Stranger In Paradise(TM)

"Mexican Orange-Kneed Tarantula" by Mr. T in DC CC-BY-ND via Flickr

I got me a confession to make. I hate nature. Wait, let me clarify that: I don’t hate nature, I hate Nature. I mean, I accept that nature is life, and without it there’d be nothingness and void, so in that sense, yes, I like nature. I just hate the nature of Nature, if you know what I mean. If nature were a person—Nature—he’d be a real asshole.

What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been a sandals-and-hemp, meandering-hikes-in-the-woods, tree-huggin’ kind of gal, and I wish people would get out of my face about it.

See, I’m living in a place just dripping with nature, and Nature-lovers. We’ve got mountains, beaches and wide-open spaces just minutes from my house (an effing Eichler-bring-the-outdoors-inside design) so I’m ritually assaulted with invitations to partake of Nature’s glories. They’re like the Seventh Day Adventists of leisure activities, my friends. It’s not that I don’t try. My husband is an environmental attorney, for Christ’s sake! Conferences in Tahoe, seminars in Yosemite—it’s like the opposite of aversion therapy.It’s not a matter of conditioning, or cultural influence. It’s just, well… my nature. When I was a tiny kid, I hated walking in the sand or being barefoot in the grass. I got over the sand thing, but I still hate the grass under my feet. I love to be barefoot, just not outside. Gimme some of that sweet, sweet concrete. Or carpet, or stone, or wood—hey, I’m flexible. Just not grass. Or dirt. Or anything with bugs living in it.

Bugs! Oh, yeah… I hate bugs. I’m not scared of them; it’s just that I hate the way they could be anywhere (they’re everywhere) without so much as a how-d’y-do. They’re a crucial part of the ecosystem, though, so I don’t squash them or spray them. Unless they’re in my kitchen, because that’s just going too far.

Speaking of bugs, is Nature a cruel bitch, or what? Ever seen a spider with its prey? That is some fucked-up shit. And that’s just for starters. Did you know that the female octopus lays hundreds of thousands of eggs, and then spends about a month just hanging out in her den, guarding and gently cleaning them by shooting water from her siphon? She doesn’t hunt, eat or leave the nest. Once the eggs are ready to hatch, she dies. And then the vast majority of her just adorable little babies get eaten just as soon as they’ve emerged from the den. I mean, Jesus wept!

Okay, so we know where I stand on Nature.

So here’s a message to all you well-intentioned purveyors of Natural bliss: Leave me alone. Please. With a cherry on top. (Yes, it’s an organic, free-range, locally-grown cherry. Not one of those nasty maraschino jobbies. I know, I got it at Whole Foods.) I’ve earned it. I do what I can to protect the environment: I reduce, reuse, and recycle. I compost. I use all-natural cleaning products. I avoid driving and I hypermile when I must drive. I shower with a friend (she’s two, so it’s not as much fun as it sounds.) I respect Nature, and strive to do her as little harm as possible (a favor she isn’t keen on returning, by the way)—I just don’t want to have to partake of it.

I’m thinking of decking over our yard.