Hippity Dippity Doo Doo | Jen and Men

If you read my blog, you know that I am not exactly the most upbeat person in the world. I’m not a Debbie Downer or anything, but I tend to have a pessimistic or, as I like to call it, a realistic view of what I see around me. I’m sorry that I can’t view a flat tire as an opportunity to be outdoors for a beautiful sunset. I can’t see having a job as a reason not to complain about a terrible commute. And I can’t stop myself from wanting to smack whoever can see the good in horrible situations.

That being said, my boyfriend, Mark, and I took our dog, Abel, hiking this weekend. After a two-hour hike to a beautiful lake, I thought, Yes, I can finally rest on the shore and EAT.However, instead of seeing a big, open space and stunning view of the lake I have seen so many times before, I saw what can only be described as a tribe of women. “Why a tribe, Jen? Why not a group?” you might ask. These chicks had lines and symbols painted across their faces and bodies, and they were standing in a circle, chanting. So, yeah, I’m going with “tribe.”

At first I thought they were meditating. I thought, It’s probably a church group. Then I saw the paint and heard some of the things they were saying. “Let’s hope that the masculine species understands us…” Masculine species? What? Then they all started huddling like a football team and throwing their arms up in the air, shouting.

Afterwards, they all went into the lake and were instructed (by their leader) to wash themselves 7 times. The first girl to dive in started screaming like Xena, the Warrior Princess, and scared Abel. He tentatively walked toward them a couple feet, and one of the members said, “He’s attracted to the joy.” Mark and I smiled and nodded, scared.

A photographer, who happened to be hiking with his friends, saw all of this and asked their permission to take photos. They agreed, as long as “they didn’t end up on Instagram or [they] would have to sacrifice him.” Laughing, he pointed at Mark and said, “I’m the one documenting this. Sacrifice him.” The girls laughed and my back stiffened when they all turned and looked at him. If anyone is going to sacrifice my boyfriend, it’s going to be me! Stay away from him!

When they finally washed off all the paint (some from one another), and emerged from the lake, Mark and Abel were finally able to go swimming. That’s when things went from bad to ugly. With the thirty-something male photographer standing right there taking photos, the oldest woman (in her 60s, I’d estimate) took off her bathing bottom and starting drying herself off with a towel. My eyes went from seeing our dog happily swim in this beautiful lake to seeing saggy, old-lady ass! How do people get naked in front of strange men?!

When Mark finally came out of the lake with Abel, I told him what I had seen. As I spoke, a girl was loudly going on about how she has sex every day, and which condoms bring her the most pleasure. Can this get worse? Yes. Not a minute later, Mark hit my arm and whispered for me to look over at them. What do I see? A girl with perfect B-cup boobs taking a topless, braless picture with her friend! “Look away!” I whispered to Mark, who unwillingly averted his eyes. She then put her shirt back on after the shot. Is she SERIOUS?! Who takes their shirt off for a photo?!

When they finally walked away, one of the women said, “Thank you for your dog. He brought us so much joy” and another said “I hope you enjoyed our energy.” Mark wanted to say, “I enjoyed your boobs,” but thought they might actually sacrifice him. Or that I might.

Actually, miss, I did not enjoy your energy. I also did not enjoy the fact that you dominated the lake, chanted loudly, screamed like warriors, and took your tops off in front of my boyfriend. I also did not enjoy the fire you built a few yards away from me, in which you burned pieces of paper you had apparently wrote thoughts on. I just smiled and said nothing.

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