Drive By Lifein'

In a travel station in Missouri, they sell barbecue pork and old men sit in the far back corner smoking cigarettes and talking about the weather. Their chat halts momentarily when the two yanks come in to use the bathroom and buy a few sticks of sugarfree chewing gum. The Missouri bathroom smells like the perfume I used to use when I was 13 and trying too hard to be normal. If I knew then that I, eleven years later, would smell that same scent in a dirty Missouri travel station, would I have bothered sneaking it from my Mom's dresser in the first place? If I knew when I was thirteen, by the age of 24, that I would have lived in Watford City, North Dakota; Packwood, Washington; Marble Falls, Texas; and on a seismic research vessel in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, would I have believed it? All of those years of dreaming and flipping through National Geographic magazines wondering if I would ever see the outskirts of Greenville, MI, I finally reached beyond the pages. My brother, Christian, is reading a book called Factory Girls about Chinese factory girls. He says the Chinese believe that a family's history begins when the first person leaves. Until then, you are living someone else's life. That seems pretty accurate to me.

In the past few months, I have neglected my blog, primarily because I was living at a summer camp in Texas. TOS was not devoid of drama in the least bit. If we called ourselves a family, we were quite the incestuous family. Of course I did not partake in incestuous behavior as my options were quite limited and even in my drunkest states, I was not going there. I had a lot of fun, blobbing, water sliding, rock climbing, surfing, and exploring a state I once vowed never to visit. I'm glad I broke my vow, because life, at least my life, is not about picking and choosing where to go. It's about adventure being thrust upon me and grasping it and going wherever the wind takes me. I refuse to let chances pass me by out of fear. I've made a lot of odd choices, like living with Biggy C in a trailer park or attempting to befriend a crazy homeless man in Ann Arbor, but out of the odd spewed rich stories. I've also had a lot of failures, like my Austin basketball group or that Ironman I met with or that Mississippi embarrassment, but in the end, who the fuck really cares. My failures all have one great likeness - they all began with a taken risk. If I don't continue to take risks and stuff money down homosexual men's pants, who will I become? Will I become part of my family? - someone living an ancient man's story? Thus, in three days I will pack my life into a thirty pound bag, board an airplane flying from Grand Rapids, MI to Houston, TX, then board a helicopter that will fly me onto a seismic research vessel in the Gulf of Mexico. Life is a daring adventure, or nothing at all.

Reptiles Hatch in Human Form

So says a fifth grader when I pose the question: "What did you learn from reptiles class." I start to hand her a black reptile bead without really processing her answer, but the information swarms my hippocampus just before the bead drops. Reptiles do not hatch in human form, but in adult reptilian form or so says my lesson plan. However, I did not write the lesson. Who did? I suppose it was Deb, the mastermind behind the incredibly organized, intricately thought-out, Outdoor School. Who am I to pull back the black reptile bead from the girl with such a philosophical answer? Maybe we do become reptiles with age. Our skin begins to wrinkle and flake, our bones deteriorate, sense of taste becomes bland, and our body temperature become more and more difficult to regulate without exterior reinforcement. Perhaps we are morphing and not dying as Gertrude and I so often glorify. Immediately after someone dies, they turn shades of green and yellow like fall colors, becoming chameleons with the Earth.

I've been thinking about it, again. Maybe we all are. Aunt Barb called me for some reason a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps she sensed my thoughts of abandonment return. I miss my Grandma like hell.

Back and Forth tweedle de dum

I go back and forth in this life - from Greenville to Ann Arbor to Seattle to Portland to Austin, these are the scuff marks on my sneakers. I don't know where I'll end up. I can see myself shuffling the Earth for awhile longer and finally settling down right where I started. I am not saying Barry St, but perhaps the farm in Amsden. After all, that is my favorite place on Earth. Sure I've seen a lot of shit happen there - piss buckets and bricks to the side of the head, but in some sadistic, morbid, comforting way, I feel safe. It feels like home and warm pancakes fried in lard and tiny pizzas and potato soup with caraway seeds and a pot of tea on the stove. And so I will open my eyes to the rest of the world, but focus on the place I've always known as home.

A Spoonful of Cactus Jam

I bought some Prickly pear cactus jam from a nice country lady at the Oatmeal Festival in Oatmeal, TX. How did I end up in Oatmeal, TX? In my visions of life, I never once imagined a quick stop in Oatmeal, TX for a festival whose name is much more intriguing than the festivities. The best part of the Oatmeal Festival in Oatmeal, TX was the festival's mascot - a personified canister of 3 Minute Brand oats that looks exactly like the Twinkie Mascot. I bought a canister of 3 Minute Brand oats at the Marble Falls H.E.B store, but upon bringing it home I discovered that not only did it take just 2 minutes to cook, but 3 Minute Brand oatmeal is not even made in Oatmeal, TX. An entire festival celebrates this brand (although the festival had very little focus on oatmeal aside for merchandise purposes) and it is made in St. Louis, MO. I feel like I've been cheated. I did, however, make the best of my disappointing journey and bought a baggie of cookies from some old people and that jar of prickly pear jam previously mentioned.

It has been awhile since I have blogged. I have moved away from Washington and down to Marble Falls, TX. My life has been an endless stream of packing and unpacking for several years now and I am starting to enjoy it. When I left Washington, I left most of my possessions behind in search of a fresh start. Biggy C had my minivan and pretty much everything else that I owned. Christian gave me his Ford Focus station wagon and I packed it with one large camping back pack full of stuff, a bike, a sleeping bag, bedding, and my fishing pole. What more do you need in life? It's all good so far. I am enjoying my job and my co-workers, but the children arrive tomorrow. Training is over and the real test begins.

Dancing to Don't Worry Be Happy with Biggy C

Do you ever wonder if the idea of blogging was stolen from Doogie Howser? Do you ever wonder how much more fantastic that show could have been if it were about me? I am not a genius, child doctor formally inflicted with leukemia, but I do have Biggy C and we dance.

The other day I was doing my laundry at Biggy C's house. The night was peaking in and I was late for my plans to swallow pills and beer with Kate, but I didn't care. Biggy C's sister-in-law was over crying about her mother and telling me about her plans to steal her son's beer, get drunk, and growl at the her own reflection in the mirror. "Tequila," she said. "It's the tequila that will make me growl, but I'm all alone tonight, so I won't hurt anyone but myself." I smiled and looked down at my vibrating phone. Another text message comes through and my own life has become a fuzzy mess of vibrations that mean little and crying confusions that mean lots...but only to me. I will brave an ulcer, lung cancer, and overage charges, but it will never matter and so I hang with Biggy C. She might be insane, live in a tweeker riddled trailer park, and have fleas, but she is my friend. And so the night traveled on and my laundry tossed heavy in the dryer until it stopped...but not us. Biggy C's niece had the look of early depression and Biggy C started singing Bob Marley's "Don't Worry Be Happy." She handed me the baby and proceeded to download the song illegally from Lime wire. Pressed Play...and before I knew it, I was dancing around the filthy trailer, holding a baby tight to my face, and singing "Don't Worry Be Happy" duet style with Biggy C. When Bob Marley says, "If you're feeling sad, just call me up. I'll make you happy." Biggy C looks at me and says "that's what we'll do for each other, Julia, cuz this is our song."

When did I get here and why did I go there and who am I becoming? I cannot tell if I like it or hate it or am going to die this way. All I know is that it is almost over and I wonder how much of this life is going to carry over into my next. Will I lose touch and chalk it all up to "I'm a fucking mess?" or will I confess? I guess I won't worry too much.

I Blog to Blah Blah

My coffee mug has been lost in my room for a good week, now. I am certain that I last saw it in here, but it is nowhere to be found. That is how messy my room is. I was doing well, sleeping 8 hours a day, running at least 4 miles a day, and eating no toxins, but something happened. I fell off of the healthy nut wagon and deep into a world of gas station pancakes on sticks, beef jerky, skittles, ice cream, diet coke, french fries, and pizza, pizza, pizza. I have lost it. I stay up late and sleep in. I text message like mad and surf the internet for nothing in particular. Something has happened and I do not know how to stop it. Perhaps a move to Texas will return me to center.

Saying Goodbye Why is it Hard?

I have written about T Casey in numerous blogs, but he seems the great example of people who come into my life and cause me to wonder why. T Casey was a homeless man that I met at a soup kitchen my freshman year of college on one of the few occasions that I managed to get out of bed and face the world. The man was crazy, but interesting. He showed me the comic books he had written and told me he was famous. He did have a webpage on the internet, so I suppose that's more famous than me. At the time, I was really lonely and really contemplative. I wondered why I met T Casey and whether or not our lives would cross paths again. I saw him around Ann Arbor a few times after that, but no strange encounters. I guess T Casey's influence on my life was merely to be used as an example in future blogs...and I have never forgotten him.

And so I guess this is what this year has been for me, a lesson in letting go. My Grandma died in March and I will never forget that pain. There can be nothing harder than watching your very best friend die and knowing that you can neither go with her or do anything to save her. Life is just tough that way. So maybe that's why I am feeling that way, again - the way I felt when my Grandma was dying - that feeling of never seeing someone again. Maybe that's ok. It's just the way the world works - people come and go and you are a part of it. Sometimes it is just time to pack your bags and move to Texas, go back home for a bit, or just drive until your car breaks down. Krystal is leaving in a few days to visit her mom and I'm not sure I will ever see her again and frankly it breaks my heart. I seem to grow attached to very few people, but those that I do, I have trouble letting go of. So here I am, 23 years old, but I'll be 24 in a few weeks. I am happy to say goodbye to 23. It was the hardest and most fucked-up year of my life. Goodbye Gertrude. Goodbye Stimpy. Goodbye Krystal. Goodbye Grandma. Hello to whoever the next stupid fuck is whom I grow attached to. You're in for a real treat. Goodbye Blog Readers and Goodnight for now.