!

Reasons Why it Sucks to be the Evolutionary Superior Model (Female)

S.R. Karfelt/The Glitter Globe

Oh, come on now. This is not man-bashing. I don’t roll like that. Number One Man Fan right here! I’m basing this entire scientific conclusion that I just made up, on one glaringly obvious biological fact. Girl nads are on the inside. Isn’t that proof enough? It is for me.

 

Now let’s get to the suckage of being the evolutionary superior model.

 

• Breasts. Breasts are like scoring that beach house in the Hamptons that you’ve always wanted. You never thought about taxes and upkeep when you were dreaming did you? Now you have to DECORATE and keep Mother Nature from wrecking everything as the years go by. Sooner or later you must accept that you are no longer Spring Break material—or spring for an expensive remodel.
• The evolutionary ability to do anything coupled with the societal expectation to look good while you do it. Give me a freaking break! These two things do not mesh!
• The bleed every month but don’t die club. Oh, sure we’re glad that we don’t have to die, but does it have to feel like it so often?
• Explaining to your boss why you’re missing a day of work due to cramps, if it’s a dude. He has cramps from Taco Bell last night and he’s at work. If you tell the truth, “My uterus has nail-gunned me to the floor and there’s a Manson-Murder blood trail through my house,” it just makes you sound like a drama queen.
• Hair. You may have all the hair you want on top of your head, but you must make it obey.
• Eyebrows. Eyebrow rules change more than hair rules. Get it right.
• Eyelashes. They are to be long and black and perfect forever. Thank you.
• All other hair is forbidden at this time. Get rid of it.
• Feet. Shove them into heels and STFU.
• Make-up. You shouldn’t need this, but you do, and if you get it wrong you will be judged.
• Nails. See above.
• Absolutely any of the life-skills that are often considered traditionally female-oriented, that you just happen to blow at. Like clothes, cooking, housework, and those other things that actually do not arrive with your V-Card.
• The supreme efficiency of the female calorie burning system in a world where thin is in. Surely this was a wonderfully epic thing eons before dark chocolate and Chipotle.
• Absolutely all gender expectation. This runs the gamut from love to birthing babies to life skills. Women are human beings first and even if we were born with an Expectation Memo in hand and the ability to read it; we’d just tear it up and be a person first—just like everybody else. 

What did I miss, Ladies? And Gentlemen, because this is an equal opportunity blog and your opinion counts too. State your suckage. 

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