Archive for the ‘Travels’ Category

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Michael was putting the girls down and they wanted to hear a story before sleepytime.  Michael tells them that he don’t know no stories ‘coz we don’t have kids and any story he tells them, well, it’s too much of an eduction for them.  So BB comes up with this little diddy:

There once was a man.

He kept us down.

The End.

True Story

I laughed for 20 minutes but it would not be the longest laugh of the trip, oh no.

Ever seen a truck load of white people carpooling into Mexico?  Not out of.  INTO.  Well, now you have:

Let me say right here and now that I have never been more appreciative of my station in life, my job, my home, my everything as I am today.  Visiting Acuna was humbling.  Not humbling enough to not steal a man’s juice.  I means shoes.  That’s right, a gang of white people went to Mexico and stole a poverty stricken man’s juice.  I mean shoes.

The reception, once we got there but that’s another story for another day ‘coz it’s too close to x-mas to say what I really want to say about getting there, anyway, the reception was off the fucking chain awesome.  Those mother fuckers know how to party.

White people at wedding receptions dress Sunday dress appropriate, they listen to musak at a reasonable level with chicken (you get your choice of dry or dry), have too many glasses of wine and tell entirely too honest childhood stories.

You know what else white people do at wedding receptions?  We pick people up:

Sometimes you gamble ….

Sometimes you lose …

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no habla espano

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We made it to Del Rio yesterday after what seemed like forever.  The last two hours of the trip I sat in the backseat moaning, “We are NEVER going to make it are we?  We are going to die on the side of the road backing in the southern Texas heat like that deer we just passed.  And that one.  And that one.”

While the trip was honestly pretty fucking miserable and the fact that the only thing in Del Rio is one lone bar and a Walmart, I am having a great time already.

Got a great room, THANKS Aunt Laura, got a hot cup of coffee, got a bowl of fruit, a lung dart or two and a beautiful sunrise over a dusty hill crest.

Soon we will be heading to Acuna, Mexico and while I am the type to always pray just a wee bit for ultra violence of any form, I am now begging the gods that no one car jacks me.  I mean, in the past two months I’ve spent at least $2000 on that bitch. So they can have the fucking car, but I’m gonna need to get those tires, brakes, bumpers, battery.

Maybe I should bring a shopping cart or something.  I wonder if the wheels will lock at the border like those mother fuckers in the Walmart parking lot.  Useless, the whole lot of them.

I do know one thing, there will be many bottles of tequila WITH THE WORM at my house when I get back.  Who wants to share one with me?

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Spic-N-Span

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Statements like “I’m gonna clean the house today” take on a whole new meaning when you go from a 1 bedroom/1 bath apartment to a 3 bedroom/2 bath house.  There’s just so much more to clean and dust and vacuum that is seems unending.  Shit, just cleaning the floors was enough to force a nap and rest my body a bit!  Just deezamn.

What else is goings on?  Dean/Brenda swing by Thursday.  The Spinneys swing by next Tuesday.  The wedding next week that I still don’t have my dress fitted for nor do I have appropriate footwear.  Good thing I’m not a person who tends to stress.  But hey, I aint worried about me, aint no one gonna be looking at my ass anyway, everyone’s gonna be checking the bride!

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Stop that. Just stop that right now.

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On my weekday commute to work, I pass several informational signs. You know those gi-freaking-normous Lite Brite signs?

Usually they tell me how long it is gonna take me to get from here to there.

8 minutes to I-10 it bleeps on good days.

37 minutes to I-10 it tells me on bad days.  Usually Monday mornings all hung over and, of course, those are the days when I forget to pee before leaving the house.

I don’t give them much pause.  I’m a grown up and don’t stress that kinda shit anymore.  I gets there when I gets there and not a minute before.

Today they shook the angry in me which, coincidentally, is connected to the crazy.

The first one I noticed stated, “Storm forming in the Gulf.  Be prepared.”

Okay, the storm is nowhere near us.  Or the oil slick.  But okay, that’s kewl, thanks for the 411.  I do ‘ppreciate it.

The second one said, “Hurricane in the Gulf.  Fill your tank.”

Fuck you.

No I will not fill up my tank.

Nor will I run to the grocery screaming, honking and generally acting an ass at stop lights in fear that I won’t get enough water, batteries and canned peaches to survive a holocaust.

I fart in your general direction signage manager.

Nor will I take out mega wads of cash ‘coz ohmygod what if we lose power for an extended period and I CAN’T GET TO THE MONEY.  Then what I’m supposed to do?  Walk around the 3rd largest city in America with a big’ol wad of cash on my person.  No thank you, I much prefer to have heart attack listed on my autopsy report than dumb ass who got jacked up.

Nor will I (and I can’t stress this one enough) watch The Weather Channel non-stop for the next 72 hours.  Nail biting, bile churning waiting game aint gonna ruin my 4th of July weekend.

No sir, I think I will conduct my business as usual.

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And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.

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So yeh, not bragging or anything, but I went to Forks, Washington.

Yes, my sole purpose for visiting is ‘coz I’m a Twilight-aholic.

And it was fucking awesome.

Not just ‘coz of the whole Twilight mania complete with tours, shops, signage and the like.  The area (Forks, La Push, Port Angeles) is some of the most gorgeous countryside I have ever seen.

The [supposed to take] 2 hour trip turned into a 4 hour trip (one way!!).  One reason is that everyone in that region drives about 10 miles UNDER the speed limit.  UNDER PEOPLE.  You pull that shit in Houston and you gonna get shot.  In the face.

Second reason is ‘coz of all the damned wildlife.  We almost crashed no less than 10 times.  The brakes on that rental car gonna need some changing.  Soon.

Elk.  Deer. Ravens.  Cougars (no, not that kind, even though it was in Twilight land, and expected, it was the real deal kind with jacked up tails).

The lakes and mountains were so peaceful that it felt claustrophobic.  It was somehow suffocating to let go of the hustle and bustle.  To relax into going UNDER the speed limit.  To enjoy slowing down for the numerous forms of wildlife.  To actually be quiet long enough to hear waterfalls cascading down the mountain cliffs.

Wait, so where was I?

If I were a breeder, you could lump me right into this category.  Edward and Jacob visit my dirty thoughts frequently.  Most times together.

Michael was so good and made sure that I stood still long enough to take a picture in front of everything.

Forks:

There was a line forming to take pictures in front of the Forks sign but guess who was first?  I’ll give you ONE guess.

Now, I didn’t take the Twilight Tour but I enjoyed perpetrating like I did.

Then I just had to get a shot with Bella’s truck.

La Push:

La Push was beyond words.  Breathtakingly storybook is as close as I can come.

The beach actually had people running about.  AND people surfing.  In wet suits of course ‘coz, again, in case I have not been clear, it was cold.

Look real close.  See that moon?

This goes in the Alzheimer’s album to remind us when we’re 80 the places we’ve visited.

This I thought was Twilight inspired but, nope, been there for years.

The cutest thing in La Push though was the treaty line.

Port Angeles:

Bella Italia with my friend Amy.  She was my running buddy back in the days of orange hair and red attitude.

Of course I had to get a picture of Michael with the octopus.  And hey, look at that, the sun was actually out!!

The coast went on and on just as beautiful as this for miles it seemed.

The water was clear and crystal but a bit greenish (which lets you know it is COLD water my friends, don’t go in there!).

I can understand and appreciate why people live there, even knowing it never got over 53 degrees the entirety of our stay (in June) … I understand it.  Serene, relaxed culture surrounded by some of the greenest lands in America.

All I can say at this point is neener-neener, I went to Twilight land and it was all I had hoped it would be!

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Good times were had by all. I think.

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Our trip to New Orleans was full of easy, comfortable chatter.
The drive was quick and stress free.  Had we made the drive Christmas Eve versus Christmas day, well, I shudder to think of it.
Seven lanes normally swollen and agitated were down right peaceful.
traffic
Once we arrived safe and sound, we immediately dove face first into food and family and presents.
I feel guilty that we ALL are spoiled disgusting when others have nothing at all.
Appreciation I guess is what they call that.
And I do, I appreciate all of it.
After days that always run too short (I mean seriously, where does the time go as they say ‘coz on an average work day 8 hours takes 6.7 weeks but on a trip to NoLa 8 hours equals approximately 87 minutes), we followed breadcrumbs back to Houston.
Marched into an angry sunset we did.  Devilish visions licking red and orange reminding us to be cautious, to take care.
sunset
Reminding us that as we end the year, we have yet another year to survive.
Survive the addictions and disappointments, the lust and the loss, grievance and absolution alike.
I have to believe that 2010 will be a more joyful and successful year as 2009 was that dip in the ride which flings your head forward – HARD – and you leave with your nose broken by a rusty handlebar.
And everyone hates that.
I would like to say that I plan to do things different in 2010.
I would like to say that I am going to lose some weight …
become more compassionate …
forgive more and grudge less …
Maybe at the end of 2010 I, at the very least, will get points for good intentions.
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We know each other so well, we finish each other’s sentences.

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As we were semi-practicing our Spanglish (which, let me say right here, anyone who has ever said, “learn the language, hello, you are in America, speak English,” and only speaks one language, should give it a shot and when you see how very, very difficult it is, I will prepare for you a steamy, heaping plate of crow) …

“We should pay that bitch $300 …”

“To spank us?”

“No, love, to tutor us in Spanish.”

Why would we even bother attempting to take in another language has never lived in Houston, Texas or had family members who speak Spanish.  First, and most importantly, I want the ability to determine if someone is talking shit about me.  Secondly, I would like to be able to say more than just “Buenas noches,” to the nice lady who services our floor at work.

Okay, so here’s the deal.  Last week was just all out shitty.  Everything about it was shitty.  Every morning, every noon, every night.  Just. Plain.  Shitty.  I was stressed to the max.  I was on edge.  My neck literally pained me from tension.

What I’m asking myself now is if those instances of frustration … the two tickets, the drama at work, the trip to the social security office (which I’ll talk about more later, what a story that is to live and breathe and survive to tell), the three 2.6 mile runs after being a smoker for 22 years and overall couch huger for many decades, and well, I could go on but I am becoming exhausted rehashing the memories … were they all that bad or did I just allow them to affect more than the usual inconveniences?  Did I maybe overreact to everything, everyone – life in general?

Maybe yes, maybe no.

I can tell you that this week I am making a promise to myself to do better.  I am looking forward to our run tomorrow morning.  I am looking forward to work which continues to challenge me, keeping me on my toes, evolving.  I am looking forward to traffic.

Okay, hear me out on this one.  I know I have bitched about Houston traffic on more than one occasion.  It is one of those topics were you blurt, “don’t get me started,” before you even register it happened.  If I am honest with myself though, I actually brought this nightmare down on my shoulders.  When I was a little girl, I dreamed and prayed about getting the fuck out of hick-town Belhaven, North Carolina.  I wanted to live where the nearest store was closer than 15 MINUTES by car.  I wanted more than two lanes on the HIGHWAYS.  I begged the good lawd above to please, please, please get me the fuck outta there.  Take me to a big city where I can become lost in the crowd.  Where people don’t know me and don’t know where I came from or all those horrible, horrible things that people in small towns remember.

Well, now I have it.  People who see me in traffic or in the grocery store or in line at a fancy, uptown, over priced coffee house with the feng shui ambiance and too perky barristers know nothing at all about me.  The only impression they have is the first one, the initial one.  No history.  No background.  No skeletons.

So when I think this week about all the things that are working my last good nerve, I am going to think about those weak, whimpered prayers of a small town country girl who wanted to get the fuck outta there and run to the big city.

I have a job other than being a baby machine, kid feeder with dirty white babies running in the dust out in front the trailer.  My husband has a job other than a fisherman or a farmer or a drug dealer.  My apartment is full of trinkets and toys of every kind that small town country girls could never afford what with the five kids and plastic swimming pools and all.

So this week moving forward when I am bitching and moaning about the traffic and my career and my apartment building and fancy police I am going to make a conscience effort to remember that this is all my fault  and that I brought this all on myself.

Maybe there is a god after all.  Maybe he does answer prayers.

He just happens to be 20 years behind on his messages.

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