Santa Fe Hell Dates and a Job

Well, first things first. I got the Borders job! Hurrah! I start training Monday. Apparently they take the barista thing very seriously, so I'm about to become a serious professional. Seriously. Also, don't tell Borders, but I have an interview tomorrow with the Plaza Cafe Bakery. Don't tell Borders this either, but I'd much rather work for a locally-owned cafe than a soulsucking corporation. But we'll just have to see what happens.

And now a story. I'm really just going to copy-and-paste an email I sent to some of my friends after a very special Sunday. So really, everyone who reads this blog has already heard this story, but I need to fill space. So here goes:

Worst. Date. Ever.

It was so bad it was funny. I mean, wow.

Let's start from the beginning, shall we? I have no friends yet in Santa Fe, as I spend a great deal of time with a 50-year-old and his rambunctious daughter. So I met this guy, Abel, and he invited me to hang out with some of his friends at a bar last Wednesday (a word on Abel's behalf: he actually didn't know this guy, but they had mutual friends). That's where I met David. I'll be honest. I didn't like David then. But as I said, no friends. Beggars can't be choosers, and I most certainly qualify as a beggar. So when he asked for my number I thought, "Eh, screw it, maybe I'll like him more during the daytime." So he called, and we decided to go to the Museum of Indian Art and Culture here in Santa Fe. By the way, this guy is cute, and a vivid reminder that you cannot judge a book by his cover. He's also smart and nice and he means well. But he's still an atrocious date.

I get there a tad early, so I'm reading on a bench when he shows up. He proceeds to swoop in for an awkward and awkwardly long side-hug, while I'm still seated and trying to put my book in my purse. He pulls this move multiple times on the date. He's totally self-unaware, and has no concept of personal space or limits. He also tried brushing my hair out of my eyes when we were talking near a woven basket exhibit. This could have been cute, but like I said, this guy is hella awkward and damn near took my eye out. He also talked about some things that one just does not talk about on a date. Especially a first date. I apologize for inflicting upon you these next items, but they're part of the story.

So Example #1. He is clearly trying to relate to my interest in anthropology by telling me about the General Anthropology course he took in college. OK, good. But he tells me that the one thing he remembers from this course is that there's this tribe in Papua New Guinea that has a rite of passage in which boys become men. This rite involves the boys performing fellatio on the male elders of the tribe (he actually used the verb "fellate"). OK, I'm down for anthropology and cultural relativism, but what the hell. In the words of my good friend Kim (I called her immediately after the ordeal), "Hold off on the fellatio talk until at least Date Five." Also, there were children and senior citizens around. Seriously, dude, filter!

Example #2:
David: "I knew I was straight when I was seven. My friend's sister had a Barbie doll and I took off her clothes and fondled her breasts and was like, 'This is awesome!'"
Me: "That's...normal." [Thinking: Are you real??]

He was also boring and unfunny. And when he told a joke, he would stare intently and wait for me to laugh. And he stared. And just said and did really awkward things.

At one point he grabbed my hand and said, "Wow! It is so cool that you don't have acrylic nails!" I wrangled my hand away, even though he kept grabbing for it, and said, "It--it is? Uh, thanks?" Because what the hell? No seriously. What the hell?

Amazingly enough, I suggested that we go to a coffee shop after the museum, since the alternative was returning to a filthy house with a wired nine-year-old and a grimy house (the dog peed on the bathroom floor Saturday; I was going to let Chuck clean it, but that didn't happen; I disinfected the bathroom yesterday). Also, I'm apparently a glutton for punishment. Also, I was just really curious to see what he'd do next. Also, did I mention the wired nine-year-old? And the pee-covered floor? Really, I wanted to be somewhere relaxing and clean, even if I had to bear the company of this yahoo.

As we were leaving, I accidentally banged a hangnail, which proceeded to bleed profusely. It was weird and, science be damned, I almost wondered if I had somehow contracted hemophilia. I actually thought, 'Wow, even my circulatory system hates him.' He, of course, reacted like a thirteen-year-old girl, i.e., pranced away from me like I had cooties or leprosy.

More awkward touching and me shimmying away from his awkward touching. Finally, out of nowhere, he says, "I'm ready for this to end." I go, "What?" And he repeats, "Yeah, I'm ready to go now." I was both relieved and kind of offended. For a second there, I wondered what I could possibly have done to send this weirdo packing, but then I realized that it wasn't me, that he was actually still interested, and that he's just extraordinarily strange. We had parked next to one another, so we walked to our cars together. I say, "Well, this has been fun..." And he cuts me off saying that it was great and we have to watch Scarface and then he proceeds to give me a big, long, supertight hug. I'm wriggling around but can't escape this one. All the time, he's still talking. Still hugging me, he invites me to karaoke Monday night. Still trapped in his hug, I say "We'll talk about it later, I'll, uh, I'll have to see. OKbye!" And he still won't let go. "OKbye!" I say again. I break free, leap into the car, and peel out of that parking lot like I'm freaking Steve McQueen.

So that's the tale of the Hell Date. Hopefully this fella doesn't read my blog. If he does (Hi David!), we'll just consider this a public service announcement. Don't say "fellate" on a first date. Also, crack is whack.

A guy walks into a bar with a newt on his shoulder. "What do you call that?", asks the bartender. "I call him Tiny, because he's my newt!"

Living with Chuck and Sabrina has given me a glimpse at the life of a parent. This is even better birth control than working as a camp counselor. I want to pause to thank my parents for everything they have ever done for me. And that includes the self-restraint it must have taken to refrain from selling me for organs.

So here's to you, Wendy and Andy. Thank you for forcing me to practice multiplication tables. Thank you for not letting me watch TV on school nights. Thank you for taking me to the library four times a week, for not allowing Cheetohs in the house, for giving me art classes instead of Nintendo. Thank you for not kicking me in the face when I tickled your feet as you tried to blog.

Meanwhile, potential for good news: On Tuesday I have an interview for a part-time cafe position at Borders. Dream big! Whatever, I need a job.

Unrelated news: I almost married my Australian friend for $4500, but he doesn't have any money, so no US citizenship for Rocket.

I think the child got into some sugar. I'm off.

Now that I'm in Santa Fe, I have no idea what to title each entry

After staying in the mountains with Nina and Kenny for a few days, I migrated to the city of Santa Fe itself. I'm staying with Chuck, Kenny's Executive Liason, and his daughter, Sabrina. I get free room and board in exchange for childcare and some light help around the house (dishes, laundry, and whatever else I didn't do when I was living with Mom and Dad). This is a pretty great temporary deal. I am looking forward to meeting people my age, though. I've received a pop culture education at the hands of the new nine-year-old in my life. I can now scratch "The Suite Life of Zack and Cody," "That's So Raven," "H2O," and "Hannah Montana" off my list of Inane Kidz Shows to Watch While Mourning Our Nationz Future.

Make it stop.

Really, there's not much else to report. I'm applying for jobs at pretty much every establishment I encounter, so I ought to land something soon by virtue of sheer volume. If Sassy Waitress flops, I'll look into Sugar Baby. Kim will be my reference. She's the same friend that armed me with the pepper spray that provided so much comfort when facing the coyote army. I'll make something mind-bogglingly exciting happen in the next few days. And if that fails, I'll make something up.

Day 33ish: Lubbock to Santa Fe!

Glory be, I made it! I rolled into Nina and Kenny's home outside of Santa Fe a couple of days ago, but the blog was delayed due to internet issues and the fact that the change in altitude knocked me on my keister. And of course the drive to Santa Fe nearly ended me. This is an odyssey, after all, and your heroine may encounter troubles such as cyclops, sirens, many-headed monsters, and automotive issues.

Not much happened over the course of the drive through the giant oilfield that is west Texas. For the record, my favorite town names were Earth, Sudan, and Muleshoe. And I'm pretty sure everyone in Muleshoe is related. I passed Mom's Cafe, Cousins Nursery, Sons Auto Shop and Welding, and Pops Restaurant (my grammar is fine, thank you very much; the town apparently gave up on apostrophes after painting the sign for Mom's).

So anyway, I crossed the border into New Mexico and entered the town of Clovis, where I felt compelled to take this self-portrait:

Read the sign. Think about it.

I got back in the car and turned the key. Clickclickclickclick. I don't get it. I try again. Clickclickclickclick. Still not processing. Clickclickclick. Ohh. Somewhere, somehow, I clearly infuriated the god of automobiles. (Whatever I did, sir or madam, I'm sorry. Please leave me alone now.) So I jumped the car and made my way to Bender Honda (I really don't know why I felt it necessary to post that link). I knew this was going to cost me, so by the time I entered the dealership, my eyes had welled with tears. I was too self-conscious to shower at the House of Eight Boys in Lubbock, so here I was, teary-eyed and dirty.

Me.

The repairman told me that the battery had died, that it was just its time. When he gave me the estimate, I wept. I mean, I really wept, and I'm sure I ruined the day of everyone at Bender. I wasn't even trying, but I did that thing with the tears running silently down my face, and I didn't look half-bad, either. I know because I looked in the mirror. The repair fellow looked like he wanted to kill himself, and the girl who rang me at the register had never wanted to quit more than she did at that moment. It was grim, but also kind of funny and rewarding.

Finally, I drove off into wild New Mexico, Land of Enchantment. The open country really did calm me, and I reminded myself that this was my adventure. I was fine. Scared, sure, but that's a natural part of a journey, right? I'm fine. This vision, full of promise, soothed me:

And this:


So now I'm here! I'm exhausted and still a little loopy on account of the elevation.

At the moment I'm staying with Nina, my mom's cousin, and her husband, Kenny. They live on the fringes of a village in the high country outside of Santa Fe. Their home consists of three buildings: Nina's office, Kenny's office, and the main house. I'm supposed to sleep in Kenny's office, but I'm using the internet in Nina's. Which is where I am stranded at the moment. Because I just heard coyotes. They sounded really, really close, so I'm not moving any time soon. In fact, I started this blog post four hours ago, but I've been too scared to leave my hidey-hole. And, like I said, the elevation is making me a little spacey, which means that I take forever to type a half-decent sentence. It also means that I won't be able to run from the coyotes, who according to Looney Toons, come armed with rollerblades and dynamite. No thank you. I'm going to go ahead and predict that Nina will enter her office tomorrow morning to find me whimpering in a ball on the floor.

Days 30 through 32: Midland to Lubbock (~120 miles)

The Civic survived the drive to Lubbock. I'm staying in a house with eight Texas Tech students and another guy who's passing through on his way to Phoenix. Last night we attended a church potluck and then went rappelling off a defunct railroad bridge. (Sorry, no pictures as I was too busy holding on for dear life. Dad, please revive Mom.) Single file, we walked in the dark along a water line, up a dusty scramble, and across the old wooden bridge, where we stopped halfway to set up. Well, I watched as the guys secured ropes and fiddled with carabiners and harnesses. A Polish med student named Jasic helped me into my harness; I found comfort in my assumption that all med students know CPR and come equipped with painkillers. I had done this once before in Israel and in broad daylight. Not under the stars on a rickety bridge near windmills and a foul-smelling water treatment plant. Someone asked if I'd like to go first; I told them I'd let someone else test the ropes.

So I watched a couple of people jump and survive. Then I took a deep breath, inched my way to the edge, made some snarky remark, and felt the air open beneath me as I jumped backward into the dark. Terrified and cursing like a longshoreman, I yanked the rope and jerked to a stop about five feet below my starting point. I eased myself down to the beam that marked the halfway point. Stephen, my host and belayer, talked me down.

I did it, I survived, and I'm never doing it again.

Which is exactly what I said after doing it in Israel. But this time I mean it.

Today, I did as little as possible. I painted (read: wasted a perfectly good canvas) and baked chocolate chip cookies for the kind fellows who tried to kill me last night.

And this is it. Tomorrow I get to Santa Fe. I'll stay with my mom's cousin, Nina, for a couple of nights while I get myself situated. That's about it. I'm happy, I'm excited! The next post will come from Santa Fe!

Days 27 through 29: Austin to Midland to Odessa

Today we're going to talk about the kindness of strangers.

Bright and sunny, Friday seemed like a perfect driving day. I left Austin for Midland (Home of George W. and Laura Bush!) around 1pm. I had the Civic on cruise control, a perfect 70mph through the dusty, rugged beauty of the Texas Hill Country when, around 4pm, all of a sudden,

WHOMP.

Flat. Really flat.

And the car flew off the road. It sounds trite, I know, but it felt like it happened in slow motion. The car swerved this way and that, nearly flipping on a hump of land, and finally eased to a stop. Shaking, with tears in my eyes, I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. Two cars pulled over immediately to check on me. The car rested on a dusty slope, the rear tire on the driver's side was slashed, and the hubcap was dented. A red PT Cruiser stopped to check on me; they found this:

Brake drum of doom.

An eighteen-wheeler had lost its brake drum in the middle of the road. And I hit it. Hard.

Technically, I know how to change a flat. Technically, I also know how to skin a deer in ten seconds using a tennis ball and a pickup truck (thanks to the unorthodox teaching methods of one P.E. teacher, Mrs. Doris Moser). Doesn't mean I'm going to go out and do it.

So I called AAA. The dispatcher told me to expect a tow truck within seventy-five minutes. So I settled in to wait on the side of the road, when Julie came to the rescue. She and her husband, Randy, own the Fredonia Peanut Company. Since I love them, I want all of you to go to them for all of your fertilizer, hunting, and livestock needs.

Julie refused to leave my side until the AAA guy came and checked out my car. We chatted for a couple of hours before he showed up, changed my tire, and checked underneath to make sure I didn't destroy whatever's down there. And then she had me follow her to the store, where her husband and several employees replaced my spare with a real tire (Hi Bart! Hi Creep! Hi all! Note to everyone who is not Creep: that is the name he goes by, and he likes it). Their friend had a tire shop, so he brought a good used tire; it would have cost $15, but they refused my money. While they did all that, I sat in the office and talked to Julie and looked at pictures of friends holding rattlesnakes that just barely missed the jackpot of seven feet (the Dallas Zoo will buy those from you for $10,000).

In the three hours I spent with Julie, I never stopped counting my lucky stars that I had been found by such a kind and generous non-serial killer. I finally went on my way around 7 and saw a magical sunset. And I felt really, really good about humanity.

As I made my way across West Texas, the pinks and reds of the sunset deepened into blue-black, and one by one the stars poked out of the darkness until they seemed to overflow. Though pressed for time (Kristen the artist was waiting for me in Midland), I pulled off onto one of the red dirt county roads that stemmed from the highway. I turned left into another dirt road. I turned off the headlights and stepped out of the car. Never in my life have I seen such stars. For a flicker of an instant, I felt that spark, that rare and special flash of something all at once great and beautiful and awe-inspiring and eerie. And then I heard the mesquite rustling in the night breeze and remembered the rattlesnakes, so I dove into the car and locked the doors (logical, I know) and sped off. [I'd like to pause to extend my sympathies to the Texas farmer who discovered Honda tracks in his sad, parched field. Whoever did that to your failing crop probably thought that she was driving on a dirt road because it was really, really dark. And the Dust Bowl-esque aesthetic, brought about by months of drought, probably gave her the impression that she was on a road until she noticed the stumpy rows of twigs. And she probably feels really bad about it.]

I arrived in Midland around 11, exhausted, having driven for eight hours, watched my life flash before my wide eyes, having my faith in humanity restored by the kindness and generosity, and glimpsing my tiny life within the context of a starry universe, gargantuan beyond all comprehension.

There's not much to say about Midland itself. It's an oil town, and home to those wacky Bushes. And I saw prairie dogs and my first ever tumbleweed. But I stayed with Kristen, easily one of the coolest people I've ever met. We spent the entire weekend vegging out, eating Tex Mex and cookies, and talking nonstop. I can't get over the amazing people this crazy little roadtrip has thrown my way. But it's 3am here in Midland and I'm getting up at 8 to drive to Santa Fe. So you'll hear from me in a couple of days.

Days 23 through 26: Houston to Austin (~170 miles)

Houston was no great shakes. Simon and Penelope, the skydiving couple, were pretty cool, but mostly we just caught up on sleep. And now I'm in Austin.

Austin is weird. And I love it.

Tuesday night we ventured down to 6th Street to check out the Mardi Gras festivities. I'll be honest; it was creepy. Guys lined up along the streets like vultures, waiting to see some boobies. And then they would knock people out of the way (and by "people" I mean "me") to cluster around the girls who would exchange a glimpse of their ta-tas for some shiny beads. Feminism cried. You'll be thrilled to know, Mom, that we didn't stick around too long.

Yesterday, Brett returned Virginia, leaving me here in Austin. I'm staying with Anya and Sherish, a super-cool couple (she's Ukrainian and he's Nepali). I walked from their apartment near the UT campus to the Capitol, where I met up with Brad, a friend of Anya and Sherish (and now me).

Cowboy and yuppies: normal in Austin

We walked to Zilker Park where we canoed and got attacked by geese, or "hellbeasts," as I like to call them. Really it was one goose, but he came at us like a herd of rhinos. The guy who worked at the park was clearly used to the dragon-goose, because he just yelled at us to hit the thing with our paddles. I'm not proud, but I did use the oar to shove the fiend away from our boat so we could escape. Aside from the winged fury, the canoe trip was a pleasure. The Colorado River runs right through Austin, and the water is cool and clear. We passed by scads of ducks (nice ones) and turtles lazily and sunning themselves on logs. And did I mention that it's been sunny and in the 70s? Yeah, I got a farmer's tan in February.

Cactus grafitti

Today I went with Brad and his roommate Nate to Bull Creek Park. We "hiked" along a nature trail and I screwed around with my camera and tried to get some sun on my shoulders. We also checked out Mount Bonnell, one of the highest points in Austin, so I could take this picture:


Then I dragged Brad to the Cathedral of Junk, which I had read about here. Pictures really don't do the place justice. But basically, it's exactly how it sounds. This guy, Vince, built this structure in his backyard, using just, well, junk. Old telephones, babydolls, hubcabs, wires, lawnmowers, aluminum cans, CDs, computers, road signs-- you name it, it's there. And it's incredible.

Like I said, pictures really can't do this place justice, but if you click on the photo you can get a better look at the Cathedral of Junk.

Junk!

More junk!

You know.

Cathedral!

Hang on a sec.

Brad looks a little disturbed. It's an eyeball ball.

So that's Austin thus far. Tomorrow I'm headed to Midland, TX, to stay with an artist named Kristen.