A wayfaring soul has nowhere to go,
The body will follow, but the body gets old.
The soul is stubborn and refuses to quit,
A body has food, but for the soul, this is it.
Soul food is the mountains and plains in one day;
The desert and snowcaps visit to play;
That dangerous trek through a place once again;
A temporary bed from a very new friend;
Planes and trains and legs and strangers;
Surviving through exciting dangers;
Hitching down the highway for days;
In exhilarating stop for a gig that pays;
Couchsurfing friends in new parts of the world;
Learning each day to be a braver girl;
Finding community of wayfarers alike;
Seeing the world at top of a hike;
Sigh of reliefe meeting a destination;
Adreniline kicks in the next situation;
Gobbling up each new place;
Enjoying the newness of each new face.
Food for the body to live 'till it's old,
Wayfaring food for the wayfaring soul.
Friday, December 17, 2010
bodyless
I lost my sight, I lost my breath
I lost my voice inside myself.
I only hear and I only feel with my eyes and my mouth and my hands,
I can feel.
All my sensens flutter deep to my heart,
Everything is going straight to my heart.
What good is my heart without eyes to see?
What good is my soul without a thing to think?
What good are feelings without an outlet to speak, a body to do, and eyes to see?
I lost my voice inside myself.
I only hear and I only feel with my eyes and my mouth and my hands,
I can feel.
All my sensens flutter deep to my heart,
Everything is going straight to my heart.
What good is my heart without eyes to see?
What good is my soul without a thing to think?
What good are feelings without an outlet to speak, a body to do, and eyes to see?
Friday, December 10, 2010
Hate is a strong word
If you are Chicago suburban driver, I hate you.
Go take a serious time out... after you read this.
I will not speed up as fast as you when the light turns green. If you tail-gait me next time, I will seriously contemplate slamming on my breaks so the bars from my bike rack go smashing into your front end, and then I'll do it. It will be your fault.
Next time you blow a stop sign in front of me, I'm going to just keep on going and t-bone you. It will be your fault.
The only reason I don't consistently honk my horn at all of you is because it doesn't work.
If you want to go ten miles over the speed limit, while I'm only going two over, I will gladly watch... and then gladly pass you when you're pulled over.
But don't cut me off when you pass me. I'll put the police on my speed dial.
If you lightly honk your horn at me to let me know I'm doing something wrong, I will think about my woes. When you honk your horn at me for over seven seconds, all I'm thinking is "man you're an asshole. I wish I could do it again." Next time I will.
I've driven across this country and back more times than most. Chicago has the worst drivers of them all. Shame on you.
To the pedestrians, you're not off the hook either: I gladly follow the pedestrian rules. I stop for you at crosswalks, keep an eye out for you, and make sure you get the right of way at stop signs and common pedestrian areas. Next time you walk out in front of me in the dark on a road marked 40mph where there is no crosswalk, and linger, I will surely run you over. Then I will drive away, and not feel bad. And it will be your fault. I think that's what you're secretly hoping for anyways. What other sort of dummie does shit like that?
I laugh at you when you speed up around me, and then we end up next to each other at the following stoplight. I think you have largely mistaken the meaning of life, Speedy Gonzales. But I don't feel sorry for you anymore. I'm just sick of you.
If there is a merge sign, merge you idiot. I'm not letting you in front of me next time when you wedge your car in front of mine at the last second. You'll surely have a broken headlight.
However! When I'm merging onto the highway and you can't get out of the way, I have a choice between the railing on my right, and you on my left. I'm going to tell you now that your car is going to be much more expensive to fix after I merge right into your Mercedes. And it will be your fault.
When I'm trying to get out of a parking lot in traffic and you block the way with your huge ass of a car, I will consider that humans makes mistakes. I consider this under the condition that you outwardly show that you are repenting of your wrong ways and trying to inch forward so I can squeeze my way in. Otherwise, I'll just pretend you're not there, and OH! there is suddenly an empty spot on the road for me right. there.
If you find yourself constantly in a hurry to get places, and then angry at everyone else one the road for driving the speed limit, then I suggest you throw your phone into a lake, go off into the woods by yourself for many weeks, and think about what you've done you bad, bad person you.
If you see a red Honda Civic hatchback driving on the road, then you best be nice to it or I will wedge my tiny little car into your big &$%!*$#!.
I sincerely appreciate you reading, Drivers of Chicago. Please go to the nearest DMV and return your drivers license.
Friday, November 12, 2010
blank.
Sorry all. My fingers aren't speaking to me lately.
Don't know just what to do with myself. doot doo doooo...
Don't know just what to do with myself. doot doo doooo...
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I'm an illegal
I have very fond memories of everywhere I travel to. But all too often they involve more tears than most people can produce in one lifetime. I'm almost sure of that, but I'll double-check. My time in San Luis Obispo was no exception.
From day one of my real travels, starting at the airport waiting to go through the security line and be shipped off to do a three-month internship in Scotland. I was eighteen, and fresh out of high school seven months prior. I was terrified that I was about to go through a line and not see my parents or family for three. whole. months.
In case any one is unaware, that's a long time for an eighteen year-old. Most people go off to college and have the privilege of going back to visit family, and see familiar faces every now and then. When I crossed through the metal detectors, I was basically stuck for a good, long time on the other side of the Atlantic.
On top of my fearful, and sad tears, I was running late for my flight. Great. I was running late for my flight, and I had to rush everything. I had to rush my goodbyes, I had to rush my hugs and my kisses. It was a terrible feeling, and when I finished my rushing goodbyes I ran through the airport sweating profusely with liquids and snot and tears coming out of every crevice of my face... only to show up to an empty gate. The man standing at the counter was angry with because I missed my flight, and he scolded me because, "I called your name on the loud speaker three times!!! We waited for you!!" Well that didn't help. But thanks for your kindness, sir.
I was relieved to find my parents still at the entrance of O'Hare just standing there. I was also a little weirded out that they didn't seem to be surprised that I was walking back from a flight I was supposed to be on. But my eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying so hard, so perhaps my squinty view on that moment isn't quite valid.
I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could catch the next flight out to Scotland. This, I thought, would be good for me. I'd have more time to process the reality of leaving. But, ah, no. All it did was prolong my tears and my apparent separation issues. I awkwardly blubbered through the first two hours of my flight until I put myself out with Tylenol PM for the night.
Eight hours of grieving across the ocean, and I landed in a beautifully green country. My tears were done, and I was finally excited about this! I felt cool and independent. I felt like I could talk to anyone, and be everyone's friend. I felt like I freaking had myself together, man. This was cool. I was in Scotland, and I did it by myself.
I had a big, dumb smile on my face when I walked up to the half-annoyed man at customs. I'd make is day better, I was nice.
"How long are you here for?" He asked me sternly.
"Three months." Smile.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, he's trying to make conversation! My nice attitude must be helping, "Oh! Well, I'm doing an internship working at a Church, and I'll be working at a hostel while I'm here, too, just doing cleaning and stuff. I got connected to the chu..."
"Hold on hold on hold on hold on... you're not permitted to be working here. You don't have a work visa or anything. I can't let you in this country. Go over there and sit down."
My eyes were huge, and I'm sure I looked like a little puppy with her tail between her legs... peeing all over the place.
I didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand what's happening! This can't be happening!
He came over to speak with me.
"Do you understand what's happening?"
Shaking, and crying, "Noo", I replied between huge gasps for air.
Basically what it boils down to is that I don't understand customs or entering into a new country. And I think that everyone is as nice and naive as me, trying to make conversation with me when they're really trying to make sure no lunies or illegals get into their country. I made myself out to be an illegal by using bad words like "work" and "internship". Bad idea. Lesson learned.
In reality I wasn't working with a church, per-say. I was attending a church and reading books. I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't there to stay forever. I was just going there to learn.
Well, lesson 1: Not everyone who talks to me is trying to be friendly. Lesson 2: Stop talking so much.
This man interrogated me for fifteen minutes until he went out to speak with the people picking me up, which included the pastor of the church. They told him the real situation, and with the man at customs finally realizing that I was not as "with it" as I thought I was, he let me go free into the world of Scotland.
Tony and Kate helped me pick up my 120 lbs of luggage that I didn't need, and we finally drove our way into Edinburgh. On the wrong side of the road of course.
Please let these shenanigans be finished. I'm exhausted, and a little humiliated...
From day one of my real travels, starting at the airport waiting to go through the security line and be shipped off to do a three-month internship in Scotland. I was eighteen, and fresh out of high school seven months prior. I was terrified that I was about to go through a line and not see my parents or family for three. whole. months.
In case any one is unaware, that's a long time for an eighteen year-old. Most people go off to college and have the privilege of going back to visit family, and see familiar faces every now and then. When I crossed through the metal detectors, I was basically stuck for a good, long time on the other side of the Atlantic.
On top of my fearful, and sad tears, I was running late for my flight. Great. I was running late for my flight, and I had to rush everything. I had to rush my goodbyes, I had to rush my hugs and my kisses. It was a terrible feeling, and when I finished my rushing goodbyes I ran through the airport sweating profusely with liquids and snot and tears coming out of every crevice of my face... only to show up to an empty gate. The man standing at the counter was angry with because I missed my flight, and he scolded me because, "I called your name on the loud speaker three times!!! We waited for you!!" Well that didn't help. But thanks for your kindness, sir.
I was relieved to find my parents still at the entrance of O'Hare just standing there. I was also a little weirded out that they didn't seem to be surprised that I was walking back from a flight I was supposed to be on. But my eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying so hard, so perhaps my squinty view on that moment isn't quite valid.
I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could catch the next flight out to Scotland. This, I thought, would be good for me. I'd have more time to process the reality of leaving. But, ah, no. All it did was prolong my tears and my apparent separation issues. I awkwardly blubbered through the first two hours of my flight until I put myself out with Tylenol PM for the night.
Eight hours of grieving across the ocean, and I landed in a beautifully green country. My tears were done, and I was finally excited about this! I felt cool and independent. I felt like I could talk to anyone, and be everyone's friend. I felt like I freaking had myself together, man. This was cool. I was in Scotland, and I did it by myself.
I had a big, dumb smile on my face when I walked up to the half-annoyed man at customs. I'd make is day better, I was nice.
"How long are you here for?" He asked me sternly.
"Three months." Smile.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, he's trying to make conversation! My nice attitude must be helping, "Oh! Well, I'm doing an internship working at a Church, and I'll be working at a hostel while I'm here, too, just doing cleaning and stuff. I got connected to the chu..."
"Hold on hold on hold on hold on... you're not permitted to be working here. You don't have a work visa or anything. I can't let you in this country. Go over there and sit down."
My eyes were huge, and I'm sure I looked like a little puppy with her tail between her legs... peeing all over the place.
I didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand what's happening! This can't be happening!
He came over to speak with me.
"Do you understand what's happening?"
Shaking, and crying, "Noo", I replied between huge gasps for air.
Basically what it boils down to is that I don't understand customs or entering into a new country. And I think that everyone is as nice and naive as me, trying to make conversation with me when they're really trying to make sure no lunies or illegals get into their country. I made myself out to be an illegal by using bad words like "work" and "internship". Bad idea. Lesson learned.
In reality I wasn't working with a church, per-say. I was attending a church and reading books. I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't there to stay forever. I was just going there to learn.
Well, lesson 1: Not everyone who talks to me is trying to be friendly. Lesson 2: Stop talking so much.
This man interrogated me for fifteen minutes until he went out to speak with the people picking me up, which included the pastor of the church. They told him the real situation, and with the man at customs finally realizing that I was not as "with it" as I thought I was, he let me go free into the world of Scotland.
Tony and Kate helped me pick up my 120 lbs of luggage that I didn't need, and we finally drove our way into Edinburgh. On the wrong side of the road of course.
Please let these shenanigans be finished. I'm exhausted, and a little humiliated...
hold it hold it
Eahmmm.. Due to lack of direction and solid transitions, the blog story on my travels are currently on hold.
Oh, I've got plenty up my sleeve, but, you know, I'm no professional or anything. Gimmee some time.
Thanks for reading me.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Part V - The Secret Life of Gangsta' Day (and bees)
SLO (as San Luis Obispo is affectionately called by all the cool kids) being the town where all of God's favorite angels all live on Earth, has a swap meet every thursday morning and my new friends invited me to go along. We all rode our bikes there. A clan of about six or so of us peddled down the street to the swap meet and back. I was on a wanna-be mountain bike with messed up gears. I was peddling twice as fast and sweating twice as much as everyone else. Except for the fact that no one else was sweating at all, or peddling fast. And we were all going the same speed. I felt like a fool, but what better way to make yourself the center of attention, right? Besides, leisurely bike-riding is over-rated. It's 8am, and I apparently need my cardio.
I, however, being completely delusional on occasion, like to pretend that I did not look the silliest on my bike. Silly award goes to my new bee-keeper friend who had a huge extension on the back of his bike held up by two small wheels. It was a wooden flatbed for a bike on which he carried a box. Not just any box, but a box to catch bees of course.
A couple of days after the swap meet I saw him at a cafe in town where people were walking by and warning everyone of the giant swarm of bees nearby. I have never seen anything like it. Thousands of bees buzzing around a tree. The sound of them was overwhelming, and when my bee-keeper friend came outside to see, he was ECSTATIC.
"BEES!!!!!!!" He squeaked like a little girl, "I'M A BEE-KEEPER!!!"
He jumped up and down a couple of times (really), ran frantically towards the bees, and then ran frantically back to his bike to fetch his box. He walked into the swarm of bees carefully with his bright green hat that he must have gotten back in 1982 before he was born. When the bees attracted a crowd of people he proudly stood around telling them everything he knew about the life of bees. They were enthralled with the bees. I was enthralled with watching him.
Every day something exciting seemed to be going in in San Luis Obispo. Luckily we didn't need much money to participate because none of us at the hostel had any money. Laura, Jonny, Mike, Jarred, Emily, and I scraped around, dumpster-dived occasionally, and used the resources the Elaine provided us at the hostel to make silly things like dumpster-dived-doughnut-pancake-cake. We enjoyed the farmers market every thursday. We rode our bikes around town some.
The most entertaining of days by far was Gangsta' Day. For an entire week Jarred, Jonny, and Laura listened to the ever-talented Afro Man (...) because they had tickets to see him. Twenty four hours before the concert Gantsta' Day began. This involved plenty of marijuana, fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, hoola-hooping, and of course, watermelon. Jonny and Laura had a half-baked conversation about what would happen if they met Afro Man, and if Jonny would be the big spoon or the little spoon. Jonny wanted to be the little spoon. It's Afro Man! Of course!
If you don't smoke week, you probably shouldn't listen to Afro Man because I'm sure it will offend you greatly. Unless you're my sister, Julie. Then you'll probably find it hilarious, along with the movie Superbad.
As days came and went in San Luis Obispo and at the Hostel, motivation in me drained. Even in a great town, on the California coast, with incredibly friendly people I got very lonely. Sunny days made me want to be sick. I grew up in the midwest. Never in my life have I seen so many sickeningly sunny days. It was the same. every. day. There were never clouds. The temperature always stayed the same, and there was no freaking rain. Ever. I still don't understand how people live in such perfection every day. I'd like a cloudy day to suit a grey mood once in awhile. Thunderstorms are exciting, too. Apparently not in California, though. Everyone quickly became sick of me complaining of the sunny days.
I became a hermit in my room coming out rarely even for food. I wasn't interested in the art walks or farmers markets anymore. I started spending days alone in the bookstore with my nose in my journal, and in books. I eagerly counted down the days until Aaron, my soon-to-be boyfriend came to pick me up and take me out of California to be with him. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. And I was looking forward to going to Branson. I hope that says something about the despair I felt. Branson.
I wanted to sleep all day to escape from my emotionless state. And I surely didn't want to be around anyone for fear that my mood might rub off on someone.
This feeling was all too familiar in my travels. No matter where I go, no matter how wonderful it is, lonely feelings and a sad heart are sure to follow, allowing only a few weeks of fresh joy.
Why is such a horrible trend so deeply involved in something I love as much as traveling?
I, however, being completely delusional on occasion, like to pretend that I did not look the silliest on my bike. Silly award goes to my new bee-keeper friend who had a huge extension on the back of his bike held up by two small wheels. It was a wooden flatbed for a bike on which he carried a box. Not just any box, but a box to catch bees of course.
A couple of days after the swap meet I saw him at a cafe in town where people were walking by and warning everyone of the giant swarm of bees nearby. I have never seen anything like it. Thousands of bees buzzing around a tree. The sound of them was overwhelming, and when my bee-keeper friend came outside to see, he was ECSTATIC.
"BEES!!!!!!!" He squeaked like a little girl, "I'M A BEE-KEEPER!!!"
He jumped up and down a couple of times (really), ran frantically towards the bees, and then ran frantically back to his bike to fetch his box. He walked into the swarm of bees carefully with his bright green hat that he must have gotten back in 1982 before he was born. When the bees attracted a crowd of people he proudly stood around telling them everything he knew about the life of bees. They were enthralled with the bees. I was enthralled with watching him.
Every day something exciting seemed to be going in in San Luis Obispo. Luckily we didn't need much money to participate because none of us at the hostel had any money. Laura, Jonny, Mike, Jarred, Emily, and I scraped around, dumpster-dived occasionally, and used the resources the Elaine provided us at the hostel to make silly things like dumpster-dived-doughnut-pancake-cake. We enjoyed the farmers market every thursday. We rode our bikes around town some.
The most entertaining of days by far was Gangsta' Day. For an entire week Jarred, Jonny, and Laura listened to the ever-talented Afro Man (...) because they had tickets to see him. Twenty four hours before the concert Gantsta' Day began. This involved plenty of marijuana, fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, hoola-hooping, and of course, watermelon. Jonny and Laura had a half-baked conversation about what would happen if they met Afro Man, and if Jonny would be the big spoon or the little spoon. Jonny wanted to be the little spoon. It's Afro Man! Of course!
If you don't smoke week, you probably shouldn't listen to Afro Man because I'm sure it will offend you greatly. Unless you're my sister, Julie. Then you'll probably find it hilarious, along with the movie Superbad.
As days came and went in San Luis Obispo and at the Hostel, motivation in me drained. Even in a great town, on the California coast, with incredibly friendly people I got very lonely. Sunny days made me want to be sick. I grew up in the midwest. Never in my life have I seen so many sickeningly sunny days. It was the same. every. day. There were never clouds. The temperature always stayed the same, and there was no freaking rain. Ever. I still don't understand how people live in such perfection every day. I'd like a cloudy day to suit a grey mood once in awhile. Thunderstorms are exciting, too. Apparently not in California, though. Everyone quickly became sick of me complaining of the sunny days.
I became a hermit in my room coming out rarely even for food. I wasn't interested in the art walks or farmers markets anymore. I started spending days alone in the bookstore with my nose in my journal, and in books. I eagerly counted down the days until Aaron, my soon-to-be boyfriend came to pick me up and take me out of California to be with him. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. And I was looking forward to going to Branson. I hope that says something about the despair I felt. Branson.
I wanted to sleep all day to escape from my emotionless state. And I surely didn't want to be around anyone for fear that my mood might rub off on someone.
This feeling was all too familiar in my travels. No matter where I go, no matter how wonderful it is, lonely feelings and a sad heart are sure to follow, allowing only a few weeks of fresh joy.
Why is such a horrible trend so deeply involved in something I love as much as traveling?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Part IV - Mid-life Crisis Matt
This Mid-life Crisis Matt guy was texting me non-stop. I kept running into him at Sally Loo's (which I had no business being at since I had a mere $20 that I found in one of my old bank accounts).
There were times where he'd be so nice, buying me a coffee, or letting me have the other half of his sandwich (adventure sometimes doesn't allow you to eat much. Especially when that adventure starts out with no money), or offering to drive to the beach. I started getting hints from friends at the hostel that he was being potentially creepy.
Nawww. He's just having a mid-life crisis.
Actually, they weren't hints. They were blatant jokes of Matt being my sugar-less daddy. Well, perhaps, I thought.
After another day of running into Matt at Sally Loo's he mentioned to me that he used to travel around in his burnt orange 1986 Volkswagon Westfalia. Droool. He must have saw my mouth watering because he told me every detail about that thing. Everywhere he went, and what he did. He over-romanticized all of his adventures about how great it was to cook dinner on the mini-stove while driving across country, and then asked to borrow my computer so he could look on craigslist.
"What are you looking for?" I asked him.
"Westfalias. I want to buy one. I love those."
This was just after he got done telling me he was ignoring the calls from his doctors because he owes them more money than he has.
Sugar-less daddy.
Matt must have looked for a good half hour in-between looking up photos of Tilda Swinton convinced that I looked just like her; "so natural."
That didn't last long.
"I want a convertible. You know, one of those little two-seater Mazda's or something. Yeah! Let's look for one of those. We could get one pretty cheap."
Yeah, let's look for one of those. As if we were making a joint decision about what car Matt was going purchase to cure his mid-life crisis.
He continued to tell me about how his sex drive sky rocketed when he hit forty, and it seems that older women's sex drive drops dramatically. His girlfriend never wants to have sex with him, even when he begs. But now that he's experienced he's an excellent lover. Matt is handsome for a forty-two year-old but, come on. I did my best not to say anything while trying desperately not to make this feel any more awkward than it was.
Casey soon got off work at Sally Loo's (thank God) and we all went on a walk together. We're in California near the coast, needless to say there are plenty of Westfalias. On a daily basis I would probably pass up to ten of them walking around town while I stared googley-eyed with spit dripping down my chin. Soon Matt changed his mind again when we passed a seriously pimped out Westy parked on the street.
"Hey, do you have a piece of paper? I think if I offered them enough I could buy their Westy off of them."
Yeah, totally, it doesn't look like they use it or take care of it or anything. I ended up writing on about six Volkwagons that day, "I want to buy your Westy -Matt..." ending with his phone number. He never got any calls, but he never stopped dreaming either. I'd get texts from him asking me if I wanted to drive to Mexico with him in his Westy (that he didn't have), "friend not fling".
Friend, not fling. The sugar-less daddy comments proceeded, and then I fell out of touch with Matt for awhile. If I'd respond to his text messages I'd end up in a life-long conversation, so I just stopped and kept a safe distance from Sally Loo's.
I would run into Casey now and then and we'd chat, somehow ending the conversation with something about Matt and his mysterious non-existent girlfriend named Sarah.
"He's always in Sally Loo's, and I never, ever see her." Weird.
Something around two weeks of no contact with Mid-life Crisis Matt and I got another text message from him. He got his convertible, and he wants to come take me for a ride. I told him he could stop over at the hostel and show me. My fellow hostel friends kind of wanted to see what he was like after all of this. He did stop by. He came in and chatted for a bit, telling me about how fun it is riding along the shoreline in his little coupe, painting yet another over-romanticized picture of his life for me. But I never went on a ride. Just like I never went to Mexico.
He sold his Mazda just after I ended up leaving San Luis Obispo.
To this day I get text messages from him about how he broke up with Sarah because she's not adventurous enough for him, and how he wants to move to the Caribbean and go sailing. Just last month he told me he was buying a Westfalia and asked if I wanted to drive to Florida with him. His Westy deal fell through a couple of days after I declined the offer. I've got better things to do. He's got older women to chase.
I don't think I'll stop hearing from Mid-life Crisis Matt for awhile.
There were times where he'd be so nice, buying me a coffee, or letting me have the other half of his sandwich (adventure sometimes doesn't allow you to eat much. Especially when that adventure starts out with no money), or offering to drive to the beach. I started getting hints from friends at the hostel that he was being potentially creepy.
Nawww. He's just having a mid-life crisis.
Actually, they weren't hints. They were blatant jokes of Matt being my sugar-less daddy. Well, perhaps, I thought.
After another day of running into Matt at Sally Loo's he mentioned to me that he used to travel around in his burnt orange 1986 Volkswagon Westfalia. Droool. He must have saw my mouth watering because he told me every detail about that thing. Everywhere he went, and what he did. He over-romanticized all of his adventures about how great it was to cook dinner on the mini-stove while driving across country, and then asked to borrow my computer so he could look on craigslist.
"What are you looking for?" I asked him.
"Westfalias. I want to buy one. I love those."
This was just after he got done telling me he was ignoring the calls from his doctors because he owes them more money than he has.
Sugar-less daddy.
Matt must have looked for a good half hour in-between looking up photos of Tilda Swinton convinced that I looked just like her; "so natural."
That didn't last long.
"I want a convertible. You know, one of those little two-seater Mazda's or something. Yeah! Let's look for one of those. We could get one pretty cheap."
Yeah, let's look for one of those. As if we were making a joint decision about what car Matt was going purchase to cure his mid-life crisis.
He continued to tell me about how his sex drive sky rocketed when he hit forty, and it seems that older women's sex drive drops dramatically. His girlfriend never wants to have sex with him, even when he begs. But now that he's experienced he's an excellent lover. Matt is handsome for a forty-two year-old but, come on. I did my best not to say anything while trying desperately not to make this feel any more awkward than it was.
Casey soon got off work at Sally Loo's (thank God) and we all went on a walk together. We're in California near the coast, needless to say there are plenty of Westfalias. On a daily basis I would probably pass up to ten of them walking around town while I stared googley-eyed with spit dripping down my chin. Soon Matt changed his mind again when we passed a seriously pimped out Westy parked on the street.
"Hey, do you have a piece of paper? I think if I offered them enough I could buy their Westy off of them."
Yeah, totally, it doesn't look like they use it or take care of it or anything. I ended up writing on about six Volkwagons that day, "I want to buy your Westy -Matt..." ending with his phone number. He never got any calls, but he never stopped dreaming either. I'd get texts from him asking me if I wanted to drive to Mexico with him in his Westy (that he didn't have), "friend not fling".
Friend, not fling. The sugar-less daddy comments proceeded, and then I fell out of touch with Matt for awhile. If I'd respond to his text messages I'd end up in a life-long conversation, so I just stopped and kept a safe distance from Sally Loo's.
I would run into Casey now and then and we'd chat, somehow ending the conversation with something about Matt and his mysterious non-existent girlfriend named Sarah.
"He's always in Sally Loo's, and I never, ever see her." Weird.
Something around two weeks of no contact with Mid-life Crisis Matt and I got another text message from him. He got his convertible, and he wants to come take me for a ride. I told him he could stop over at the hostel and show me. My fellow hostel friends kind of wanted to see what he was like after all of this. He did stop by. He came in and chatted for a bit, telling me about how fun it is riding along the shoreline in his little coupe, painting yet another over-romanticized picture of his life for me. But I never went on a ride. Just like I never went to Mexico.
He sold his Mazda just after I ended up leaving San Luis Obispo.
To this day I get text messages from him about how he broke up with Sarah because she's not adventurous enough for him, and how he wants to move to the Caribbean and go sailing. Just last month he told me he was buying a Westfalia and asked if I wanted to drive to Florida with him. His Westy deal fell through a couple of days after I declined the offer. I've got better things to do. He's got older women to chase.
I don't think I'll stop hearing from Mid-life Crisis Matt for awhile.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Lisa's brain is still flat, but I'm in San Luis Obispo.
I woke up on Casey and Ai's couch in the morning with their cat snuggled between my butt and the back of the couch. Gross. Cats.
I didn't want to impose too much after the guys have been so great towards me, and once again, I'm met with a sense of urgency to find a place to sleep the next night- The seemingly endless cycle of the adventure hungry, and the car-less.
Hungry I am no more, but I can't freaking stop here! This is too much fun (I say that now, when I'm not in the middle of Fresno).
I didn't go back to Sally Loo's cafe for the fear of being mind-raped by Mid-life Crisis Matt. I went to Starbucks. I was getting my freaking money's worth for that stupid gift card I had to buy to get on their wifi. Plus, I used to work at Starbucks, and I know I can count on the people there being nice. They won't invite you over to sleep at their home or anything, but they'll occasionally upgrade your drink to a Venti for free. Free stuff is nice.
I didn't get free anything, but I did remember Matt mentioning that there was a hostel in town. In fact, he offered to pay for a night there for me since I didn't have any money. So yes, Matt is a nice guy. Fine.
Working in exchange for accommodation at a hostel was how this whole wanderlust business got started for me. I knew how to work this, and I've done it before plenty of times.
I'm not going to lie. I was liking this adventure, but I was exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Everywherely. My desire to make it up to San Francisco was fading fast, and I was beginning to like this town. After e mailing the owner of Hostel Obispo, she got back to me within twenty minutes and... San Francisco? What's in San Francisco. Nothing that I want.
_______
Dear Sarah,
I’m glad you like being in San Luis Obispo. What’s not to like? Especially on a day like today. We can actually use another pair of helping hands around here. I ask for 18 hours of work each week in exchange for a bed in the dorm. Some food is included — all the beans, rice, lentils and pancakes you can eat!
We have a really fun crew of young people working here now. From your profile I can tell you’ll fit right in and have instant friends. Tonight is the “Bike Happening” downtown after Farmers Market. At about 9:15 maybe 500 cyclists will meet at the Mission for a crazy critical mass-style ride around town. I’m going, are you????? Come to the hostel before it gets dark and talk to whomever is on duty. Tell them I sent you! Have them help you find a bike and we’ll all have crazy fun.
I’m off to a day of lunch and movies with girlfriends, but I should be back around 7 pm. Feel free to come by and meet everyone earlier if you feel like it.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Elaine
I’m glad you like being in San Luis Obispo. What’s not to like? Especially on a day like today. We can actually use another pair of helping hands around here. I ask for 18 hours of work each week in exchange for a bed in the dorm. Some food is included — all the beans, rice, lentils and pancakes you can eat!
We have a really fun crew of young people working here now. From your profile I can tell you’ll fit right in and have instant friends. Tonight is the “Bike Happening” downtown after Farmers Market. At about 9:15 maybe 500 cyclists will meet at the Mission for a crazy critical mass-style ride around town. I’m going, are you????? Come to the hostel before it gets dark and talk to whomever is on duty. Tell them I sent you! Have them help you find a bike and we’ll all have crazy fun.
I’m off to a day of lunch and movies with girlfriends, but I should be back around 7 pm. Feel free to come by and meet everyone earlier if you feel like it.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Elaine
_____
Heck Yeah. What's not to like? It was even better once I got there. This place is like Grandma's cozy house. Wood floors. A fireplace, piano, a kitchen. Oh yes, a kitchen. When I showed up there two of my new co-workers were making home-made pretzels (I soon came to find out that almost everything we'd eat was home made. I'm talkin' really home made).
After I settled in to my temporary space, met the friends, and the hostel dog, I explored the nightlife of San Luis Obispo. The Thursday nightlife. Thursday nights mean farmers market, and probably the best one on the West Coast. The town shut the entire street down for music and farmer's goodies, and even though I had been in this town just over a day, I was running into people I knew all over the place. So comforting, albeit, a bit twilight zone-ish.
That night in the hostel I slept better than I've slept in weeks. Good thing, too, because the next day I had to start working. I've worked at hostels before. It's not hard work, but it can be draining work sometimes. After washing the fiftieth load of sheets, and making the 100th bed somehow motivation gets lost.
This hostel job was nothing like that. Nothing. When I woke up at 7:30am to start work I was getting ready to be trained on how to make sourdough pancakes, feed the sourdough starter, and answer the phone. When the hostel guests woke up I got to sit down and chat with them over pancakes about their travels all cozy in our pajamas inside grandma's house. This was not like any other hostel I've worked at.
Of course, I did have to do cleaning, but the old victorian house was small enough to where the cleaning was a one-man job, and when it was my turn I put my headphones on and danced my way through the house. I sang outside when I hung the laundry below the palm trees in the back yard, and when I was done I picked oranges off the tree next door to eat with my lunch.
San Francisco Shman Francisco.
After I stuffed myself with pancakes on my first official day living at Hostel Obispo I decided to walk back to Sally Loo's and see if any of my friends from the other day were there. I was a block away when I heard a car horn honking at me, and a white SUV pulled over. It was Matt and Casey. I was on the phone, so I didn't have time to ask questions; I just jumped in, no idea where we were headed.
As it turns out, Matt took us all to Avila Beach where we walked along the shoreline getting to know each other more. I'm still not certain it was a good idea to get in with Matt driving, all "trippy" and drugged, but I already rode across country with Lisa. Nothing, I tell you, nothing could be that bad.
If my days in San Luis Obispo keep getting better like this, I don't think I'll ever leave...
This hostel job was nothing like that. Nothing. When I woke up at 7:30am to start work I was getting ready to be trained on how to make sourdough pancakes, feed the sourdough starter, and answer the phone. When the hostel guests woke up I got to sit down and chat with them over pancakes about their travels all cozy in our pajamas inside grandma's house. This was not like any other hostel I've worked at.
Of course, I did have to do cleaning, but the old victorian house was small enough to where the cleaning was a one-man job, and when it was my turn I put my headphones on and danced my way through the house. I sang outside when I hung the laundry below the palm trees in the back yard, and when I was done I picked oranges off the tree next door to eat with my lunch.
San Francisco Shman Francisco.
After I stuffed myself with pancakes on my first official day living at Hostel Obispo I decided to walk back to Sally Loo's and see if any of my friends from the other day were there. I was a block away when I heard a car horn honking at me, and a white SUV pulled over. It was Matt and Casey. I was on the phone, so I didn't have time to ask questions; I just jumped in, no idea where we were headed.
As it turns out, Matt took us all to Avila Beach where we walked along the shoreline getting to know each other more. I'm still not certain it was a good idea to get in with Matt driving, all "trippy" and drugged, but I already rode across country with Lisa. Nothing, I tell you, nothing could be that bad.
If my days in San Luis Obispo keep getting better like this, I don't think I'll ever leave...
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The world is round, Lisa's brain is flat - Part II
"Duck, duck, duck.... GOOSE!" A man with fake legs, who intelligently sat in the back of the bus, slowly made his way forward patting everyone on the head, and choosing me to be the goose on his way to talk to the bus driver.
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to whiwe I'm dwiwing! Gor sit dowrn! Gor arway!"
"I need you to go fast. I have a doctors appointment that I can't miss. We need to get there faster. I cant miss my doctors appointment!"
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to me!"
The majority of my three and a half hour bus ride through the Sierra Nevada consisted of a huge bickerment between Hippy Dippy No-legs and Happy Polynesian Bus Driver.
"Fuck you! I want to be dropped off. I'll get a taxi. This is stupid. I need to get to my doctor, asshole."
For a minute, I didn't blame Hippy Dippy. When has Amtrak EVER been on time? When can anyone EVER count on Amtrak leaving when they're scheduled to, or not making an unannounced twenty minute pit stop in the middle of nowhere for some unknown reason.
They're probably delivering drugs or something. I'm convinced.
Besides, Hippy Dippy can't drive himself! He has no legs!
But I do blame Hippy Dippy. If he would just sit dowrn there could be some siwence, and I could crowse my eyes and srweep. If I can't close my eyes and sleep I swear I'm going to vomit on these electric blue seats.
But I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't vomit. I'm certain the seats were firmly stuffed with cardboard, and not cotton. Perhaps they were stuffed with cardboard containing the drugs for their next unannounced pit stop. Probably.
I wanted so badly to get off of this bus, but arriving closer to San Wuis Obispowr I started to second guess that desire. It was raining outside, and It was getting chillier, and I had nowhere to go.
This is NOT what the coast of California is supposed to feel like.
I was greeted off the bus by Happy Polynesian Bus Driver who was apparently missing some teeth (too many drugs?), and I was blanketed in a cold, wet rain, making my already-heavy pack on my back even heavier.
I had everything I owned on my back. I had a tambourine and a banjolele hanging from it. I had hiking shoes and climbing shoes tied to it. I had crafty things shoved inside, and a sleeping bag and sleeping pad strapped to the bottom. All the clothes I might need for cold or hot weather were nearly vacuum-packed inside to fit. That that was just on my back. On the front of me was my other backpack. It had my ancient computer in it, and probably some more things I didn't need.
Walking was tough.
Walking in the rain was miserable.
I had to get that out of my mind and focus on finding free wifi at a cafe. I had a couple dollars left, and coffee sounded like therapy for my entire life at that point. I needed coffee, and I needed to get back on couchsurfing so I didnt have to sleep outside in the rain.
I'm convinced the heavens above sent down Sally Loo's cafe, and filled the inside with angels. That cafe was the first thing I saw when I got out of the Amtrak station, and they even had free wifi.
Greeting the Sally Loo was more than a little awkward, though. Everyone inside were cool costal hipsters. They were comfortable, they were probably drinking organic herbal tea, and they simultaneously took a quick break from writing their papers so they could all look up and stare at me when I walked in.
It felt like chaos outside in the rain carry 75lbs of my life. I swung that door open so hard, and stepped in sopping wet with a huge (loud) sigh of relief, then found myself looking up at the quiet hipsters staring at me wide-eyed.
Quickly they went back to business, and quickly I waddled over to the corner. I could barely fit through the doorway. My stuff was sprawled out all over the floor while I was searching for my computer cord which doubled as my life-line at this point.
I didn't even get my computer turned on yet and I was being surrounded.
"I see climbing shoes. Do you climb?"
"Hey, where are you from?"
"Wow, that's a lot of stuff."
"You're coming from the Amtrak station, aren't you?"
Now I was the one staring wide-eyed. The owner (who I didn't know was the owner at the time) even came up to me to make sure I had a place to sit and could get on the internet.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes. I'm trying to find a place to sleep tonight. I don't really know anyone here, and I just need to get one the computer to find a couchsurfer."
They would not stop talking to me, and I needed to find a place to stay before it got dark. I was getting really annoyed with Matt, especially.
Matt was in his mid-forties. Apparently he was a climber in his day, because he insisted on interrupting everything I said, and did with a question or remark about climbing, often responding to me with, "trippy".
"Where do you climb?" He inches forward in his seat.
"Are you here to climb?" He moves to a closer seat.
"You know, there's a good gym around here. I used to climb a lot, until I got injured." He moves to the seat next to me, pulls out is puppy-dog eyes, and pulled up his shirt to show me the hard brace enveloping his entire torso. Bike accident. Four months ago.
Oh. My. Gosh. These people don't understand the urgency of my time right now. Shut up. All of you. But, of course, I'm a people pleaser and it's incredibly hard for me to show my bad-to-the-bone self sometimes, so I begrudgingly smiled, and gave him his much needed sympathy.
"I'm a really active person. I climbed with a lot of big climbers. But now I can't do much for myself. I met my girlfriend in the hospital during therapy. She helps me bath and take care of myself, now, until I can start doing more things for myself again. Why don't I give her a text and see if she knows of anywhere you can stay?"
Now we're talking. Let's make use of this conversation time.
"You're name's Sarah! That's my girlfriend's name!"
This fact will soon become strange.
Finally the people at the cafe team up in an effort to find me somewhere to sleep. Matt has all sorts of ideas for me, and he's networking for me in between his pathetic, and obvious need for me to give him sympathy.
I was kind of relieved when Matt got up to get a re-fill on his coffee. I wasn't sure if his networking was going to amount to anything with him being on all kinds of medications. He didn't mention medications, but he didn't need to. He was "trippy, man".
Matt returned too quickly.
"Hey, you should go up to the counter and talk to Casey. I just was telling him about you and he said you could sleep at his place tonight. He works here."
What? Huh? Really? What? Was it that easy? Matt? My new best friend, Matt? Really?
Of course I was still a bit weirded out. Hey, go talk to this guy you don't know because I, a guy you also don't know, was talking about you, and you can sleep at guy-you-don't-know's place. But being desperate for adventure will make you do crazy things, like jumping in a car with a psychotic woman, or sleep at a strangers house. No one can be as bad as Lisa, though, so sleeping at Casey's can't be all bad. And I got up to talk to him.
Uh, which one is Casey? There's so many people here. This is really awkward. What if he never really said that to Matt? Matt's tripping. Oh gosh.
I asked with a shaky voice, "Um, Hi. I'm looking for Casey. Matt over there, he said that..."
"Hey, you're Sarah! Nice to meet you. Here's my address," he wrote it down for me on the back of receipt paper, "My house is three houses down from here. No one is home, but it's not locked. Feel free to hang out there. I get off work at five."
It has been so long since I've been given the privilege of talking with down-to-earth people. Casey was my breath of fresh San Luis Obispo air. For the first time in awhile I felt really comfortable. Someone who trusts me enough to go into his house without him there must be a trustworthy person himself. Which he was.
I found Casey's house and finally got to rid myself of my 75lb soaking wet life, and explore now-sunny San Luis Obispo. So far, this place is freaking awesome...
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to whiwe I'm dwiwing! Gor sit dowrn! Gor arway!"
"I need you to go fast. I have a doctors appointment that I can't miss. We need to get there faster. I cant miss my doctors appointment!"
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to me!"
The majority of my three and a half hour bus ride through the Sierra Nevada consisted of a huge bickerment between Hippy Dippy No-legs and Happy Polynesian Bus Driver.
"Fuck you! I want to be dropped off. I'll get a taxi. This is stupid. I need to get to my doctor, asshole."
For a minute, I didn't blame Hippy Dippy. When has Amtrak EVER been on time? When can anyone EVER count on Amtrak leaving when they're scheduled to, or not making an unannounced twenty minute pit stop in the middle of nowhere for some unknown reason.
They're probably delivering drugs or something. I'm convinced.
Besides, Hippy Dippy can't drive himself! He has no legs!
But I do blame Hippy Dippy. If he would just sit dowrn there could be some siwence, and I could crowse my eyes and srweep. If I can't close my eyes and sleep I swear I'm going to vomit on these electric blue seats.
But I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't vomit. I'm certain the seats were firmly stuffed with cardboard, and not cotton. Perhaps they were stuffed with cardboard containing the drugs for their next unannounced pit stop. Probably.
I wanted so badly to get off of this bus, but arriving closer to San Wuis Obispowr I started to second guess that desire. It was raining outside, and It was getting chillier, and I had nowhere to go.
This is NOT what the coast of California is supposed to feel like.
I was greeted off the bus by Happy Polynesian Bus Driver who was apparently missing some teeth (too many drugs?), and I was blanketed in a cold, wet rain, making my already-heavy pack on my back even heavier.
I had everything I owned on my back. I had a tambourine and a banjolele hanging from it. I had hiking shoes and climbing shoes tied to it. I had crafty things shoved inside, and a sleeping bag and sleeping pad strapped to the bottom. All the clothes I might need for cold or hot weather were nearly vacuum-packed inside to fit. That that was just on my back. On the front of me was my other backpack. It had my ancient computer in it, and probably some more things I didn't need.
Walking was tough.
Walking in the rain was miserable.
I had to get that out of my mind and focus on finding free wifi at a cafe. I had a couple dollars left, and coffee sounded like therapy for my entire life at that point. I needed coffee, and I needed to get back on couchsurfing so I didnt have to sleep outside in the rain.
I'm convinced the heavens above sent down Sally Loo's cafe, and filled the inside with angels. That cafe was the first thing I saw when I got out of the Amtrak station, and they even had free wifi.
Greeting the Sally Loo was more than a little awkward, though. Everyone inside were cool costal hipsters. They were comfortable, they were probably drinking organic herbal tea, and they simultaneously took a quick break from writing their papers so they could all look up and stare at me when I walked in.
It felt like chaos outside in the rain carry 75lbs of my life. I swung that door open so hard, and stepped in sopping wet with a huge (loud) sigh of relief, then found myself looking up at the quiet hipsters staring at me wide-eyed.
Quickly they went back to business, and quickly I waddled over to the corner. I could barely fit through the doorway. My stuff was sprawled out all over the floor while I was searching for my computer cord which doubled as my life-line at this point.
I didn't even get my computer turned on yet and I was being surrounded.
"I see climbing shoes. Do you climb?"
"Hey, where are you from?"
"Wow, that's a lot of stuff."
"You're coming from the Amtrak station, aren't you?"
Now I was the one staring wide-eyed. The owner (who I didn't know was the owner at the time) even came up to me to make sure I had a place to sit and could get on the internet.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes. I'm trying to find a place to sleep tonight. I don't really know anyone here, and I just need to get one the computer to find a couchsurfer."
They would not stop talking to me, and I needed to find a place to stay before it got dark. I was getting really annoyed with Matt, especially.
Matt was in his mid-forties. Apparently he was a climber in his day, because he insisted on interrupting everything I said, and did with a question or remark about climbing, often responding to me with, "trippy".
"Where do you climb?" He inches forward in his seat.
"Are you here to climb?" He moves to a closer seat.
"You know, there's a good gym around here. I used to climb a lot, until I got injured." He moves to the seat next to me, pulls out is puppy-dog eyes, and pulled up his shirt to show me the hard brace enveloping his entire torso. Bike accident. Four months ago.
Oh. My. Gosh. These people don't understand the urgency of my time right now. Shut up. All of you. But, of course, I'm a people pleaser and it's incredibly hard for me to show my bad-to-the-bone self sometimes, so I begrudgingly smiled, and gave him his much needed sympathy.
"I'm a really active person. I climbed with a lot of big climbers. But now I can't do much for myself. I met my girlfriend in the hospital during therapy. She helps me bath and take care of myself, now, until I can start doing more things for myself again. Why don't I give her a text and see if she knows of anywhere you can stay?"
Now we're talking. Let's make use of this conversation time.
"You're name's Sarah! That's my girlfriend's name!"
This fact will soon become strange.
Finally the people at the cafe team up in an effort to find me somewhere to sleep. Matt has all sorts of ideas for me, and he's networking for me in between his pathetic, and obvious need for me to give him sympathy.
I was kind of relieved when Matt got up to get a re-fill on his coffee. I wasn't sure if his networking was going to amount to anything with him being on all kinds of medications. He didn't mention medications, but he didn't need to. He was "trippy, man".
Matt returned too quickly.
"Hey, you should go up to the counter and talk to Casey. I just was telling him about you and he said you could sleep at his place tonight. He works here."
What? Huh? Really? What? Was it that easy? Matt? My new best friend, Matt? Really?
Of course I was still a bit weirded out. Hey, go talk to this guy you don't know because I, a guy you also don't know, was talking about you, and you can sleep at guy-you-don't-know's place. But being desperate for adventure will make you do crazy things, like jumping in a car with a psychotic woman, or sleep at a strangers house. No one can be as bad as Lisa, though, so sleeping at Casey's can't be all bad. And I got up to talk to him.
Uh, which one is Casey? There's so many people here. This is really awkward. What if he never really said that to Matt? Matt's tripping. Oh gosh.
I asked with a shaky voice, "Um, Hi. I'm looking for Casey. Matt over there, he said that..."
"Hey, you're Sarah! Nice to meet you. Here's my address," he wrote it down for me on the back of receipt paper, "My house is three houses down from here. No one is home, but it's not locked. Feel free to hang out there. I get off work at five."
It has been so long since I've been given the privilege of talking with down-to-earth people. Casey was my breath of fresh San Luis Obispo air. For the first time in awhile I felt really comfortable. Someone who trusts me enough to go into his house without him there must be a trustworthy person himself. Which he was.
I found Casey's house and finally got to rid myself of my 75lb soaking wet life, and explore now-sunny San Luis Obispo. So far, this place is freaking awesome...
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