I don't know how it happened, but I was teaching my class the other day and we got onto the topic of weird, creepy things. I'm not going to say I was completely on task in Social Studies class that day, but a teacher gets away from herself now and again when the story of the Donner Party pops up around Halloween. It's definitely not up as high as the Zombie Apocalypse or the difference in Trad climbing v. Sport climbing, but the Donner Party definitely ranks on topics that will get Miss Ellis on a tangent. Anyways, it's a historical reference, so technically I was on point.
So we had a little story time. Just like the good old days minus the camping out and flashlights and axe murderers. We threw in a little science, talking about organ donors and transplants, etc. It was probably my best lesson to date.
Anyways, I told them about this summer when I went out to Donner Lake....sort of. Anytime you can combine rock climbing and the Donner party in one story, its a total win.
This was my last outing before I had to leave California. I was totally psyched! Climbing! TAHOE! Lakes and trees and Jon!
The great thing about my little visit to the west is, once again, the people. THE PEOPLE THE PEOPLE THE PEOPLE! They're awesome! One of my new friends from my backpacking trip in Yosemite, Brian, invited Jon and I out to visit his lake house. Now, on the east coast this is a prime set up for a bad scary movie. West Coast, just another day of unexpected hospitality. I've known the guy for a week at this point. We were facebook official within a day and sleepover party friends by the end of the week. Love.
This guy rivals Irish Eric, except there were no lattes. Not only did he put Jon and I up in his lake house, but he offered to drive us out to our climbing spot since he had something a little more rustic than the old Kia Rio...
And just like any story that starts at Donner Lake, it got a little crazy and a little creepy. Driving out to this area:
was ridiculous! We got lost on "roads?" The question mark is on purpose. I don't know if you could call these dirt paths roads. They weren't even flat. It was like riding through one of those jeep commercials where they're climbing over boulders and avoiding deer and splashing through rivers. I think Brian was a little lost, but the directions seemed so clear...
The GPS gave up on us almost immediately. Rerouting my rear end...
Remarkably, nothing about the Donner Party came to mind while we were lost in the forest on a road a GPS couldn't find. Neither did the fact that the man driving was known to me and Jon for only a week. Because one does not think of such things when you are in sunny Cali.
If you're a climber and you're looking over these descriptions, I want to let you know the rock was awesome. Everything was a touch bouldery to the first move and I was all on my lonesome without my usual climbing people. I sketched out a bit. Thank goodness for Jon. We started climbing at the same gym years ago, and while we separated and Jon became cooler than me and moved, first to Chic New York, then to Hippy Heaven California, I knew we both had the basic foundation for climbing. You have no idea what a thought grenade climbing can be.
THERE IS NOTHING SCARIER than literally putting your life in someone's hands when you don't know them. Or even worse, when you know them and you question their abilities. Here Jon, hold this rope and make sure I don't deck and kill myself. Talk about a trust fall...
I love you Jon. Thanks for letting me survive.
Finally out climbing and running my sport leads, I was so happy. This is what I think about when I'm in a funk. I try to remember the rush of fear, the comradery of strangers staring at a cliff that only climbers really understand. The baking of the sun and the bluest sky. And...*cough cough* the glorious muscles of shirtless men. (just saying)
Depression affects each of us differently. Everyone gets a little crazy in their own way. One could say that your personality on one side becomes amplified and takes over and morphs all of your other character traits.
I'm depressed. I often get depressed at the beginning of a school year. But the last two years have been particularly difficult for so many reasons. None of these reasons alone can claim to be the cause, it is a feeling of being attacked from all sides that creates this awful paradigm.
The worst part is that you break out into crazy and then you calm down and people think you've fixed it. NOT TRUE. The worst part of depression is the part where you silently bear it because it's STILL FREAKING THERE!
This is actually a funny story, believe it or not.
When you get into the silent depression mode, you start overreacting to weird things in SUPER WEIRD WAYS.
(FYI when I say YOU I definitely mean ME)
Here is a story all about how my mind got twist...turned upside down...
After a super awesome (SARCASM ALERT) Monday in which I woke up late because my alarm didn't go off and made it to work on time (Good Job Jax), I continued through my day in wonderful fashion turning a blind eye to the fact that that one student still does absolutely nothing in my classroom, 75% of them still can't remember their multiplication tables, let alone do a 5th grade math problem, or, I don't know, read the directions at the top of the pages AND the parents want to know what I'M doing to accommodate these little gems.
NEVERMIND NEVERMIND....that's the usual teacher banter, nothing new and I'm sure you all are as tired of hearing it as I am of saying it.
5 minutes left of class, we have a puker. Blew gloriously brilliant red chunks all over my already lovely smelling classroom. Wait, that's not all! The kicker is that earlier he said his stomach hurt, so I sent him down to the nurse, where she gave him some crackers to settle his stomach. He asked if he could have the trash can next to him, which I gladly obliged. Fortuitously, the end of the day drew near, so this child felt the need to clean up his area, moving the trash can back in place to return to his desk. 10 seconds later...
SPEWAGE
...that's not the worst part...the worst part is the after party that the rest of the students invite themselves to. For some reason little kids see someone at the worst part of their days and decide to do a little dance party. ALL 20 KIDS decide to use the power of interpretive dance to clue me in on the fact that this kid is PUKING ALL OVER THE PLACE. Chairs are OPTIONAL ladies and gentleman! If you use one, make sure its in the air!
Let's leave.
By kiddos! Sorry you can't stay longer!
Get in the car, go home, think about things that are happening outside of school. BAD JAX BAAAADDDDDDD.
Stub my toe on the way out of my car. Just a little extra something to close the work day. Think to myself...that's a stupid thing to hold on to....let it go.
I went on to read a bunch of inspirational quotes that do not apply to my life, or that I could pair up and use to disprove the other. You know...like....
"Don't close the book when bad things happen in your life, Just turn the page and begin a new chapter."
Then I scroll down and see this one:
"You know why it's hard to be happy? It's because we refuse to let go of the things that make us sad."
I could inspire myself in so many directions. Google+ is like a fortune cookie machine.
And you know when you've just had enough...
The house phone rings and it tells you that it's Washington DC calling.
OH NO THEY DON'T DARE.
My sister, Suzy, picks up the phone and answers as I hear who is calling...
What do THEY want?! at the top of my voice. This could literally be anyone in DC. YOU TELL THEM THAT WE DON'T WANT TO TALK TO THEM UNTIL THEY DO THEIR JOB!!!!
Five minute rant ensues at the tippity top of my voice about how if I had it MY WAY they wouldn't have a job right now...or WORSE they'd have to do their job without PAY until they STOP BEING CHILDISH AND START MAKING THE GOVERNMENT WORK SMOOTHLY UNLIKE THE LAST 15 YEARS!!!!! DON'T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE AND TELL YOU HOW TO DO YOUR JOB LIKE YOU DO TO ME EVERY FREAKING DAY OF MY LIFE!!!! WE COULD SOLVE THE DEBT CRISIS IF YOU WERE ON MY SALARY!!!!
No one in DC should make phone calls anywhere the day before the government is set to shut down. It's just a bad idea.
"Suz...what are they saying?"
"They aren't talking....Hello? HELLO?"
"GOOD THEY SHOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING BECAUSE THEY'D PROBABLY BE WRONG!!!!!"
"Uh, they just hung up."
"GOOD!"
Don't mess with crazy at the end of a Monday people. Just don't.
P.S. Mr. NSA person, you go ahead and record all of this down to the last drop, but don't you DARE waste paper, or use any of our government funds to do so. You just MEMORIZE IT.
I miss you California. I miss your musk. I miss your beautiful scenery. I miss your people. I miss your newness and mystery.
I miss you because I'm back at work. I'm back to the grind. I'm starting to forget your face.
I also miss you because Jon is doing fun things in California without me and I haven't found a job out there yet and I can not simply go and join him on all those wonderful adventures.
Instead I have to sit here in a moldy old classroom in the south side among the sad and down trodden poor kids who don't know what its like to say hello to everyone you pass on the sidewalk.
It's so different.
I try to keep my head up and keep myself in the "Cali spirit." I've gone on a LOT of east coast adventures and done the things I would do there if I had the chance. I bike everyday to work like I'd bike everyday to the cafe'. I'm forever rock climbing like I did out there. I say hi to the miserable people on the street as they pass by.
It's just that all of those things are SO MUCH COOLER in California.
I'm just trying to say I LOVE YOU!
Here was just a glorious day I had with you that I'll never forget:
One does not simply go to California and not see a Redwood forest....
There truly is no way to experience the scope and magnitude of these big ole giants.
The best part of this trip was the section where you HAD to be silent because the noise pollution apparently scared off the wildlife that makes these trees home. I was in my glory all alone in front of a field trip of young rapscallions. I was finally not the teacher! Those poor jerks were desperately trying to seal the gaps on those little kids faces! It's such a struggle even for the best kids to keep a lid on it! The teachers were probably exhausted by the end of the day, scurrying around like little birds protecting the best! They probably didn't even get a chance to look around the forest.
Sweet freedom! Sweet sweet solitary freedom!
Alas, I'm back to protecting the nest. But summer will come again!
So one can not simply go to San Francisco without seeing or mentioning that bridge...that red one. The one I once watched a documentary on that explained that the bridge is basically ALWAYS being repainted because of its bright and happy color! And guess what...it's not red, officially it's "international orange."
California knows my favorite color!
And on top of all that, one of the main architects on the job was an Ellis. That's probably why this bridge is so awesome.
You can see that Golden Gate Bridge from far and away. That "international orange" is on purpose. It's all because of Karl. You see, Karl, as I was informed by my friend Jon, is the fog that regularly descends upon the bridge and upon San Francisco.
Karl even has a twitter and Instagram account:
https://mobile.twitter.com/KarlTheFog
http://instagram.com/karlthefog
I did not have the fortune to meet dearest Karl as California was as sunny as they say while I was there. I hope to become good friends with Karl in the future!
I also hope that I'll be welcome to cross the Golden Gate Bridge without being arrested. You see I crossed this bridge at least three times while I was in the neighborhood and did not pay one single toll. The first time I crossed I noticed that EZ pass was an east coast novelty and simply didn't work in the tolls here. Also, there was no cash lane so as to alleviate traffic going into the city. Ummmmm, what do I do?!
There was a sign to dial 511 for information, and I love San Francisco so much I swallowed up all of my anxiety about talking on the phone and dialed that darn number! And no matter what option they gave me, I could not figure out what the heck to do. I called each of the three times and spoke to a robot each time for five or ten minutes EACH TIME to no avail.
Geez, human beings on information are more elusive than Karl!
I've yet to get anything in the mail telling me I'm arrested, nor has Dog the Bounty hunter come aknockin'! Phew!
It has taken me forever to try to tackle my week in the Petaluma area. This is due to the fact that I loved this time so much during my visit (and also because I was off on various east coast adventures). I LOVE Petaluma and the problem with explaining it is there is not one part of Petaluma that was better than the rest. Petaluma is on a whole a gorgeous place surrounded by other gorgeous places and filled with gorgeous people. I'm not even sure I can even make snide remarks on this portion of the blog. See, this is what Petaluma does to you. It makes even the harshest, most sarcastic and rude east coast personalitiy (that's me) turn to warmth, giggles, and easy going smiles. Paradise.
If there is one thing that made Petaluma my paradise it would be the True Californian. Better known to people I have told my stories to as Irish Eric. Eric probably is the single reason I experienced California to the maximum levels I could. Be patient while I explain.
Eric, the true Californian, knocked on my house (I've gotten really comfortable here in CA) almost as soon as I got back from Yosemite. I was just getting back into a swing in my hometown in CA when Eric came looking for one of the Tillman kids to look after his fishies while he was away in Oregon the following weekend. I offered to take the HUGE responsibility of looking after his house and fish while I was here looking after the Tillman's place. I couldn't help myself. The accent got me. I just wanted to talk to Irish Eric as long as I could. It's so rare to hear anything close to my Granddad's voice. 2004 was the last time I saw Granddad and it was even longer since I heard him speak. And to add to it, there is something rare about that kind of accent that has been softened and flattened slightly from the usual, right off the boat, sing song show off and get a free beer accent. Suckered in again!
Here's the thing. If I needed your shirt that you are wearing right now because I had suddenly misplaced my own in a freak shirt stripping accident, I can guarantee you would not get it off faster than The True Californian. As soon as I walked into his house, Eric offered me tea, no a coffee, or how about a latte? In fact, I had a latte from the True Californian every morning he was in town. And it was probably the best I've had on this trip through the nation.
That's not all! Because I agreed to pinch some fish food in a water filled bowl and walk a newspaper a few yards into the house, I was also offered a certificate for a massage (I declined...people touching the girl who was tickled getting a tattoo...probably a hazard). I was to make sure to use his pool while he was away, and if I needed to stay another day I was to use the spare room SeeeeereeeeeUSly! I was given a stack of books to read, maps to use on all the hiking trips I HAD to take while I was here, and the True Californian right off on hearing I had yet to see the Pacific offered to drive me out to the coast the very next day. (And let's not even mention the amount of Eric's beer I consumed in a matter of two days)
Why do I love Petaluma? Because while people here aren't all as accomodating as Irish Eric, they're all damn near close! And I know everyone's biography from the area. Everyone is absolutely desperate to share their life story, which I LOVE to hear! Honestly, they all want to hear mine as well. This is more of a problem because I haven't ever had to put a compilation of my own events in order and cultivate the words in a wonderfully entertaining way.
In any case, the True Californian roused me the very next day to a delicious and fresh latte and, not to be outdone by his past hospitality, added in an egg and cheese breakfast to be sure he was taking care. (GOD I LOVE THIS PLACE!) Off we went to "the coast." (it is not "the beach" or "the shore" as I've found out. I figure it's because there are not a lot of viable spaces in northern California set aside for sand and lounging. Most of what I saw were little coves within the cliffs that you could hike into that were more "beach-like.")
We made the hour or so drive through to one of Irish Eric's particular spots. I can't for the life of me remember what particular area we were in, except that it was according to Eric "God's country." But to be fair, pretty much every place we went to was "God's country." And even though he used his catch phrase in any way and any amount he could, as is the habit of many Irishmen, it was all true. Every place he deemed "God's Country" was, in fact, heavenly. Had to be created by some higher being. Had to.
This was my first look at the Pacific Ocean. As with every picture I have taken on this trip, these do not do any justice to what I witnessed! I just wanted to swim out and freeze my everything off and climb every little outcropping of rocks I saw. But then, I do have the climbers disease...
Right after Irish Eric pumped gas and bought me a snickers...because he's just that way, we looked out off the road and I was absolutely mesmerized by the gorgeous water and completely missed the most amazing part of this shoreline. And the reason Irish Eric has been deemed "The True Californian" is because I was notified that only a "True Californian" (Who apparently was californian by way of Dublin) would notice these lovely creatures, who I had written off as piles of big rocks:
Enter National Geographic! WHAT?! Slithering across the sand at amazing speed considering the huge lack of appendages was a seal! The True Californian had spotted it and in his best "I'm a narrator on Planet Earth" voice (which is his normal voice) quietly but urgently called "Jackie, come see COME SEE!" These suckers really do move fast, and then don't move at all, for hours. The most they do once comfortable, is lift their heads up as if to say "Hey! We see you! I'll move! I really will! Don't come any closer now! Don't make me do the best 80's dance moves you've ever seen!"
I felt better having completely overlooked these awesome guys because I'm not a true Californian. But ya know what...maybe I'll grow up to be one someday :)
And then one of my favorite things about the True Californian is his ability to get the most attractive pictures of me I've ever had taken, and I have a friend who is a professional photographer.
Just take a look:
I always knew my right arm was my best side. I KNEW IT!
But then not every picture can be the best. He did have to add in my ugly noggin in a few. I'm sure he would have done some editing had he had some extra time. :)
So we passed the seals who urgently stared at us and apparently some signs saying not to walk past them. We came upon some fire teams burning out what we thought might be a driftwood pile, but as we walked further along the shore line we found a Lord of the Flies village:
If we had one of these things at the Jersey shore, man would that be filled with awful scary things and surely some biological warfare at the least. We did not sit down on any of the creatively designed chairs, but we did peruse the interesting and educational quotes scrawled on the "walls." But actually, some of the quotes were pretty insightful considering I was expecting bathroom graffiti. John Lennon and Winston Churchill quotes to name a few. Northern California sure does take the whole hippy thing seriously. Well, as serious as you can get being a hippy.
And with that we turned back to go to the truck, only to be run at by a naturalist/park ranger like the Zombie Apocalypse was just starting behind her. There was no way this lady was going to let us passed and there was no way we were going to try to make it happen with the crazed human. This is when we found out that perhaps we should not have walked passed the seals. So with our truck just yards away from us, we turned around and had to scamper up next to the firemen smoking out the driftwood. I thought about the idea of passing out and dying due to smoke inhalation, but quickly dismissed the idea because I didn't want to be a sissy. We crawled and coughed up the hillside and quickly realized that it was going to be a LONG walk back to the car because there was no way to get back down to the car without walking along the road around the marsh area and back down the other side of a small mountain.
Brings new meaning to the phrase "right down the road." But altogether it was a great time. Normally, in PA or surrounding areas, this would totally piss people off. But as I was in "God's Country" neither one of us could be in anything but the best spirits!
After making a .25 mile trip about a 4 mile trip, we headed back and ducked into one of Irish Eric's watering holes. This is where I learned about a tasty beer brewed right in Petaluma...and it was an IPA!
Ever the gracious host, the True Californian spotted me for two of these wonderful brews and explained that this was a place I should try to check out while I was here. I checked out the website, but never got the chance to actually go see for myself.
The website itself was a wonder to behold. It just proves the mentality of my favorite town in CA:
I did NOT have lint in my navel...but it is always an adventure to play that guessing game!
I keep telling my True Californian that he really must go into the tourism industry. The list of things I was searching through, reading, and hiking out were all strictly due to his expertise in the area. And he NEVER disappointed!
I was told to wander in to Volpes, an Italian restaurant with an old 1920s prohibition era bar. It was a museum with alcohol. So, in short, the BEST MUSEUM EVER! One that is apparently home to an accordion fan club. The woman who served me owns this place with her husband. She informed me that the things that are placed in this bar never leave, that the only thing that changes are the things that they ADD to it over the years. I believe it!
These are the dollar bills that people flick up onto the ceiling when they are drunk. Must be a fortune up there and are every once in awhile cleared out and donated to a charity of some kind.
One of the other things that was mapped out for me to accomplish was the hike out to Tomales Point. I'll let it speak for itself:
For those of you who do not frequently see me, I am actually back in PA. I've been here about two or three weeks and I've neglected you. I apologize. Finished one adventure and ran in to about 5 others!
So I left you at Yosemite I believe. Yosemite can't be topped. It really can't. But there is one thing you don't find at Yosemite, and that's beer.
I was told before I even revved up the engine for the drive that this brewery was a MUST STOP. I wasn't just told once either. I was pestered, I was flagged down, I was TOLD. Not that you have to twist my arm to try a new beer...
So after Yosemite I found myself slumming it in Santa Rosa on the main restaurant district of town. It was a quick 20-30 minutes from the house. A very short trip in comparison to others I had recently done.
And when you are a traveler, you find it easy to make friends. I was trying to send my friend from back home a tease picture of the sign for the brewery, as I am known to do from time to time when you 12 monthers are working and I am not.
Then wouldn't you know two smokers came upon me and offered to take my picture by the sign:
I'm sure you can tell by my facial expression that I wasn't exactly keen on getting my picture taken with a sign. But it was more a badgering that an offer. So what the heck. I must really like this sign!
And I guess its been awhile since I've held any conversations because I just got to talking to these two before I even entered the bar and they pointed out their friend at the deck to show me where they were sitting and offered to share in some company. They said they'd be in after they were done their drag:
And like any normal human being I offered in return to try to weird out said friend (who looks a little like Gerard Butler I think). I told them I'd sit right next to this guy after I got a pint and pick my nose right in front of him. So like normal drunk people who are smoking just yards away from their friend, they hid behind a pillar and giggled until I came back.
Now don't be silly. I didn't pick my nose. I am not that weird (or not that drunk....YET). I came out with my liquid courage, put my arm around this guy and asked the traditional question of any guy/girl interlude..."How you DOING?!"
Interject wild laughter from behind the pillar.
Guy didn't skip a beat, "great now that you're here."
Welcome to the Russian River Brewery my friends! I highly recommend it!
I haven't laughed so long and so hard with such wonderful beer in a very VERY long time.
Within that evening (I noticed it later...like the next day) I had received three pieces of paper stuffed into the side pocket of my backpack. One was a card from a life coach I met inside while getting a round. I don't recall what I said to this man, but clearly I need help.
The other two pieces of paper were from a guy whose name escapes me at the moment, but who I do recall holding my hand for half the night (which is really sweet, except it makes it really difficult to drink your beer). The card was recycled and a little coincidental because who ever had given the card to him to write on had my last name, and then had his name written on the back with his number. I don't know what I said to this guy, but everyone knew I was only here for a week or so more. I don't know what he thought he was going to get out of this deal.
As for the second bit, I guess I may have mentioned that I'd probably forget him, his name, and his number...so he gave me his receipt with the back inscribed as "hey Jax, don't forget to call me."
You can imagine the next morning, I was flattered, confused, and very amused by my exploration of one brewery in Santa Rosa.
I interrupt the sequence of events in this blog to bring you the funniest driving experience I've ever had EVER! I had nearly gotten out of Tennessee alive and with what dignity I had left too...
So, I left Oklahoma City with very little time to make it back to the Philly area in time for what I'm sure will be an EPIC (and I mean that word, I'm not just saying it because it's the word du jour these days) wedding and reception. I ended up driving around 20 hours yesterday. I drove through half of Oklahoma, Tennessee the LONG way and made it a little ways into Virginia before I had to stop because my body obviously had had enough.
I get ahead of myself. Let me take you back. Even on this mildly long traverse across the United States, I have not been eating a ton of Fast Food. It's not really because I'm a snooty health nut or anything. I just have cravings for things, and I like to get out of the car and walk around on my breaks. So I go to places where you can eat in. Mostly I pick Breweries (further proof I'm no health nut). I like sampling the local hops.
Well, I'm in a rush. I picked up the second best fried chicken from Gus's Famous Fried Chicken in Memphis, take it in the car with me and eat away at it, gnawing on the bones like a starving wolf.
By the way the first best fried chicken is from one of my best friends mom. She rocks it! And she does it so simply, but it's what I like!
So next I eat some AWESOME fried green tomatoes because I'm in the south for crying out loud. Even if you didn't like fried food, you would eat it because there is NOTHING ELSE TO EAT. I love fried green tomatoes. I love soul food, I love the comforts of the south. I do NOT like grease on my fingers, especially when I'm driving.
I stopped to gas up and take a hand shower...I really had to scrub away!
Booked it through Nashville, getting up to the top of Tennessee and right before I breach the border with everything I came into this state with...I got hungry for dinner. I usually like to eat something green after I eat something greasy to balance myself out. I looked hard for a place that had salads. It's the south, I'm pretty sure the only green stuff they have is collard greens cooked in ham bone grease. (and it's delicious!) I settled for Wendy's because I know the fast food joints are trying to put on a good face and have something healthy on their menus. Good job guys. Way to be! This salad was actually good too. Almonds and blueberries, even strawberries from California! Must be good, has California in it! Yum. Satisfied...
...or am I?
I decided I better get a coffee because it was 8 o'clock pm and I was barely halfway through the days journey. BUUUUTTTTT It's also dessert time. What to do...
Guess what's next door...
McDonald's.
Chocolate Chip Frappe' please! and since I had a salad I'll get a large. I can start worrying about things like exercise and eating right when my donkey isn't planted in a car seat for 20 hours.
I love chocolate, I love it SO MUCH. I sucked that large Frappe' down almost to the end. And then I got that familiar, "Jax, there is a capacity to sugar and grease in this bod of yours" feeling. I set the the drink down and put the windows down because the humidity was getting balanced by the lower temperatures and I think I'm growing my gills back.
We all know about self control, and how I don't have it. 2 minutes later that large sugary chocolatey devil of a drink was gone and I was searching for it's relatives through the straw.
Well that's done and over with and Virginia is about 20 miles away. Nice. Familiar Territory.
NOT SO FAST.
10 minutes later I got that queasy feeling you get when you eat the pounder Reese's cup your boss gave you because you love chocolate and peanut butter so much in twenty minutes. (Oh you've never experienced that feeling?) Too much sugar, Jax. I knew this was going to happen. Guess I'm going to have to drive around with a stomach ache. Ugh.
UUUGGGHHHHHHHH...this isn't just a stomach ache. This is the scene from Journey to the Center of the Earth. There are prehistoric animals battling in the acid ocean down in my soul. (Yes my stomach is my source) Churning and gurgling and it's making me...
...OH GOD!
I have to go...I have to go BAD. I cooked a brownie in an easy bake oven, man. Safety NOT FIRST, I'm taking off this seat belt. I need to interpretive dance! There are no signs anywhere. I just left the last freaking bathroom area ON EARTH. TENNESSEE WHY?!
Ok. Ok, calm down. I think I can get myself together, mind over...matter. The interpretive dancing is working. I'm calming down....relaxing. I'm kind of laughing to myself. Oh my gosh *chuckle chuckle* that would have been one for the blog. I thought for a second I was going to have to pull over and drop off the Cosby kids on the side of the road. PHEW! Glad I got myself under control. Can you imagine...I mean I could have done it...I actually have toilet paper and a shovel from my backpacking stuff. I could have totally "roughed it" on the highway. *giggle giggle* THAT was close better look for a stop area soon, good thing I'm not lactose intolerant or anything....
...ummmmmmmm.
Still no exits anywhere, let alone ones with potties. Second wave of disaster hitting the Richter scale:
OH no, that first one was like a 5...This next wave is hitting at an 8 AT LEAST!!!! GREAT DEVASTATION! There's no TIME, I'm going to have to take a CRAP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD!!!!!
Oh no, oh no....no no no. There's no amount of dancing that can save this day. I screech to the next exit which is Nowhereville, TN (go away Tennessee, I HATE YOU RIGHT NOW!) There aren't even street lamps, I'm going to crap my pants. I have to get out of the car. At least I can get off the highway and duck behind a hill. Oh god, the shame of it. I don't know one single story of anyone taking a crap on the highway. NOT ONE. I'm going to be the the first person to take a crap on the highway! RIGHT NOW!!!!!!
Oh yes...what is that I see in the dim light?! A construction area...a PORTA POTTY! OH GOD OH GOD YES! I swing into that construction site like its the Fast and The Furious! TWO WHEELS BABY! Hobbes is still smoking and the dust is no where near settling and I'm running with my knees pinched together and I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN MAKE IT!
I jumped into the the Porta Potty which some JERK put on a little hill and nearly knock myself over in a porta potty that might possibly roll down a hill with me in it. But there's only a few seconds of dignity left...if dignity is here at all. Oh my god, why do people put BUTTONS ON PANTS!!!!!!
I have to dance lightly in the porta potty to keep it from tumbling into the abyss and then...
...I had to do what no woman on the planet should have to do. There was no way to keep this toilet still without putting my backend on...TOUCHING...a construction site's toilet. My bottom lip curled up and and I whimpered like a little lamb that was about to be eaten by a lion. But I did it...and then I DID IT.
SAFE.
And I'll never forget you Tennessee. I sure did make some music...
Meanwhile, VA is the home of toilets. There are toilets EVERYWHERE. Thanks guys. Way to go.
