I am cramped.
A good cramped, like being in a nest. I'm in a little nest, yes, flying over basically Wyoming. Big canyons are manila down there, and then there are the greenish snow-capped and blunted peaks.
I just finished a really good book, Rent Girl, by Michelle Tea, illustrated—magically—by Laurenn McCubbin. The book is about a sort of confused charming young punk lesbian girl making her way in a world where the reality and temptation of prostitution are hard to resist. It's a nice book. (I suppose.) (Nicer than Cruddy, I have to say…) The illustrations are gorgeous, and it tells a true story that is a pretty moving portrait of a lifestyle that I have not too much knowledge about, because now I'm an old former trusta-hippy, and not a young tongue dumb dumpy little girl hippy anymore. And it makes me go, "Aw," a little.
Yes, and things are pretty good right now, I have to say, so I was thinking to myself, "Why don't I blog about it?" Let me tell you what's going on right now: I am eating the best chocolate right now (Lavender, by Dagoba—it's organic; Daye Sheridan Stewart Piotrowski likes it too. But you're probably not cool enough to know her!! J). Dagoba chocolates are made in Ashland, Oregon. Oh, yeah, did I mention, I'm on a plane now? Ah. Well, I may have neglected to mention that I am flying on a plane from Portland, OR, having had a really great eight day-long "Spring Break in July" trip to see my girls. Some of them, anyway. I always wish I could be around them all. We are going to have such a fun, sexy nursing home one day. Yes we are. So… I guess I should write a little travelogue accompaniment to my trip, which was so awesome. I'll subject you to that next. Meantime, I want to continue, 'cause there's more: I figured out my camera, and was able to upload a bunch of pics to the net in the airport. Also, I am listening to that totally great Midlake album, "The Trials of Van Occupanther," which K-Lo kicked down to me in such a timely manner. It's real "westy." Pioneer-like. We have all been grooving on it, hardcore. It's nice and cool here. I'm on a Delta flight back, with its plush pleather seats, and an empty middle seat in between me and this nice guy on the aisle, who is also rocking out, via mp3 projector. Oh, yes, they have an airport Powell's Books, so I impulsively picked up YET another sequential novel, Maggie the Mechanic, which has a bunch of the first Locas stories, written by Jaime Hernandez. You may be aware that I love the things that come out of that guy's head and hand.
First thing about the trip, besides how awesome and natural it was, is that I spent what I consider to be an obscene amount of dollars on comics. I don't even know what I bought. I am like, worse than a boner for a comic book store; I am in heat. That town of Portland turns me on so in that way. They make lots of comics money when people like me come to town.
So, the trip: I'm blogging about it, I know, which is kind of Lame, especially since another thing I splurged on at the airport (god—I don't even want to see this upcoming bank statement! Why did I let myself get a credit card? Yikes.) was a really nice fancy Moleskine sketchbook, the big kind, meant to keep my thoughts (as opposed to this mean computer). It was a purchase inspired by a visit with a person named Jeffree, whom I consider to be more a friend than an acquaintance. We are on the level, dude. It stands to reason that I would want to do everything he does, because he pretty much does everything I want to do. Both of Jeffree's past two girlfriends—serious girlfriends—and you won't believe this when I tell you—have my same birthday, and are also left-handed, like me. Wow. The last one, Dionne, just broke up with him a couple days before I came to visit, which was a couple weeks after he'd moved there, over the phone. I understand breaking up with someone so far away: she's in Maine. Apparently, she's scared to make a commitment to him. It's hurting him, but he's doing all right, too. He has a good foundation, and super-good energy, and good friends. Jeffree also makes art, usually paintings, from what I've seen, and I bought one while I was on my trip. It's a colorful illustration that was made while he was talking on the phone to his friend who was going through a divorce. It reminds me of keeping in touch with people, which is, like, totally what I do. He mad another picture when Dionne dumped him, and it is very complicated and fantastic and dark. He's just great. You'll probably meet him one day.
And one thing I did with Jeffree, besides trying to turn him onto all these different comic books at one time, so fast that I believe it overwhelmed his sensibilities, was to go camping with the boy. Me and Jeffree and Meggan and Kelly and Katie and Natalie and Sara all went car camping amid the gorgeous peaks of the Cascade mountain range in Washington, last weekend. It was. Well, it's really hard to describe without sounding cliché. Let me relate to you an observation that Kelly made while we were on a short hike (what were we even doing? Oh yeah, just probably chilling and exploring): this is what you always envision the best-case scenario of camping is like, and it never turns out that way. Camping last weekend turned out exactly as it was dreamed it would. We had a lot a lot of trouble getting it together to leave town: there was this crazy car snafu, involving Meggan going to get a tire changed, and the guys at Les Schwab telling her she better go ahead and get a new set, because she was tempting fate riding on them now (to which I am like, "yeah right. And also, would you quit messing with us, pros?"). So we had to get a new set. Let's wait 30 minutes. Let's wait an hour. Ok, now let's hear the guys telling us that Meggs has to have some kind of VW Jetta key for the tire locks, which she does not have, so let's drive back to the house, fret and freak, tensions running so high, all we want to do is leave town! Then a lightbulb came on in somebody's head, and we were able to go to the friendly neighborhood fix-it guy, who happens to be this really cute sexy mechanic that the girls all have crushes on even though they are almost all gay—that's how cute he is. The cutie lent us a key, we took it to Les, and it worked, and they put our tires on, posthaste. Now, let me ask you this: if you are a tire place, in Portland, Oregon, where everybody and their mother drives a Volkswagen, why would you not keep a stock of those keys available, especially if they are not unique to the individual automobile?
Wow.
So, that was a lot. Then, of course, there are two (sweet) dogs and two (insane) cats living at the house, and something had to be done with them. There were so many logistics involved in going on this trip. Katie had to come a day late; we had to rent her a car, for the dogs and stuff. I had a hypoglycemic episode. Whatev. It was cool. I'm glad the girls took care of the logistics, and I could just sweat it out and eat leftover Tin Shed.
We go on this trip to the mountains, on which I have practically stamped my feet on the ground and insisted we go. We cruised up this long highway, with the full intention of heading into Roslyn, Washington (aka Cicely, Alaska). The girls, Kelly and Meggan, have exasperatedly caved and said they would make this ridiculous eight-hour drive for me, so we can do what I want, since it is so important that we carry out my plan. It got a little ridiculous, I must say. But, it was a beautiful drive, full of so much uncertainty. I felt so much younger. I felt like I did in Asheville. And when we went into the mountains—oh! The trees! So tall and thick, like redwoods! Were they redwoods? And they were everywhere, too. They were amazing. The sky was bluest azure. The water in the rivers was coming from the glaciers (you could see some of the glaciers!), which made it greenish-aqua, like seaglass, and even more so with all those colorful rocks tumbling around beneath the water. We passed Mt. Hood on the way out of town, and then came to Mt. St. Helens, which was a hugely-cratered, amazing, snow-covered hugeness. It was grace; it was grace. We passed all this, and then night began to suggest falling, and it was clear that we needed to find a spot to camp, and fast. One of the reasons it was so imperative that we camp soon was that we had a huge tent, like a circus tent, from the 1970's, meant to accommodate the whole party, to set up. It was either that or throw out the 3-man. I like to be cozy, but three big girls and a dog in a 3-man… well… there's farting and stuff. Let's leave it at that. (Although, as a side note, one of my superhero nicknames is "The Snuggler" now, and I would have been in bliss bliss bliss to be so close to those girls all night, who are among my all-time fave snuggle partners.)
We had no idea where to camp. Fortuitously, we happened upon three travelers along the road, who we stopped and asked if they had us any advice. They didn't really, but they relayed a general rule to us, which we had suspected, but not enough to act on: it's a National Forest; you just turn down one of those roads to the right, and camp wherever there's a spot. We were crafty, after all, see, playing the odds that leaving on a Thursday would give us prime spot-chance, but we really didn't believe in ourselves at that point, so late were we and everything. Meggs drives fast, and maybe has a small amount of difficulty making that last-second sudden right turn (I do not, which is one of the reasons I wasn't driving), so we cruised past a couple of promising forest roads, anxiously. Then we saw mile marker 18, and Meggan says, "This is it." And, you know? It totally was. We got in there, saw the great big spot, the little road that led to the free wood, and by the time the dusklight was friscallating, we had that monster tent off the ground and a fire built, to boot! A good one! I said, cheerily, "I am going to check out that little road that is right next to our campsite!" Then, less than 30 feet later, I came upon the nicest blue-eye swimming hole I ever have seen. It was apparent that we had stumbled upon the best campsite ever: free, free wood, sweet hole, weird green empty box for storing any number of things, mat of hay atop which ¼ of the tent would sit! It was beautiful! We got drunk and stoned and cooked and ate sausages and something else, but I think I was too drunk and stoned to remember what exactly. Leftovers! God, it turned out that someone had built a roofed privy, complete with handholds and convenience-log, and so we were all able to shit comfortably, which we did often. And then the dog, Norman, would eat it, privately, unbeknownst to us. We were right next to a river, which lulled us to sleep. When we woke, because the tent was positioned under the shade of the million gorgeous pines (redwoods?), it was cool and nice. We had a leisurely morning, and then the shit hit the fan.
I don't know if it was the estrogen or the alcohol, or the what-have-you, but we all totally tweaked the next day. We had a cathartic experience, one of the kind you can only have with really good, trusted friends. This experience involved hurt feelings and an impromptu therapeutic communications workshop in the woods! How wonderful! In the end, everything was ironed out to our mutual agreement. We all have our own little quirks when it comes to communicating, getting a point across and such, and they don't always jive with each other. That's the kind of stuff you just have to work out. I remember thinking, "If we were boys, we would have just been like 'fuck you' [which Meggan did say to me, at one point] or fought it out, and it would be forgotten." But, alas, much as some of us, i.e. me, would like to be, we're not boys. And I'm not sure what all friends do, but that's not what my friends do. But we did all cry, at our times, in our ways. We took a lot of breaks on the way to Roslyn, and we ended up not making it there, but we ended up happy, and that was all that mattered to me.
On the way to Roslyn, we drove past some of the prettiest country, and the most beautiful flowers. We passed Mt. Ranier and saw its craggy glory. We even drove out of the Cascades, in Yakima, into the desert, the high desert of Washington, with all its sandstone and stripes and sage. And liquor stores. Roslyn's about an hour from Yakima. We made it halfway up that last stretch and decided it wasn't worth it. We had Magic Campsite to return to before the girls (and Jeffree) came in!
Return we did—it was much faster now that we didn't have to hash out a bunch of communication on the side of the road. Meggan got obsessed with taking a shower (?), and so we stopped at a great many campgrounds on the way home, fruitlessly searching for a bathhouse for her to wash her ass in. The girls got in, and it was great to see them. It was Friday, and everybody was off work. Jeffree was there with his crystals and his good energy. We cooked veg; we drank; I passed out kind of early. Apparently, Katie got wildly drunk. I was sad I missed it! When we awoke in the morning, Natalie tipped us off to the killer little island in the middle of a nearby stream, a place that was full of salamanders and tadpoles and a gemstone collection's-worth of colorful rocks that we were ceaselessly fascinated by. We bathed there—I got naked, too. The water was absolutely frigid. It was bone-numbingly cold. But, I am sor-ry!, I can't resist a mountain stream, especially when there's no one around. (It was funny: I asked Jeffree, "do you care if I get naked for this?" And he was like, "what do you mean, do I care?" I said something like, "well, I just didn't, like, know if you minded." And he was all, "One thing I do not mind is naked girls," or something to that effect. Less sleazy, though. Eh. Guess you had to be there.) But! I got in, dang it! And it was hella refreshing. Man, such a hot day—such cold water! And we just ended up lazing until we could laze no more, and talking, and Jeffree painted, and we walked around some, gathered firewood, built log furniture, and laughed and didn't cry.
Well, that was pretty much our camping trip—we played with the dogs and each other… fun in the sun, for sure! It couldn't have been more beautiful.
The camping trip happened in the dead center of my vacation, though, and I want to tell about some more of it (the vacation).
I came in late at night on July 2nd. Meggan picked me up. We had a beer at Mock Crest Tavern, the Girls' fave neighborhood bar, and were served/tended-to by a woman who really resembled a famous movie star, which was neat. I couldn't remember who it was, but it was the mom in Pleasantville. She's so sweet. Pretty, too, with those sad eyes and that wide red smile. (Actually, we went to "Mock's Crest" after camping, too, and had a few + fish'n'chips—the wind blew our adorable umbrellaed garden table, and all the drinks and food crashed right onto Meggan! Tragicomedy! It's really a nice bier garder they have, though. We got her cleaned up.)
The next day, July 3… hmm. What did we do? I'm leaving a blank here—oh yeah! Me and Meggan worked out logistics all day!... no? Where was Kelly? Did we all just hang out at the house, minus Katie? No! Kelly was at work! Right! Me and Meggs did logistics, ate at the Tin Shed (yum and awesome), took the dog to the vet (cute), had a bunch of couch time (my fave), I think listened to some music… That night we ate at Fratelli. Yeah, I know we ate there last time—that's where we came up with the Table, after all—but I thought it would be really good anyway. It wasn't as good as the first time. Never is… Fratelli had changed, and we all agreed we felt rushed. Then we went to a cocktail bar where we had crazy vegetable cocktails and practiced our "sexy tongue lure," at which I am laughably bad. Here's Kelly's:
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I had a cocktail made with BEETS! It was cocktail night—we went to one more spot—cool place, I don't know what it was—it was red—and had a beer and called it a night. For one thing, we had to wake up and go tubing tomorrow!
Scary. Yet cool. Herbivore.
