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Archive for 2010

The Invisible Woman (Who Takes Up Too Much Room)

This entry is all over the place. I’ve tried for a few hours to make it gel but it just doesn’t want to. Bear with me.

“Everybody is unique. Compare not yourself with anybody else lest you spoil God’s curriculum.” — Baal Shem Tov

“In the scenery of spring there is nothing superior, nothing inferior, flowering branches are by nature some short, some long. – Zen Proverb

“Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality.” — Les Brown

“Think highly of yourself because the world takes you at your own estimate.” — Author Unknown

I like those. They reflect the dichotomy that is my self-view, and my self-esteem that fluctuates way more than my weight. I used to refer to it as having two different mirrors: There was the mirror in my house in which I looked gorgeous. And then there was any mirror in public, which reflected the “real” me, the one that was fat and ugly and undesirable.  I have a very hard time distinguishing between what is real and what I perceive to be real, at least as far as my outer self, so be warned.

I’ve been skinny. I’ve been fat. I’ve been skinny. And now I’m heading to the fat side again.  I suspect that I will teeter toward the skinny yet again in the next year or two.  Because my life is dynamic and fluid, not static. But I live in a world where my Philly neighbors remarked on my 15 pound weight gain after quitting smoking.

This is really hard for me to write and I don’t think any of it will be poetic, and I’m pretty sure it will ramble but whatever.

I read that bullshit “article” by Maura Kelly of Marie Claire (Please say that name with a sneer and go and read that POS and then come back.) and was as horrified and grossed out by it as she is by “fatties.”

God damn, I swear. My blood pressure is rising and not because I’m fat, you fucking bitch. My blood pressure is perfect.  My last physical was aces. I don’t have diabetes. Ooo, OK, breathe deep. Deep breaths. Oh, please feel free to write to Marie Claire. Many did, but the Editor in Chief couldn’t care less and there doesn’t seem to be any fall-out. I do wonder if Maura had written “Should Jews Get a Room,” or “Should Black People Get a Room” if she would still have a job.

Here’s the thing: It is because of shit like that that I am ashamed to see family and friends that I haven’t seen since I was skinny. I don’t fucking count or deserve happiness because I don’t look like Victoria Beckham. Or do I not I give them enough credit to think that maybe they actually care about me for me, not the way my ass looks? But then again I have friends and family that are constantly dieting and comparing cousin to cousin, friend to friend, and talking shit about those that gained weight, unless of course it was because of pregnancy and then that is allowed, but only for just a little while.  Best get back to that pre-baby weight to be valid!

To be more acceptable I had the gastric bypass and looked fabulous, I thought, for a while. (Quite a few people said I was way too skinny.) And now the weight is creeping back but it is nice to not vomit every day or feel that weird, unexplainable pain in my left shoulder that I would get from not eating. But then again it would be nice to put on a sundress and not feel self-conscious. But wait, I felt self-conscious even when I was skinny so what’s bugging me, really?

Why is that being skinny is so wanted, even when it comes at such a price as rearranging your guts and being anorexic or bulimic? I went with a friend to New Orleans once, and was feeling good about myself…until I decided that I wanted to flash the people on the balcony for some beads. (I mean, why the hell not? It was a beautiful night. The weather was great. Everyone was happy.) I went to flash a balcony and just as the shirt went up I noticed the guy next to me look at me with disgust. Disgust? Really? Needless to say I was hurt, and worse I was suddenly embarrassed. Embarrassed to be me and ashamed to have put others through the grossness that was my body.

I don’t know, y’all. I’m mostly positive, though my mood runs cynical sometimes. I try to be on time, and almost always am. I try to compliment others not only on the things they didn’t choose, like their looks, but also their intelligence, kindness, etc. I can’t tell you left or right, even though I can read the hell out of a map, never get lost, and can tell you north, south, east, or west. I have beautiful eyes, and rock short hair like no one’s business. Can’t tell a joke, though. I’ve traveled. I am open to almost anything. I am weird yet square. I can get cranky as fuck. I cry very, very easily. I am super sensitive. I love to drive on highways and drive fast and yell at other drivers. (“OH! Oh, nice, dipshit! JEEESSUUUSSS Keee-RISTE! First day driving, dickhole?!) I love my mom, my brother, my nephew, the Dude, my furry kids, my friends, my family, cooking shows, “Giant,” sparkly lotion, good shoes, cheap wine.

Why is my worth based on my weight? I’d like to adopt the last quote as my mantra.

Anyone want to say it with me?

The Redwoods

Alrighty then!

Tuesday, being my RV-versary, meant that a celebration was afoot. I think the Dude and I managed a perfect date for us: Music for him, Food for me. That is not to say that he doesn’t eat and I don’t dig on music but we find our pleasures in different forms. I see/hear/taste/smell/feel poetry (?)  in food. (Of course I am not alone in this. The shocking amount of cooking/foodie shows, websites, apps, magazines, etc, is a testament to that.) He has an encyclopedia of music in his mind and can hear things I can’t. Where I hear a pretty melody or sweet three-part harmony, he hears that and the under and contra and [insert other-musical-terminology-that-I-don't-know-that-parallel- food-words-he-doesn't-know here]. Just different.

We made reservations for five at Yoshi’s for dinner and a show, the show being the absolutely out of this world, ridiculously, outrageously creative and talented Zoe Keating. We had originally planned to go with Tracy from ZenNomads, and Chris and Cherie (Technomadia) but due to Technomadia having a true nomadic moment (they are going to spend the winter in St. John because the opportunity came up and there was no reason not to go), they had to find some buyers for their tickets. Chris posted a notice on some board and [redacted, I'll call him J.] chimed in that he would LOVE to buy the tickets! So Chris put the Dude and J. in touch, and boom, Tracy, the Dude, J., J’s friend, and I were going to meet at Yoshi’s and then see Zoe.

We had a ridiculously early dinner res (5:30) but that worked perfectly. J and J’s friend walked in just as we did and we were escorted to our table. J is a psychotherapist and wee and big-eyed and just as into music as the Dude. In fact, they have such similar tastes that the Dude threw out a name (Colleen) that J almost fell out over. So there was a good match!

Since Yoshi’s is, surprise, a mostly Japanese restaurant, the menu reflected sushi, sashimi, and mostly shareable small plates. We all ordered two to three dishes a piece but I zeroed in on a roll called Japonese. That roll, though Japanese in origin, and evocative of Central Mexico in taste profile, looks like a Mondrian on the cross-section. (See? Artistry in food.) J’s friend, who is gorgeous and charming and as it turns out is in Shortbus, closed his eyes to enjoy this sushi roll. I quite enjoyed and appreciated his appreciation and enjoyment of it.

After dinner, and with an hour to spare, J and Shortbus excused themselves for a walk, leaving the Dude, Tracy, and I to our own walk. Tracy and I giggled over yet totally appreciated a Kid-n-Play 80s throwback walking with SuperFly dressed in a silvery blue suit, while the Dude checked business on his phone and grabbed a muffin. (Blueberry, fools, not a euphemism.)

Time to get back to Yoshi’s for the show. The three of us got there first, grabbed some snacks and cocktails, J and Shortbus arrived and then it was time for Zoe.

Shocking. She has no definition. In very simple terms, Ms. Keating is a cellist. BUT! A cellist who plays with herself. (Stop it. Don’t be childish.) She is her own orchestra. In that as you are in the audience, watching her play, she lays down a few bars of something and it is recorded and repeated in her computer and through the speakers while she records the next layer, and the next layer, and so on and it builds and you have an orchestra she plays with. It truly rattles my brain and while her CDs are gorgeous you can’t get what you get in person because it is different every time. (She made a comment to same on Tuesday, lamenting that as much as she liked her CDs they were only the moment she recorded them, and that she is sad during some performances because she loved that version of a composition and knows that she can’t repeat it.) I hear movie scores in her music and would not be surprised if her biggest recognition doesn’t come from an Oscar nomination.

The show ended and as we drove home, as Tracy and the Dude conversed, I interrupted to say, “Look at that.” The moon was so beautiful. As we made the few miles home the huge quarter moon was a saturated shiny brick color, and as we continued on to Tracy’s place, the moon grew larger. After we dropped her off and headed back over to the coast to Pacifica, and the moon reflected the fading brick shade and as the moon climbed and grew smaller the color became less reddish but didn’t fade so much as folded over to silvery red and then a silver moon shone.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language…

and next year’s words await another voice.” ~T.S Eliot

“I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.”

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime. ~Mark Twain

Helloooo? Knock, knock. Anyone home? Probably not since I haven’t written anything in months and months and why in the world would anyone be here? My fault. My apologies. (And my thanks to Caskie Stinnett for the title quote.)

Well, this seems as good a day as any to get back on that blogging bandwagon since today is my anniversary. I took possession of the Chieftain one year ago today. After three long days on the road from Philly to Florida, we got into Tampa on October 12th and a couple of hours later we were moving into the RV.

We spent six weeks at Lazy Days RV Center, boondocking for most of it and then spent the winter in the Keys. We lit out of Florida in February, headed up to Georgia then to Tennessee then to Louisiana. Then in April while we were in Texas we decided to upgrade from our ’03 Winnebago Chieftain to an ’05 Tiffin Phaeton, which required that we head right back across Louisiana, which we swore we’d never drive on I-10 again, to Alabama. (I love New Orleans, I really do, and I love the French Quarter RV Resort but damn, Louisiana, you need to earmark some of your recovery money for your sections of the interstates. I damn near rattled all the fillings out of my head.)

After picking up the Phaeton and spending a couple of weeks getting it organized we had to head to Canada for some classes. We drove back across Louisiana to Dallas, said “Hi” to my mom for one night, maybe two (I can’t rightly recall.) and then up to Oklahoma to see the Dude’s family.

After OKC it was straight up I-35 to Kansas then over to 29 to skirt along Nebraska and Iowa and then we took a left at Sioux Falls on I-90 to make one long-ass drive across South Dakota. We took a slight detour to see Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monument, and since we had a little extra time drove to Devil’s Tower.

We got back on 90 and stayed on it until Billings, Montana. We stayed a couple of nights, missing the big tornado by one day, and then took 87 to Great Falls where we caught our final US interstate, I-15, which took us to the border crossing at Coutts, Alberta.

We spent a few hours waiting to get cleared for Canada and the final leg began. We had god-awful torrential rain the entire time from Coutts to Calgary. That damn rain was coming in sideways and it was fucking cold and the animals were freezing and we were freezing and the only other drivers on the roads were truckers. We had a schedule to keep and we were by God going to do it.

Finally, Calgary. We stayed for three weeks and then it was off to Vancouver. But we took the scenic route up north and went through Banff and Lake Louise and up to Jasper where we stood on an ice floe from a glacier. That was awesome.

After Jasper it was down to Kamloops and then over to the Pacific Border RV Park, about thisclose to Blaine, Washington. We were there through July and in fact, had July 4th in Canada and I could actually throw a rock and hit Washington. But I didn’t as I didn’t wish to go to prison or start an international incident because I hit a Border guard.

After Vancouver it was down to Washington where I had a chance to see my best friend from my freshman year in high school and a friend from Dallas that I hadn’t seen since, oh, ’95-ish?

We left Washington and went on down to Oregon and I saw some more old friends and then off to California.

We stayed in Santa Rosa for a week then we spent five days in Bodega Bay and then went to San Francisco, which is where we are now. We will be here for another couple of weeks and then it’s down to LA. After that it’s all open. We have no set plans after LA. Could be heading to Florida. Could be heading to Texas. Might stay in San Diego. Who knows?

After one year in an RV, living with the Dude, two cats, and a dog, I reckon we’re doing OK and are going to make this work. As far as I can remember we’ve only threatened to leave each other a handful of times, which considering that there is really no privacy and no doors to slam is pretty good. I don’t think we’ve fought any more or less than we did in a brick-and-mortar home.

So, there you go. One year of travel, condensed to a few paragraphs. It’s a whole new year, which means a whole new set of adventures and this year, I promise to write more than once every few months.

Off to Yoshi’s for sushi, cocktails, and jazz!  Happy anniversary everyone!

No, I’ve Never Been Arrested, Asked to Leave a Country, Etc

Ok, we’re going to do the blog equivalent of speed-dating. I will set my alarm for three minutes and I will type what I can–WITHOUT going back and correcting typos and grammar FUBARS, mind you–and then switch to the next town/topic. Ready?

::bing:we left Oklahoma we made it to Auburn, NE, where I saw the biggest deer ever bound past the RV. Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument are really, truly awesome. And kind of freaky because shockingly large things with…faces…are. Freaky.  After those South Dakota “must sees” we took off to Devil’s Tower and it is also truly awesome and still just as freaky. I think it’s because of the whole “Close Encounters” thing but who knows.

OK, after that we went to Billings, MT, I think. We were two days ahead of the tornatdo. Montana is gorgeous. I was scared out of my mind by a trip around the

::bing:we left Mt and sopped for gas at the border. I bought some lottery ticets and go my money bak and froze my ass off in and out of thes tore. Good god, it’s June. we went to Calgary. The trip was horrifying because it was raingt sideways and we got rain in the RV so bad taht I ahd to put papaer towels in every window. And we alomst ran off the road but it was exciting and scarey and it took, for ever but we made it to clagary and

::bing::Calgary is really falt. As flat at Dallas but preittier becahyse the mountains arein the background.  We went to dinner at the Calgary tower but it was os fucking hot in there (not AC and no blingfs on the windows) that the experience kind of sucked even if the dinner was pretty good. The mosqutioes are huge. big as horses and maean as hell.

We left Calgary and headed to Banff. We stayed in Canmore, and went to a beautiful place for lunch on Canada Day, and went o a place in Banff where I had a gorgeous charcurtie platter of duck, sausage, cheeses, etc. I also reode on te tra m to the top of the hill and almost vomited from the swaying the of the tram. The view waw gorgeious but oh, so scary.

Left Banff and wetn to jAPER. sTOOD ON A GLACIER AD DRAK GLACIER WATER THAT WAWS FROM SNOWS 150 YEARS AGO. i LOOK LIKE THE UNIBOMOBER IN MY HOODIE. IT IS SURREAL TO BE FREEZING YOU’RE ASS OFF IN JULY. I MEAN, REALLY, WHO STANDES ON A GLACIER? THE DRIVE FROM JASPER TO OUR NEXT STOP should’ve been easy but damn, an RV ::bing:

very difficult. we had reservationd for a place that told us that they had 50 amp and wifi but they had a dirty connection 30 amp on a two-pringed outlet and our comp;uters crashed to we headed out after an alreeay long day (8 hours) to  boonddaock atg a little town ourside of Kamloopds.

::bing: Kamloops to Vancouver is a scary ass drive of brakeing., not braking, stepp grades up ahead, jesus christ, where the hell is our cell coverage, wifi what?, slow down!, woo  prettyk, thank ya jesus for getting through the mountain,s no that’s not it,

::bing: Wow, I really like Vancouver. the wifi sucks it. Damn it, I need to be in teh statats. Cananda is 5 yeas behind Amercia. Whales! Shoes~! I can’t wait to be in America. fireworiks!  Best Chinese food I’v hea outside of Singapore, which isn’t Chinea. Lots of homeless. not as perfect as I thought. oLYMPICS! i STAYED RIGHT THERE.

::bing:

A One-Off On: Comedy

OK, before we get to my one-off o’ week let me do my rant o’ the week: <rant> Excuse ME, Girl-I-used-to-know but what in the holy hell makes you think I would want to be “friends” with you? You are obviously deluded and have lost your damn mind if you think I don’t remember EXACTLY how you used to treat me. Do you not remember how I was the ONLY person you didn’t invite to your parties? Do you not remember that of the 300+ people we had in band that I was the ONLY one, THE ONLY ONE THAT YOU DIDN’T INVITE TO YOUR BIRTHDAY AND HALLOWEEN PARTIES? I remember you passing out invites in front of me. You did that shit on purpose. Well guess what, bitch, I remember so you can take your “Friend Request” and suck it. I hated you then. I hate you now. Jesus Christ, you have GOT to be kidding me with this shit…

OH, oh, and, AND, speaking of Jesus, and before I let this go, you are one of those who treat people like shit and then turn around and call themselves “Christian.” I tell you what; you know what Jesus would do? Invite everyone. In fact, I’m pretty sure he did. I am almost positive that Jesus didn’t leave anyone off of the guest list. </rant>

Now, where was I? Oh yes, comedy, specifically stand-up comedy. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. If I am channel surfing and I run across a stand-up show, I’m stopping. Even if I have seen it a dozen times and know all of the jokes, if it made me laugh the first time, it’ll do it again and I’m watching it.

I have wildly varied tastes in stand-up. I will watch this, except for this hillbilly ass-hat. (God, I hate him. He’s the opposite of funny. Git THIS done, motherfucker.) I love Eddie Izzard. (I got to see him in Philly. Well worth the money.) I even watched some of The Last Comic Standing the other day, which, uhm, yeah, not funny. I think I got A chuckle in an hour.

I watch Rooftop Comedy “That Sucks” every time it is on and I will search for stand-up on hulu.com. I have every cable station known to man and if it is stand-up I will stop and watch at least a little. I can be having a shitty day and it becomes magnitudes better if I happen across a favorite comic.

Now, I as much as I like stand-up I hate when I can see the joke coming, which I can do on most old-school “set up, punch-line, bum dum dum.” (See ass-hat above. Oh my god, man, you’re not funny. You’re teabagger stoopid. And I’m pretty sure your fan base is 99.99999% teabaggers, and not the funny porn kind.) Unless you’re really old-school like Phyllis Diller, Redd Foxx, and so on. Then you are funny because you originated some shit and I bow down to you.

What really, really makes me lose my shit is story-based comedy. If it sounds like a story and not a bum-dum-dum joke, I’m all over that. (Probably because my Dad can tell stories like no one else. I remember laughing so hard that I would get the hiccups and even though I’d heard his stories a thousand times I couldn’t wait to have guests over for dinner so that I could get him to tell the stories again.)

OK, so, back in November when I was down in the Keys, it was about noon, and I was doing all my prep work for my tiny little Thanksgiving dinner, and I turned on some stuff I had recorded earlier when I happened across LogoTV and found this: One Night Stand-Up, specifically episode 4, wherein I met my new boyfriend, Ali Mafi.  I cannot tell you how many times I watched this guy’s routine. I had to have rewound it 25-30 times and it never stopped being funny. I wish I could find a video clip of his story about his family going to the airport but I can’t so keep an eye out, or search your cable, or something because he’s hysterical.

Anyway, Ali Mafi, aka Ali Fame Mafi, should actually have an Ali Mafi-a because I would so line up to be in that family. I’d be the consigliere. I’d be Michael to his Godfather. Fuck it, I’d even be Fredo. (Poor Fredo.) I don’t know how to explain him. He’s this good-looking young man with an evil little glint in his eyes that looks like he would cut a bitch if you dared to heckle. He’s lightning quick, man. I couldn’t see where his airport story was headed, and if he made the story up, he sells it like it were true. You know what I mean? He’s laughing along with the story, not because if he didn’t laugh you wouldn’t know that stuff was supposed to be funny, but because it sounds like a story your best friend would tell when he knows that it is hysterical and you know it will be hysterical and he’s just trying to maintain and get to the end where you can both lose it together. (Simultaneous giggle-gasm. Oh, always the best.)

And lose it, I did. I blew my champagne out of my nose. (What!? It was Thanksgiving. Everyone starts drinking early. And it was the Keys. Oh, fuck off.)  And I got the hiccups, which is the highest compliment I can give. And, not only does Ali tell great stories, but his closing routine made me and the Dude stand up and cheer. It’s about how he is the “epitome of the American dream,” and if  you watch him and you don’t believe him and agree, then Hillbilly Ass-hat probably has room for one more at his show.

I’ll tell you this, Mr. Mafi, when I am finally able to catch you in person, which I hope will be very soon, the drinks are on me. I owe you that. Thanks for, well, for you.

Cruelty

Note: All names have been changed.

I have listened to a lot of stories about the Dude’s siblings. He has four but he mostly talks about Cassie. He told me how she was a good sister to him. How she helped him when he needed it. How she backed him up when he needed it. He told me how she was so smart and talkative and lively and how her personality could fill a room and how she was impossible to ignore, even if occasionally he wanted to.

On the way to Calgary we stopped in Oklahoma. I met Cassie, and her husband, Tom. I met their son, the handsome Todd, and his lovely wife, Lisa, and their beautiful girls, Lizzy and Madison. I met Cassie and Tom’s daughter, the beautiful Missy, and her awesome kids, Alissa and Hunter. [This family is, and I'm not kidding, like a TV family. The kids are well behaved and gorgeous and listen to their parents and have beautiful manners and talk to adults as if they were adults themselves. (OK, maybe the two-year-old didn't carry on adult convo, but she had good manners.) (Hunter: I'm not including you in the "kids." You, Killer, are head and shoulders above the other persons-of-your-age I have met. May you long rock on.)]

I watched and listened to Missy interacting with her kids and seeing how much she really seemed to LIKE them, and how they liked her. (What is, “T-Dog?” I think that is what y’all said.) They talked like friends, but they obviously respected her as mom. I watched the 17-year-old Hunter love on his grandma and order dinner for her. (A gentleman, that one. Good job, Missy.) I watched Lisa and Todd play with and comfort their girls. I watched Tom pay attention to his grandkids and pet on them. I watched these people talk to the Dude like it was just yesterday that they had seen him, not years ago. I listened and watched and saw a beautiful, amazing, unique family.

I also listened and watched as Cassie told a story, and then listened and watched as she told the story again, and then again. I listened to this family tell the Dude how much Cassie has changed in three years, and how much she had declined in the last six months. I listened as the family asked, “Where is Grandma,” and looked around, everyone quiet, tense, aware.

While the Dude talked to the family, I looked at the family pictures and there was Cassie, the vibrant, bright-eyed woman I’d heard about. I saw her engaged with the camera. I saw a fierce intelligence and independence, and maybe a bit of stubbornness. I saw her eyes reflected in the grandkids. I watched the Dude’s composure falter. I watched Alissa ask Missy a question. I watched Missy tell Alissa that there were no guarantees in this world. Alissa is gorgeous, and smart, and wise beyond her years but she is also only 10.

I don’t know when we will be back this way but I hope to meet this family again. I don’t think Cassie will remember us, though. Cassie is 63, younger than my beloved momma, and three years ago was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. It is genetic. It is fucking cruel.

There are no guarantees.

Wait, What? We’re Actually Leaving the South? No, It Can’t Be.

We picked up our Chieftain in Tampa back in October. So that was what? Eight months ago? And for eight months we have really done nothing but sit somewhere in the South and make repairs to the Chieftain, and here now, the Phaeton. Oh sure, we spent the winter in the Keys (at one RV park), which, don’t get me wrong, does. not. suck, and then made some stops on the way to the the NuRVers gathering, but save for those things we haven’t left the South and gone on a real trip.

We went from Tampa to the Keys to Tampa to Atlanta to Memphis to Houston to Austin to Gonzales to Dallas to Daphne to Montgomery to Dallas, and the only reason we even left Florida was we had to go to the storage unit in Dallas, and then the only reason we didn’t get on the road was we decided to buy the Phaeton so it was back across I-10 to go to Alabama. NOW, praise the Lord and pass the biscuits we are finally, finally on our first real excursion somewhere.

So here we are, sitting at Hidden Lake RV in Ardmore, OK, with one last friends/relatives stop to make. In a couple of hours we will be in Yukon, OK, visiting with one of the Dude’s sisters and her family and then it is off to Calgary.

I am trying to be a positive thinker but some of this preparation has started to seem more like putting stuff off. It’s time to cowgirl up and get this rodeo started.

Yee haw!

Renovations. Inspired or Masochistic? Discuss.

So, while we are stuck in Montgomery, Alabama, where it rains every effin’ day, three times a day, we have decided to do away with the stock valances and day/night shades and replace them with pull-down shades, sheers, and curtains. It seemed like an easy thing to do. Unscrew this, screw in this, hang up that, but what has been happening is this: Unscrew this, screw in this, hang up that.

Trying to maneuver curtain rods and blinds up the steps and past each other and not step on a cat or dog and not whack the shit out of something thereby causing yet another repair for the Dude would be comical in a Larry, Moe, and Curly kind of way IF the Dude had even the tiniest bit of humor left but seven months of nonstop RV repairs and still working a full-time job and adjusting to this new lifestyle have kind of sucked the whimsy right out of him. I mostly just try to do exactly what he says, anticipate what he wants next (aka read his damn mind), and stay the hell outta the way.

Now add to the previously mentioned fact that it rains every day, and the Dude has repairs that have to take place outside and we are running out of time to get to Canada, you can see how the renovations that should’ve been a piece of cake are fraught with DRAMA.

“Grab it! GRAB IT,” screamed the Dude, who just seconds before had been talking to himself and the curtain bracket. How was I to know that his exclamations were directed at me and not the disobedient bracket that had failed earlier to grasp the rod?

“God damned pieces of shit! Retailers must believe that Americans want the cheapest shit available. Does anyone ever try their products?! What, the Chinese had these screws on sale this week? These don’t even fit this bracket!” Thus began a 10-minute rant lecture well-thought-out talk about American consumers, the state of our consumerism, the retail industry, and China.

“Hand me my keys,” said the Dude. I look around for keys. “Did you hear me!” asked the Dude when I don’t answer quickly enough. “Do you see the blinds that go in the kitchen,” asks the Dude. “Yes,” I swiftly and decisively answer. “Stop, stop! You said it too quickly. I thought we had a bad connection,” said the Dude, sans irony. (Y’all, excuse me for a few moments, won’t you? I have to go and find my eyeballs. I think they rolled under the couch.)

And so I sit here, writing this, waiting for the Dude to get back from Lowe’s, wondering what today will bring. Will it be easy and the last curtain set goes up easily, or will it be another diatribe on the lack of quality in our products these days, or perhaps I’ll get snapped at. Yet again.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

I Don’t Think That We Will EVER Actually “Hit The Road.”

We are sitting at a Freightliner shop…Hold up, check that, we are DYING IN THE HEAT at a Freightliner shop in Montgomery, Alabama…waiting for some mechanics to do whatever it is they need to do to get the Phaeton working properly so that we may actually leave the south to get to Canada. “What? ‘Alabama,’ you say? ‘Canada? Phaeton?’ Who the? What the?”

Note: I was going to erase the following rant but this is the stuff that goes through my head when I fight with the Dude. Or get my feelings hurt, and they get hurt easily. Too easily, and I know that. I am traveling in  a relatively small home with a dude and three animals and we ALL get on each others’ nerves occasionally. You can keep your sense of humor for a long time but sometimes you lose it, and then you lose it! Anyway, it would be disingenuous of me to pretend that this travelin’ life is a beautiful picnic all of the time. It has its bumps just like life in a static place. Remember, I was mad when I wrote this so don’t judge the Dude.

<rant> OK, I’m going to go off on a tangent here. This next stuff has absolutely nothing to do with travels. I’d like to know whose blog this is. No, really, whose is it? Why, I do believe it’s MINE, which means I can write about what I want to but I have a partner who only wants me to write about the topics he cares about and can’t find anything nice to say about the topics he doesn’t like. He read my last posting, the ONE-OFF on Texas, and this is what I got: “Nice blog about Texas. I thought this was supposed to be about your travels.” What the fuck? I’m not even going to tell him when I update anymore because he can’t even be assed to care unless he chooses the subject. You know, if he doesn’t care, why the fuck should a random stranger care? I get it, he hates Texas but this is something I wrote. If I make something to eat that he doesn’t like he at least has the decency to appreciate the effort. The last few entries have garnered nothing but derision from him. “Well, you’re not writing it for me.” You’re right, Dude, I’m not, but being a dick about my creative output because it’s not what you want to read is a shit-heel move. <sarcasm>Makes me just super motivated to write more.</sarcasm>

Seriously, what is a personal blog? Isn’t about you and what you’re doing and what’s on your mind? Doesn’t it make sense that traveling around the country might make you appreciate stuff that you miss? OH, oh, and if I ever say that I miss [whatever] I get attitude and phrases like, “Well, you can just go back there,” or “Why the fuck did we buy an RV?” Like he takes it as a personal affront that I would miss the few friends I had in Philly or would want to see my friends in Texas. Just because we are traveling doesn’t negate or erase the past. Just because I miss [whatever] doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see and experience the future. Missing one thing does not mean I want to move back to wherever. I miss my friend, Liga, but I don’t want to move back to Philly. I miss going to A&M football games but that doesn’t mean I want to move back to College Station. Appreciating where you came from and what was there does not mean I don’t want to see other stuff. I mean, I like Philly cheesesteaks but I’d like to try other regional foods, which you can only experience by traveling. I might find something/someplace else that I will miss BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT TO STAY THERE.

And wouldn’t traveling around bring up all kinds of emotions? This is a journey and you learn things about yourself and have emotions you’ve never had before.  And that Texas post was titled as a ONE-OFF. And THIS post was supposed to be about what has been happening since the NuRVers gathering but I’ll be damned if I tell him that this is about traveling. Fuck that.

And, and, is it wrong to want and expect the person closest to you to LIKE your output, even if it isn’t his cup of tea? Hey, Dude, I don’t know fuck all about electrical stuff and RV mechanics but I tell you all the time how much I appreciate all you do and how much I appreciate the effort it takes you to do it. I don’t say, “Nice, but I couldn’t care less.” “Nice, but so? Means nothing to me.” “Nice, but I hate mechanical shit.” “Nice. And?” See, sounds shitty, doesn’t it?

He couldn’t be bothered to say, “Well, Texas isn’t my favorite anymore but that paragraph about the fair was fun,” or “You know, I don’t like Texas but that makes me miss some of the good stuff.” Hey, Dude, did your dad treat you like that and make you feel bad about your creations, because this sounds familiar to the shit he did to you.

Anyway, it’s stuff like that that makes me less inclined to write. I made something that I put my heart into and worked hard at and the person closest to me couldn’t care less. But that’s not supposed to hurt, I guess.</rant>

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program called, I Don’t Think We Will EVER Actually “Hit the Road.”

So after practically dying in the heat at the Freightliner place we got back to our latest RV park, which is in Montgomery, Alabama, which, uhm, is not so great. We are in not the nicest area and it’s pretty sketchy here. This a huge change after Daphne and Fairhope. (It’ll make sense in a minute.)

After the gathering in Gonzales (TEXAS), we traveled to Dallas (oops, there’s Texas again…sorry, Dude) to see some friends and family. (Correction, MY friends and family.) The lovely and talented, DeAnn, braved having dinner with my mom, brother, his girlfriend, and my nephew, and she drove to Rockwall to do it. DeAnn is over there > in the blogroll. She’s the photographer (Big Tex stuff–whoops, there’s that Texas again. Funny how living there for quite a while makes some memories that get talked about occasionally. My apologies, Dude.) and all-around groovy chick I mention sometimes. I have known her since 1995. We met at Saturn of Mesquite (RIP). I sold cars for a while (!) and she keeps the place from falling apart, and knows where the bodies are buried, if you get my meaning.

Anyway, after we left the-State-That-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned we drove to Daphne, Alabama to look at a Phaeton. The Dude had been in contact with a car dealer about trading the Winnebago for the Phaeton, pretty much a “mine for yours” sort of deal. It took us only a day to get to Daphne (traveling the god-awful roads of Louisiana yet again) and we got to the dealership after it was closed and we took a look at the Phaeton.

After that we drove a few more miles to Fairhope, which is just a beautiful little town, to the Coastal Haven RV Park. We had planned to only be there for a couple of days, just long enough to (possibly) trade the Chieftain and move into the Phaeton but (dun dun DUN) that’s not exactly how it worked out.

The actual deal was made in a day but moving from one coach to another is HARD. You’d think it would be easy. You just park next to the new coach, walk your stuff from one to the other, and done. But no. Huh uh. You are talking about moving from two sets of closets to one closet. From one chest of drawers to no chest. From one set of cabinets to an entirely new set of cabinets. From one fridge to another that is set up completely different. Not an easy thing.

AND, the Phaeton didn’t have a TV worth a damn nor a satellite dish and the speakers didn’t work right, and the tires were shot, and the AC crapped out, and the ice maker didn’t work, and, and, and. (Now, when we finally left LazyDays way back in, what, November (?), the Dude had to make pretty much all the same repairs and add-ons to the Chieftain that he was having to make yet again to the Phaeton so I have been instructed to smack him if he decides he wants to make a change to another coach in the next year. I might smack him anyway just because.)

So we were in Fairhope for about three weeks and although we didn’t do any sight-seeing we did manage to befriend a cutie calico who I named Hope and get her fixed and possibly adopted. I took her to Eastern Shore Pet Hospital, which is active in TNR and they gave us a discounted price on Hope’s spaying. We ended up not taking the discount and giving them a donation on account of the fact that they kept Hope to find her a home. She was soo friendly and soo pretty that they kept her even though they said they didn’t have room. I didn’t get a pic of her. Boo.

The Dude also found a blackberry patch on the edge of the RV park and picked so many berries that we had pie and cobbler a lot. Apparently blackberries just grow all over Alabama because the park we’re at now has them everywhere. Excellent! (The Dude had to do all of the picking because you know, spiders.)

So, after all the work on the Phaeton at Coastal Haven, the Dude gets brand-spanking new tires put on and we drive to Montgomery only to wake up with a flat because the mentally feeble at the tire store put the wrong size stems or something on the tires. And those same idjits didn’t attach the hubcaps properly so one blew off on the highway. Deeeelightful!

The Dude was able to air up the flat so that we could drive over to Freightliner and the tire store, and here we are now, sitting at the sketchiest RV park we’ve been to, waiting for some more parts so that we might, might, just might actually “hit the road” by next Wednesday so that we can get to Canada so that the Dude can teach a couple of classes. We will be seeing Calgary (missing out on the Stampede, though) and Vancouver!!! Yay, I loved the couple of days I had there for the Olympics so it’ll be great to see more of it.

And since we’re not seeing anything other than the RV park I might have to write about something in the past, write about something I know, and that might include something about, oh, I don’t know, TEXAS!

But hey, it’s my blog, right?