My complicated relationship with hair

“Where in god’s sake is this going?” You’re probably asking. Well let me assure you, I have plenty of things to say about hair of the human-grown variety. I could probably write a dissertation on this topic in fact, but for brevity’s sake, I’m going to limit this discussion to three topics and a couple video clips.

Firstly, if you know me personally then you probably know I’m a little grossed out by hair. Specifically, hair that is detached from the body; free-floating, mystery hairs rolling like little tumbleweeds across the bathroom floor and lurking like devious swamp creatures in drains.

Some people can’t handle feet, or mice, or bugs. For me, it’s hair. I’d like to say this is not a phobia since it’s not an irrational fear, however I’m having trouble explaining the exact nature of my revulsion.

It probably began when my dad would make me pull slimy, wet tendrils of months-old, half-decomposed hair out of the bathtub drain whenever it would stop up. This induced immediate dry heaving and “heebie jeebies.”

Regardless, I go to great lengths to avoid touching off-the-body hair. I think Seinfeld explains it well:

Watch Seinfeld stand up clip on YouTube

Funky, old shower hair aside, there’s the matter of hair that’s still attached and growing on our head. Head hair is very weird. We are the only mammal that continually grows hair and while it does go through growth cycles and other animals are constantly replacing fur, our hair can grow to any length we desire virtually forever. There’s no “stop growing now” mechanism like the hair on the rest of our body (unless, of course, you’re bald. But again, animals don’t go bald). So naturally, we’ve developed some pretty odd rituals and associations with our hair.

For one thing, a woman’s hair is very sexual. In our modern day culture, this association has become more internalized and we’re not always aware of the implications of, say, long, flowing hair. However, there are entire cultures that cover their hair once they become adults. And long ago, only maidens (unwed, virginal women) wore their hair exposed. It also came to represent a sort of promiscuity to reveal long hair.

Nowadays, women of any age and marital status wear their hair long and exposed without a second thought. However, living in the sexually hyped-up society that we do, I’d make the argument that the long tresses so trendy today are yet another way of sexualizing women to an absurd degree. Yes, I know this may seem like a bit of a leap, but think about it next time you watch TV or read a magazine. What kind of women are portrayed with long hair versus hair that’s short or pulled back in some way? Why are they portrayed that way?

“But you have long hair!” You’re probably screaming. Yes, and I wear it very proudly. When thinking of my hair, I often feel like Samson; as if the source of my power emanates from strands growing out the top of my head. I go through phases of long and short hair and the determining factors tend to be how annoyed I am with maintaining long hair versus frequent haircuts as well as what image I’m trying to portray.

Do I want to be feminine or tough? Edgy or beautiful? Sexual or conservative? At the moment, my long hair makes me feel pretty and rather sexy, and I believe that’s the signal it sends as well; appropriate given my desire to attract a mate. Not-so-coincidentally, most men I’ve spoken with prefer long hair, probably for the reasons I’ve just outlined.

So as you can see, my relationship with hair is rather complex. Psychoanalysis, anyone? I’ll leave you with this:

Watch clip from the musical Hair on YouTube

Memories in the attic

When I was back home last Christmas, I climbed up into my parents’ attic to look through boxes of my old stuff. I found some cute things, some sad things, and inexplicably several pairs of terribly outdated shoes. But I also found a pseudo journal I would write in whenever I felt confused, sad or just the need to wallow in self-pity. As it happens, I did this quite often in my angsty teenaged years.

The last entry into this journal, however, struck a chord. The essence of the entry was my trepidation in leaving my home for San Francisco. At the time I scratched out my fears and questions into the little book, I hadn’t officially decided to make the move, though the idea had been on my mind for years.

It’s interesting how we respond to opportunity and change. Sometimes we embrace it, other times (most times?) we shy away out of fear. This has been a recurring theme in my life; to change or to stay the course?

Looking back, I can remember well the worries that kept me awake at night the months before I packed all my belongings into my little car and took off. After all, I had spent 16 years of my life in Nashville. I had friends, family, job opportunities, connections and familiarity. It was home. San Francisco represented the things I wanted out of life, but being the pragmatic person I am, I also realized there was no guarantee of success or happiness there. It was just an idea, a fantasy, an escape.

I suppose exploring new opportunities is scary not just because failure always lurks behind the corner, but because there’s also the possibility of ruining the fantasy, of realizing your goals are unattainable. To me, this is heart-breakingly terrifying. Enough to keep me from trying, even, for fear of losing my most precious dreams. How do you tell the little girl giving fake interviews to the mirror that her dreams may fail? Well if you’re me, you just keep living in that fantasy without ever trying to make them reality.

Yes, I realize this sounds terribly wishy-washy, but I know I’m not alone in these fears. Familiarity is comforting and most people prefer to be comfortable. Change is the great unknown and that’s scary. But ultimately, the what-ifs can keep you from pursuing goals, experiences and, well, life.

These were questions my 22-year-old self wrestled with and - very bravely - I decided to take the plunge and move to an unfamiliar city where I had no friends, no housing, and no career opportunities. I’m still proud of myself for taking that step, especially since I don’t feel I have embraced too many other big changes since then.

Sure, I’ve taken little steps here and there, but I keep shying away from opportunities, even really promising ones. I think I need to take a cue from my younger self and just close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let come what may.

If you’re interested in reading what 2008 me had to say about my big move, feel free to explore the older posts. But be kind - 2013 me owes her a lot.

Welcome to my blog V2.0

Hello, and welcome to version 2.0 of my blog. As you may surmise, this is my second attempt at keeping up with a regular blog, however the objective is quite different this time around. Let me give you an unnecessary amount of detail as briefly as possible...

As you probably know, I write. I do this for fun, for profit, and ultimately to become a world-renowned, noteworthy and awe-inspiring author. Clearly, keeping a blog is the best way to achieve these goals.

Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. However, I believe it is important to create an online footprint and persona to highlight my awe-inspiring talents. So that’s one thing.

Next, I find I have these little conversations in my head most days and I often think, “Gee, I wish someone could hear these downright profound thoughts, comment and leave feedback to affirm my awe-inspiring talent and possibly stroke my ego.” It’s like that saying: if a tree falls in the woods, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? (oh, she’s lofty indeed!)

But seriously, I would like to refine my personal voice. When tackling matters of the heart or intellect, I tend to write in a journalistic, objective style. Given my background and training, this makes sense. But given my above-stated objective, less so. So my intent is to tell stories and issue opinions in an captivating, unique, and at times humorous way. And practice is really the best way to hone this skill, methinks. Not to mention developing a regular habit of writing is kind of essential and something heretofore I’ve been very poor at maintaining.

With that said, I’d like to entertain you, dear reader, but I’d also love your feedback. If you think my opinions faulty and thoughts silly, well, that’s fine (you’re not alone), but I’d really love to hear what you think of my writing.

Yeah, I think this feels pretty good. I’ve got my writing shoes on, I’m doing some mental stretches, I’m ready to take off. Let’s see where this goes!

My neighborhood...

City of the Dead

Twisted concrete forms with rusting spines
Jutting from the crumbling rock
Past industry rubbed raw in 50 years of salty air
Relics painted by the hands of youth

Broken testaments to loved ones lost
Forgotten names stolen by the sea
Life spans swept away in the waves
Now a graveyard to black waterfowl
Feathered necks slither lifeless through the stones

Painful creaking of octogenarians
Submissive to the force of an invisible foe
Where no cypress should be they grow still
Beaten down by relentless wind

Padded paws traipse overgrown steps
Concrete stages set for acts of war
Ghostly hollows of unused cannons
Marching regiments descend into the earth
Reclaimed by gnarled roots and spongy soil

Above murky depths clouds kiss the mount
Dense fog the only shroud for nameless souls
Foreign bones rest obscure beneath 18 holes
Glistening legion of recreation and eternal art

Black grids lead down cream-colored rows
Cultures tucked quietly behind locked gates
Jovial echos of chutes and road houses
Playgrounds drowned by march of days


Outer Lands once sandy bosom of the dead
Undulating dunes leveled and paved
Giving way to Thai Palaces and Golden Rivers
Where cold flesh burned now children swim
Memories fade with withering mourners


Lonely symbol perched in reverence
Tumbling down the quaking slope
Replaced by learning to reign on high
Monuments polished but disguised
The past decays with salt and wind

My everyday

I wanna talk about my job. No no, not Buca. While this was my home for nearly five years, I was finally able to pull away and find use for my degree. Journalism? No. But interesting nonetheless. I work as a personal assistant/office administrator for Dr. Brenda Wade (docwade.com). This basically means I have two jobs: juggling clients, invoices and budget with writing media pitches, arranging travel and buying shoes.

This is basically what I do... just wish I had those clothes!

I'm inclined to relate my job to The Devil Wears Prada. I'm that wide-eyed, new grad, wanna-be journalist living in the big city and looking for my break, as it were. What I end up doing is running all sorts of crazy errands and doing secretarial-like work for a celebrity psychologist. How does this happen? Well, I found the journalism industry to be disillusioning and a job therein seemingly unattainable (but I'm now wondering if it were just lack of effort on my part?). Anyhow, the ad was posted on Craigslist and I answered. Frankly, I was sick and tired of the restaurant industry and ready for something 9-5 and steady. Well I found it! And learning this job (which I'm still in the process of 3 months into it) has been dizzying. Names to recognize, schedules to juggle, last-minute plans, a whole new industry to understand (new-age, holistic psychology)... Well, Dr. Brenda, unlike Meranda the "Dragon Queen" is a compassionate, friendly and loving person. I'm blown away everyday by her capacity to move at a 1,000 miles a minute while still remaining gracious and calm. Unlike that silly movie, if Brenda were to tell me I reminded her of herself, I would be flatter beyond words. Who wouldn't appreciate being compared to a strong, successful business woman? That movie totally missed the mark. Women should be encouraged to succeed, not hold back for the sake of friends or men. Grrr...


Anyhow, this job is interesting and full of possibilities and connections (I might go to India with Brenda next winter!), but not without it's faults. I find myself sitting behind an unmanageably cluttered desk with a to-do list seven miles long and a coworker that constantly criticizes everything I do (not Brenda). But sweet and sour, right? My pay is consistent though not terribly high, the hours are amazing and I get a parking space. More to come, of course!

Shocking SF

Well I’ve been here long enough to get a good taste of local flavors, if you will. But be advised: I am going to give an objective account of the things I have experienced in this city and it is not for the faint of heart or easily offended! For you see, San Francisco seems to have a plethora of raunchy, offensive goings-on.

Cocaine. Yeah, it’s pretty abundant and readily available here. What about marijuana, you ask? Well that’s nothing! Just down the street from Buca di Beppo is a clinic licensed to distribute pot for medical purposes. You can tell that’s what it is because of the sign sporting a large pot leaf out front. So since San Franciscans have accepted the pseudo-legality of the drug and pass it off as nothing more than a harmless recreation (but don’t most people anyways?), they’ve vested their amusements into something much more stimulating. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if there was no cocaine in Nashville, I just never had to wait outside the bathroom while someone was doing lines inside. But then maybe I’m just an innocent... Point being, everyone does it, everyone loves, and it keeps this city raving.



Well we all know SF is gay-capital of America. No surprise there. But have you ever heard of Folsom Street Fair? This magical days occurs in October and celebrates all that is bondage with a public parade and nonchalant displays. By that I mean sex in the street. I know, sounds unbelievable, right? Well ... let me just say you don’t want me to go into detail. But I suppose this ties nicely into the fun little fact that at nearly every festival or fair, there are always naked people. I don’t know how they get away with this, but there they are, pink, fleshy and exposed for all the word to witness.



Another fact of city life are all the crazies and homeless people (usually but not always one in the same). You may think that last paragraph explained those types already, but you’d be wrong. Those were just recreational nudists and exhibitionists. These are guys different. They stand on corners shouting or mumbling, the only coherent words being vulgarities. While they sound hostile, they seem altogether harmless, simply loose a screw and with/without a stimulant. Others more or less ignore them, pausing their conversations just long enough to sidestep the sad heap of humanity. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be many of this lot in my neighborhood. A bit too cold I think.

Shocking as this may (or may not) sound, let me add one very important observation: since I've been here, I have not witnessed a single act of dangerous crime. I have never even felt in danger or ill-at-ease, mostly because I avoid the sketchy areas of town and don't wander about alone a night. But also because most people are normal folks, trying to be safe and sane.

Star Wars

A long time ago in a galaxy far away... yeah! So as prolific as it is, I somehow managed to remain uninterested in the Star Wars series and never even got around to seeing Ep. 2 or 3 of the new ones. Well, one day not unlike many I've come to know living with my new roommate Brandon, he takes it upon himself to give me all the information I never wanted to know about the series. And ya know what? I was interested. So much to his delight, we spend a week watching and discussing the first three (and I only fell asleep during two of them!). All and all, I must say, I really enjoyed watching the films with an "expert" and having all the holes filled in. Apparently, George Lucas had all this subtext to the script that wasn't really relevant other than just as a method to explain the Star Wars universe to the actors and himself. Well all these fun little facts leaked out and are still spread to this day by people like my roommate. For instance, did you know Chewbaca hangs around Han all the time b/c Han (accidentally) saved his life and according to Wookie code, Chewy is now forever indebted to him? Yeah, I didn't either, but now that I do, the trilogy is so much more interesting!


Well, naturally, I then wanted to know what the new movies were all about. Come on, who doesn't want to see the "birth" of Darth Vader? Sooo... I got myself signed up for Blockbuster and rented the three new movies for the following week. And we watched them. Wow. I shall now give you my unsolicited and newly educated opinion.

First off, the first three movies were such a success and still great movies to this day b/c 1. they followed an age-old and highly effective story line and 2. the characters were all loveable and, according to the formula, interacted beautifully together. GL, as a young, passionate and highly devoted director, knew what he was doing! Thus, he created a modern cultural icon of sorts. He always knew he wanted to make the first three, it's just a shame he waited until he was ridiculously successful and rich to do so. You see, instead of dedicating himself heart and soul to creating a great story, he just threw a ton of money (I think $500 mill for Ep. 1?) to a bunch of computer geeks and Star Wars nerds. And what did he come up with? Shallow characters, an overly-complicated plot with too many holes, and lots of tiresome graphics, fight scenes and explosions.

So I know he helped write the script, but it's like he was more focused on explaining this whole Republic vs. the Empire stuff than exploring the characters. But wait, what made the first movies so great? Tried and true plot: good-guy rebels vs. evil empire (Homer's Iliad), powerful son battling father/origins (Oedipus), love story (no explanation required), etc. And of course the characters--loveable rogue, strong princess, a mysterious warrior of unmatched skill, comedic sidekicks... I mean, it sounds like the same old thing, but you see how well it works? There are certain patterns of story-telling one should really take to heart. So I guess what I expected the new movies to do was explain how Darth Vader became evil, why Leia and Luke never knew their origins, where all the Jedi went, how Palpatine became so powerful, am I right? Secondary is how the empire came to be. We like characters in our stories because we can relate to them and, if they're interesting and well-rounded enough, fall in love with them. I guess they forgot that with these movies!

If you've ever seen them, perhaps you noticed all the political talk, the endless battle scenes and crazy planets and creatures in the new movies? Maybe you also noticed how horribly shallow all the characters seemed to be? Whoops! Here's what I hated the most... Anakin comes off more like a whiney brat than the imposing, powerful Sith lord he becomes. And he only seems like a good Jedi when compared to crappy Obi Wan. And worst of all, rather than letting the audience watch the movie and figure it out, they keep telling us stuff like, "But I’m the most powerful Jedi ever!" and "I killed them all!" or "I'm going to rule the universe!" I mean, how dumb do they think we are?


What’s more, if I want complicated, nonsensical, unexplained politics, I’ll just listen to the news! I’m watching these movies because I want to know (and love) the characters and frankly, I want to suspend my disbelief and be entertained. Why are they making me think so hard for a movie that has no relevance other than it’s entertainment value? See, they do that and then I start to ask questions like, who is this dead Jedi that built the clone army? Why did he do it? Where did the money come from? Why do the people who built the army so readily give it up when stupid Obi Wan apparently has no idea they even existed? Or how about the Trade Federation? Who are they and why do they enlist the help of the evil Sith Lord in the first place? Who’s General Grevas? How come no one seems to care that Anakin and Padme shacked up together? How are the Jedi so influential when the first movies lead us to believe it was some ancient, outdated religion? GL didn’t leave us any notes to answer that! (And what’s with all the chopping off of the hands/arms? Anyone else notice that’s like the #1 Jedi trick?)

Apparently, this is the kind of entertainment you get when you have a budget close to the GDP of a 3rd world country! So the point of all this? I really REALLY like Darth Vader. I just wish they would have developed him better cause he is so freakin’ cool and Anakin just doesn’t do him justice. But the last 10 mins of Return of the Sith are the best of the whole series, am I right?

San Francisco...

Did you read the last post? Well, try to imagine the opposite. CHAOS! STRESS! DISORDER! No, actually, it was fine at first. Let me explain...

I found a place in the Inner Richmond (which was the neighborhood I had my sights on for nearly a year) right on 8th & Anza. It was spacious, nicely maintained, beautifully decorated, and on a quiet street. My first roommate was a manager of a restaurant downtown, my age, very relaxed and hardly ever home. In fact, the place almost felt more like a hotel at times. Gayle, Clay and Alana were kind enough to help me haul furniture up three flights of stairs. Unfortunately, the previous roommate put in her 2 weeks at her job a bit late and had to spend a solid week living on the sofa. At first I was just thankful she was out of my room, but it quickly became a really uncomfortable situation. All her stuff was piled to the ceiling in the living room and kitchen and she was asleep by the time I got off work. What's worse, I had no access to TV, radio or internet. So my first week in SF was less than glamorous.



My first day at Buca was my birthday, I didn't know anyone to go out with at first so I just came home and sat in my empty room being all sad until I fell asleep. Ha! Eventually I got to know my co-workers and started going out nearly every night... this was fun, but mostly just to keep away from my uncomfortable apartment! Oh, and a week after I moved in she brought like 5 of her friends to stay the weekend. Can you imagine? 6 people sleeping in the cramped living room, showering, being noisy and generally in the way for 2 or 3 days. CHAOS! It was terrible... Eventually the girl moved out and I actually had somewhere to sit other than my mattress on the floor! Oh, but it was not to last.

I was able to enjoy my empty apartment for a few days before the worst happened... the landlady, who I assumed knew I was living there as my roommate had assured me it was legit, found out what happened and insisted we re-do the lease. Of course this also meant she could raise the rent by several hundred dollars, which she did. Since neither or us could afford more than we were paying ($850 on my part), we quickly realized we had to move out. My roommate decided to go back home and save money, so I was left to find a new place on my own in less than a month. STRESS!

So I once again got to go through the roommate charade. Meeting people, trying to convince them that you're not only responsible, friendly, and laid-back, but also that you could be their bestest, coolest friend ever!! Gah... I probably did ten of these parades in the next two weeks. Amidst all this, my roommate moved out, taking all the furniture with him. So I was left in a completely empty apartment. I ended up dragging out my keyboard as my only form f entertainment. Luckily, he left a lot of cookware and dishes, so at least I could eat...

I finally found a place very near my current apartment with two girls in a spacious place. But they wanted to pit me against another potential with the landlord who wanted credit reports, letters of reference, bank statements, all sorts of stuff. So in my frustration, I travelled further out than I had even considered to look at a place--all the way to 40th Ave. That's 8 blocks from the ocean! And it turned out to be a great place, albeit far out. And what's more, not 10 mins after I left the guy (Brandon) told me the room was mine! So ya know what? I was tired of looking and trying to please people, I just wanted somewhere to live and quickly. So I accepted.



Unfortunately, I had to move myself (which was harder somehow than the first time) and pay a crew to move my newly acquired furniture. But once I was in and settled, the place felt like home very quickly. Brandon was great--funny, fun, easy-going, and he had a really nice TV and DVD collection! And parking was amazingly easy. I went from a parking ticket once a month to... well, I guess it's still the same, just less challenging to find a spot. Ha! And, this particular area of the Richmond is just beautiful. On the top of a hill overlooking the ocean, surrounded by fog in the afternoon, walking distance to the ocean and Sutro Baths... It's a bit smaller for sure, but I'm enjoying it. Finally!

(view from my roof looking west)

1000 years of solitude

Landing in California... it felt like one of the many vacations I took to visit family as a child. Ambling away my days in the oven-like California heat with no particular plan, object or timeline. But this time, I wasn't just waiting to go back home, I was striving to find my own.

My wonderful aunt and her family helped make the transition a calm, seamless thing rather than the chaotic stress that it very well could have been. It wasn't even decided that I would land at her house after traveling across the country until nearly a week beforehand. But thank goodness! It saved my budget and possibly sanity. Finding a sublet of any sort had proved nearly impossible anyway. So it was essentially a month-long vacation. No work, no bills, no travel hardly any responsibilities. So peaceful! During my stay, my days proceeded thusly: Awaking late, breakfasting over the SF Chronicle, practicing my new found love of the piano, taking a dip in the pool with my cousin, reading in the hammock, planning and cooking dinner, drinking wine and chatting with my aunt, watching the Olympics while griping over the coverage and praising Michael Phelps (guy's a fish!), then writing late into the night. I don't think I could have imagined a better vacation! And the fact that the move-in date for the first apartment I found wasn't until August 15 only meant I got 2 extra weeks of it!

I think the most important thing I gained from this breather was a reshaping and reevaluating of my goals and direction in life. My aunt really lent a third-person and honest view that helped me out. And what came of all this self-reflection? Well it's hard to explain. Obviously I had already achieved a major goal just by being in CA and steps away from my San Franciscan lifestyle, but what was I suppose to do once I was there? That was a really big focus which I'm still shaping. All I can say is that if not for that time of solace the Sungars so graciously allowed me, the stress of moving into the city might have done me in! Oooo, cliff hanger!

PS. I'm trying to get these up in some sort of order, but please forgive the delay and haphazardness!

Utah

Ah, Utah. I must now make another movie reference. Has anyone seen SLC Punk? Turns out they were right.

Like most of the trip, I planned out all sorts of great things to see in Utah that we mostly skipped in favor of making time. But not today! We were going to see Arches National Park if it killed us, I would make sure of it! Once we hit the red dessert landscape with all of its strange rock formation and signs that read “No Services next 50 miles,” I knew we were not in Kansas anymore. I mean, Tennessee. Well, you understand. It was stunningly different on the west side of the Rockies! I made Trevor take some crazy exit off the main freeway so we could drive through a ghost town. It was creepy--dilapidated buildings with boarded up windows and doors that seemed to have no reason for ever being built in the first place… we did pass a sizable peloton of cyclists out there in the freighting desolate landscape, if you can believe it!



The road winded around and down into a valley carved out by the Colorado River. Again, it was truly gorgeous here. Not in the Hidden Valley way, more like a Road Runner/Coyote cartoon sort of way. Like nearly everywhere else in the United States in July, it was hot, so Trev decided to pull over at a sandy bank and take a dip in the river. It was wide, deep and really quite fast. He changed into his swimsuit and I nearly did, but then a rent-a-camper of Germans pulled up and I was too embarrassed. But I did roll up my pant legs and wade around while Trevor went for a swim. The water was shockingly cold! But did it ever feel good in that dry heat!





Before too long, we made it to Arches. It is a pretty large park, be we allocated most of the day to driving/hiking about. We followed a line of cars upwards into a sort of plateau and just pulled over into a parking lot at any of the rock formations we wanted to see. We weren’t very well equipped for dessert hiking however so we just stuck to the main attractions. Don’t get me wrong, they were stunning! Holes in the side of a rock 150 feet wide and high, enormous “spines” jutting out of the sandy red earth, boulders the size of three-story buildings teetering on the edge of a cliff… I believe these formations were among the strangest and most beautiful things I’ve even seen nature produce. If only it weren’t so hot and we ran out of water! Alas it was and we did and were just as eager as reluctant to leave the park and head to our campsite in Provo, just outside Salt Lake City.

This in itself was a feat of a drive. Straight through the dessert, no services, half a tank of gas, minimal water and only a few hours to drive about 200 miles. The fist 150 or so were trying, but once we hit a small mountain range/national forest, it was much nicer. All the way into Provo, actually, was really nice. I even made the comment that Utah doesn’t seem like such a bad place to live. How wrong I was!

When we got to our campsite and pitched the tent, we went out to look for some food (settled on Indian) and drove around the town a little bit. Provo is pretty large, but it’s center is a cute little college town. We were debating about the alcohol at this point… In SLC Punk, they would drive to Wyoming to buy beer. but why? There seemed to be bars all around. We figured whatever law it was that disallowed alcohol in the 90’s had since expired and bought ourselves a 40 or Tecante. We sat at the campsite and drank it for awhile, enjoying Tecante more than either of us ever had. Oh, but what does this label say? 3.2% alcohol content? What?? Apparently, all these brewers create beer especially for Utah to keep the content under 4%! What a rip! No wonder they drove out of state. I was so infuriated by this discovery, I completely changed my mind about the state of Utah. It sucks. Don’t ever go.

Colorado

So I don’t know about you, but when I think of Colorado, I think mountains, snow, men with beards, maybe a log cabin or two… Of course, I had never been and only know of the state via friends who ski there or move there to be mountain hippies (what, you didn’t know there was such a thing?). However, it turns out a good portion of Colorado is flat, hot, dusty and more or less a lot like Kansas until one hits the Rocky Mountains. Oh, and did I mention it was hot and dusty? We had to stop a dozen times just to buy water, chap stick and a large watermelon which we ate half of in one sitting. It was delicious.



Well, we got the hell outta Dodge in the morning hours and even made a stop to see the original Santa Fe Trail. This reminds me of the numerous times my family and I stopped on the Natchez Trace on our way back from the reunion in Mississippi to see the “original Trace wagon tracks.” It was always a little disappointing; just a smallish sort of ditch on the side or the road. Think drainage ditch with a lot of history… Well, this was similar except in a big dry prairie. When we got out of the car, we followed this sidewalk that just sort of ended at a plaque. Ah well, we got a picture anyway.



After a few tormenting hours of back sweat and dehydration, we can just begin to make out the mountain range in front of us and some looming cloud cover. As we roll into Pueblo, the wind picks up and some teasing drops begin to fall, but in the midst of our excitement due to an end of the monotonous landscape, we manage to wander off route 50 and head toward Colorado Springs. Whoops! Well, no problem, we’ll just get off at the next exit and turn around. What’s that sign say? Whatever, just get off. Wait… why does the road turn to dirt and dead end at these railroad tracks? Is this even an exit? How do we get back on the freeway? Oh, we just have to reverse a quarter mile on this dirt road in the windy rain? Great! Oh, I guess that also means we have to get back on via the off ramp that wasn’t really an exit at all. No merging lane, just a bumpy shoulder. Great! Has anyone ever seen The Hills Have Eyes? If it took place in Colorado, this is how the movie would begin… So, we’re forced to drive like 10 miles in the wrong direction before there is a legitimate exit where we can turn around. Oh, and the rain? Yeah, drove right out of the cool reprieve before we could enjoy it. But enough grumbling!

The Rocky Mountains, though they only took about 2 hours to drive through, were gorgeous! Once we got to the top of Monarch Pass, we even saw snow on the ground, so needless to say it was far cooler. Route 50 followed a river all the way through and some of the views were just so stunning I wish I had better pictures to share. We were rushing to make it to the next campsite before it closed a 8 p.m., so we really couldn’t stop to enjoy the vistas. You know the picture on the front of the Hidden Valley salad dressing bottles? I’m pretty sure it’s based on the valleys heading out of the mountains. All moist and green and rolling with a pleasant little creek to keep everything all fertile. Lovely…



Well, we made it to our campsite in plenty of time and even got in a quick game of putt-putt golf. I think I won… Unfortunately, the rain followed us over the mountains and as we were pitching our tent, the wind picked up and there was some pretty intimidating lighting and thunder off in the distance. Luckily, our grandparents had to foresight and compassion to buy us a tarp and some extra tent stakes in the instance of rain (given our little adventure through the Ozarks). So we hurriedly got the tent up and painstakingly erected the tarp in such a precise way as to ensure absolutely no rain whatever would enter our sleeping champers. We even provided ourselves with entertainment until we fell asleep with a 40 of beer and Trev’s i-Pod wannabe thing. So we hunkered down just in the knick of time and waited for the downpour. And waited. Finished our beer and waited some more. It’s like mother nature was just messin’ with us. No rain fell that night, we just had the fortune of sleeping in an exceptionally humid tent. Nice.

Kansas

I suppose this is the official beginning of our westward journey (no more relations to see, just driving). It was sad to say goodbye to our wonderful grandparents, but also exciting. Well, that’s not quite the right word. I was trying to be excited about driving through Kansas, but somehow knew it wouldn’t be... um... stimulating.



Granted, the first couple hours driving through MO and into Kansas were very pleasant, scenic and cool. Trevor didn’t want to stop anywhere at all ever, I wanted to stop at every attraction we passed. So would go the whole trip! Luckily, he was pretty accommodating and I convinced him the National Prairie Preserve would be totally awesome. Actually, I could have spent more time there. It was such a beautiful day and there were all the exibits and tours of old houses and stuff, but in the end we just settled for a buggy ride. It was cool, the horses were freakishly large and driving through the grass lands was really bumpy and uncomfortable. No wonder they mostly walked! I can’t imagine my ancestors having to do that, ick!



The rest of the afternoon it got hot. Really hot. And to save on gas, we decided not to turn on the air conditioning at all. But don't worry, as uncomfortable as it seemed all cramed into my little car, which was even more crowded now that we ditched the roof bag, it would just get hotter and sweaty-er the further west we went. I'm trying not to think about that at this point... And oh man, was it ever windy once we got the the flatest of flat places ever (though I think locals prefer the term "level"). THis killed our mileage too.



We managed to drive almost across the entire state though and made it to Dodge City to camp. Maybe the only cool thing about getting there is that we followed the Santa Fe Trail--that's where the cowboys use to heard cows & stuff. THey too would rest in Dodge City and give it it's rough reputation. These days though, it's pretty dull. When we go to our campsite, there was this little lake. Awesome! So we get into our suits and hop in, only to find the whole thing is only about 3 feet deep, mostly mud, and smelled like duck poop. Yeah, gross. Luckily, the campers next to us had left-over fire works and we had some big beers, so the night passed pleasantly enough. Ha!

Missouri

So the drive the Ozark's was beautiful, however our mileage was terrible. My poor little car had gained an extra ton or two with all my junk squeezed in the back on the roof! Alas, the roof bag I pained over buy for so long would prove to be more of a hindrance than a help. Read on... (ha).



Just as we were nearing the AR/MO border, we hit some nasty weather. Only a few weeks prior Missouri had experienced some of the worst flooding off the Mississippi in awhile and all these little towns like Joplin and Hannible (Mark Twain's home town!) were totally flooded out. I was well aware of the fact, but didn't think this would effect our trip. How wrong I was! As I said, we hit a total downpour. I'm talking sheets of water, cats and dogs, heavens opening up, etc. I had to go into second gear just to keep from sliding off the road which I could barley see to begin with. It's about at this time, me hunched over the steering wheel squinting to see out the front window, that Trevor notices the leaks. Yes, that's plural. The nylon straps that held the bag onto the roof looped through the inside of the car by means of the doors, thereby pressing back the rubber insulation in the door frame, thereby allowing streams of water to flow into the car onto it's occupants and contents. Ahhh! I'm unable to do anything since I'm just barely managing to drive, so Trev is scrambling to cover up our stuff in the back seat and plug up the leaks. It's somewhere in this confusion that I drive up a steep hill and on the way down, for some reason, can no longer make out the road. I slow to a stop not 20 feet from a lake. Not a natural lake mind you, but one that has overflowed the banks of some finger of the Mississippi. The road simply disappears into it!



I had to back up slowly (all the water is just pouring down the hill, it's ridiculous) and, being wet, confused and at a loss of what to do next, pull under a large tree. Trev and I figure out how to divert the water from the straps into plastic baggies and try to soak up some of the water from the roof lining. It wasn't too difficult to find an alternate route around the washed out road, and wouldn't you know as soon as we leave that flooded little town the weather just clears up. I think MO is notorious for it's crazy weather actually... Anyhow, we make it to our grandparents house in Nixa around 7 or 8... only three hours after we anticipated! ha! We decide to go ahead and spend an extra day–the 4th–and have a barbeque and small firework show. So the holiday was really pleasant, we just sort of walked around and talked with grandma and grandpa, ate a lot of food and relaxed after our near-death experience in the Ozarks. Well, seemingly anyway... That night Trev and I got in a fight about my chosen route. He wanted to get to CA by the 8th whereas I wanted to take my time and see as much as possible. I had gone though all these pains to find campgrounds along the way and map out the whole trip and he wanted to do something completely different. So I got all frustrated and took a long shower. When I came down, still pretty angry, Trev had unpacked the stupid roof bag, dried out the car, and managed to make everything fit in the back seat. I was so pleasantly surprised, I decided to just go with it for the rest of the trip and wouldn’t you know everything worked out for the best after that! Trevor can just be such a stubborn jerk sometimes, but then he ends up making up for it one way or another.

Arkansas

Trev and I left July 1 (I love that), for our nine-day odyssey across the country. I have to admit, my stomach was doing flips as I pulled out of the driveway, waving goodbye to Dad. He seemed happy for me more than sad. Mom, however... jeez mom, I'm not trying to break your heart! I'm just trying to live my dreams. Everyone has got to do it or they'll live with the regret of not trying. And you know I think these things through.

Anyhow, the day was hot an sticky, Gnarls Barkley (see previous post) was blaring, Trevor was aching from the numerous vaccines recently pumped through his body and my mind couldn't (and still can't) wrap around the idea of California. Over 2,000 miles away! But off we headed, humor good and spirit high.


Arkansas, of course, is where my grandmother, aunt and her family live just on Lake Hamilton. We spend the second on the lake... we even managed to get my grandma out on the party barge for a few hours! In the evening, we anchored the boat in quiet cove, drank a couple beers, floated in the water and talked existentialism and gambling (my brother lead the conversation, I'd say...). I love my dad's sister and her family. They're real people, hard working, loving, happy... A lot like my own family, I'd like to think.

We headed out the third, driving through the Ozarks toward Missouri. I know, this is north, not west, but we've got family to see! I should also say that we've (well, I've) decided to to take smaller routes as opposed to the freeway. So the westward part of the trip is, for the most part, spent on US-50. I highly recommend this route, by the by...

baby i've got to prove it

Man I love lyrics. Just read these... so relevant. "Going on" Gnarls Barkley

I’ve seen it with my own eyes
Obligated otherwise
Without the luxury of leaving
The touch and feeling of free
Is intangible technically
It’s something you’ve got to believe in

Connect the cause and effect
One foot in front of the next
This is the start of a journey.
And my mind is already gone
And the fear of the unknown
Somehow this doesn’t concern me

And you can stand right there if you want
But I’m going on
And I’m prepared to go it alone
I’m going on
To a place in the sun
That’s nice and warm
I’m going on
And I’m sure they’ll have a place for you too

Anyone that needs what they want
And doesn’t want what they need
I want nothing to do with
And to do what I want
And to do what I please
Is first of my to-do list

But every once in a while
I think about her smile
One of the few things I do miss
But baby I got to go
Baby I got to know
Baby I got to prove it

And I’ll see you when you get there
But I’m going on
And I’m prepared to go it alone
I’m going on
May my love lift you up to the place you belong
I’m going on
And I promise I’ll be waiting for you

this is it

So this is it. I'm really doing it. I don't know if there were any nay-sayers out there to begin with, maybe just myself. But I think it's more important to prove to myself that I can do this. I will do this. I'm doing this! Everyone asks if I'm nervous, but I'm not. I'm so excited... it's all-consuming. I occasionally get these ideas in my head and they completely absorb, but this time it's real. I don't know if I can express how important this is. It doesn't matter what happens once I'm there, it's just that fact that I'll make it. After years of saying I would, of planning, of disappointment... Christ, this is it! 14 days before I venture out from the familiar.