A Rude Awakening and a Golden Moment

Despite the causticity of my previous post, the days of drudgery have been interspersed with life-affirming moments. One of those I feel acutely this morning (afternoon? There is no “time of day” here). This post will probably erode instantly into abstraction, which might effect a fine juxtaposition when coupled with the minutiae of the last post. This one’s more about my feelings, a topic about which I have much less writing experience. Deep breath.

I’ve never really liked myself. I can see all the things that other people like about me, sure, but I can see all the other things as well. Now don’t worry, folks, this isn’t some sort of suicide note. I’ve actually never had suicidal thoughts. I don’t hate or pity myself; I just find that I usually prefer other people. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who’s amusing but insubstantial to have around. If life were a TV show, I’d be the wacky neighbor, popping in and out randomly, leaving people shaking their heads affectionately. “That Robbie!” they’d all intone upon my departure, turning to clean up whatever mess I’ve made and return to their normal lives.

Now, for all of my preaching about not basing one’s sense of self on the opinions of others, that’s exactly what I do. One of my greatest strengths is my adaptability. I feel very natural taking on the characteristics of those in my vicinity. Many people would see this as “fake.” But it’s something else with me. I simply admire the people I choose to have around me, and genuinely want to be more like them. This is especially true of my closest friends. People like Caitie, Evan , and Glade are so amazing to me, that I start to try to emulate them and soon forget who I am besides a patchwork of them. This would probably be fine if a) it weren’t a bit unsettling to the people I’m Single-White Female-ing, and b) I hadn’t realized that I’m doing this when I woke up this aftermorn.

At this current crossroads in my life, I have many forks in the not-too-distant future. Do I buy a car? Do I go back to school in September? What job should I get? This sort of thing normally stresses me out, and I find myself wishing for some sort of Life Consultant who could look at my monetary situation, my dreams and aspirations, my whole life, and tell me what to do next. And sure, it’s obvious to YOU, the reader, that that person should be God, especially when I go and capitalize “life Consultant” like that. But when you’re IN that life, it’s a little more difficult to constantly remember that. And so I find myself trying to weasel my friends’ opinions out of them, since these issues overwhelm me. I really do operate with a whole support system made up of people whose opinions I value more than my own. But if I take a couple of steps back, I see that I’m an adult, just like my friends, and I DO have a relationship with God, and while I love my friends and would do anything for them, and trust they would do anything for me, I need to be functional enough that if those friends were to suddenly go away, I’d be sure to remain stable. I’m not far off from that already, and I’m not talking about severing my attachments to my friends, but I’m talking about giving them breathing room. Letting them love me for who I am instead of how well I can emulate them. I still want to cultivate the best things I see in these people. Caitie’s ability to make everyone around her feel loved. Glade’s scrutinizing and analytical mind. Evan’s solidarity in doing only those things in which he believes. Ben’s refusal to back down from a deep-felt conviction. Kaylene’s expression of gratitude and excitement about life. Wiggle’s unflagging loyalty toward her friends. Rachel’s graceful compassion for those in need. Brett’s ability to find humor in any situation. Jon and Sara’s utter faith in the people they love. And this list goes on, with more people and more traits from the folks I’ve mentioned. What I don’t need is to adopt, say, Caitie’s taste in music, Evan’s choice in schools, Glade’s political stances, etc. Not that I disagree with any of these things. This is the fine point above which I’m hovering: I can love these people without desiring to be just like them or have them be just like me. The things that are right for me are not necessarily right for them too, and I can love that Ben loves computers without having to love computers, too.

An example, in the form of an initially seemingly unrelated story, which I hope you find funnier than offensive:

A Rude Awakening

One day I was mistakenly quarantined on the train. I’d vomited, you see, which is pretty normal for me, but scary in the tourism industry because of something called the Norwalk Virus, which they had to be sure I hadn’t contracted before letting me continue to serve food to the crustomers. Normally there are no witnesses when I puke at work, and I just go about my day as usual afterward. This instance was different, though. As I felt the glands under my jow throbbing, and knew my lunch of pasta primavera was about to force itself back out of my digestive system, I ran for the bathroom and threw the door open. There was Kate, the car manager, wearing gloves and a smile on her face. “I JUST finished cleaning the bathroom!“ she exclaimed proudly.”

“Oh!” I tried to make my panic look like enthusiasm.

“I cleaned out the toilets, took out the trash, wiped up the whole floor--”

That’s when I puked (mostly) into the trashcan. I swear it was exactly like that. In one ghastly second, her pride at having accomplished something unpleasant was squashed. Poor lady; she’s very nice.

So they put me on a car that had no passengers on it, and I promptly fell asleep. I was awakened to a bizarrely surreal experience.

A portly bald black man in his late thirties was shouting. “Boy, it is NICE up in here!” He took a seat across the aisle from me as I sat up, stunned and a bit unnerved. And then he started to tell me his story. He was the manager of the cars for Royal Celebrity Cruises, and he’d had a girl disobey him after he told her to do something mildly illegal to save himself some paperwork. And he’d been so angry, he’d come to our car to cool off. The thing is, his language was the foulest of any human being I’ve ever encountered. He described explicitly his wish to inflict oral sex upon the girl in order to teach her a lesson, his possible future sexual encounter with another of his female employees in the restroom of our empty car, and the problems posed by the stains the bodily fluids would leave on his uniform. He even began to act out a sexual encounter with an imaginary woman who was under the table where he was sitting. I just sat there, still in a daze from having just awakened. Eventually he stopped talking and jauntily tromped back down the stairs and out of my life. The end.

Now, I know that story doesn’t quite fit in yet, but I’m getting there.

My plan had always been to be a teacher when I grow up. I really love working with people, and explaining things, and having my summers free to go do whatever I want. So teaching sounds like the perfect job. In fact, one huge lesson I’ve learned from this Alaskan summer is that I need to be doing something I actually love. I’m considering trying to get a job as a substitute teacher or at a school for troubled youth when I get back to Provo. Now, I know the latter is what Evan does, which is actually why I haven’t done it in the past; I didn’t want to end up copying him. But the more I consider it, the more I realize that my favorite job I’ve ever had was as a youth counselor at efy. I loved teaching the kids and being an example and friend and moderator for them.

But I also really love to be creative, to write, to make films, to be funny. And with Evan’s express interest in going to film school and Rachel‘s suggestion I become a writer for television, it has been easy for me to stoke my enthusiasm for that creative outlet. I’m not copying Evan, but I’m finding in myself the things that I see in him. And we work very well together. In just about a month I expect to have finished editing parts two and three of our film project, which I believe is a hilarious success and is due in large part to the successful creative synergy that exists between us. And it’s reassuring for me to link the next few years of my future to another person, to think, I’ll just go to school where Evan goes. These sorts of decisions make perfect sense when you remember that I’ve been esteeming Evan’s opinions and judgments as having more value than my own.

A man named Christopher came to see me one evening before I could get off the train. He works for Royal Celebrity and wanted me to visit his office the next morning. I had told my own manager in very brief terms about my encounter with that crazy black man, and I suppose the word had gotten over to RCT’s office, and they had fired the fellow and were building a legal case against him, and wanted my testimony for the record. So the next morning I went down there, and told them ALL the disgusting things the man had said to me, and they thanked me very much for my time and candor and promised appropriate actions would be taken I was mostly indifferent about the man’s fate, but wanted to help the company if I could. Christopher offered to drive me home. He asked me what I was studying and I told him I’d been studying English and was considering switching to film. He was a film enthusiast himself, he told me, and had recently been working on short films with the scout troop he leads. Which of course begs the question is he LDS?, which it turns out he is. And he told me he took classes in film at BYU, and has enjoyed film as a hobby ever since, on top of his career working on the railroad, which he enjoys immensely. This information was really important to me. I can’t say why, but I felt an unnamed impact from these words, and pondered them for a while afterward. And what I’ve realized is that I don’t have to give my life to film just to feel fulfillment from it. I don’t need to earn money from a movie I’ve made to be able to enjoy the effort.

So the new plan is this: I’ll try to hurry and finish school (I earned enough money to be able to get back into that now), meanwhile working in some sort of teaching capacity. I’ll get my English Language degree, as previously planned, and if I find I’m enjoying teaching, I will go in that direction, and if I find it lacks the creative outlet I need after all, I can use that degree and the few films we’ve made to pursue the job as a TV writer after all. Maybe I can do both. And if Evan and I can continue to work on video projects in the future, I’ll be ecstatic, but if our paths eventually diverge, I’ll be ok, and I’ll still love the kid just like I still love Brett, though I get to see him too infrequently.

What cracks me up is that this recent self-discovery, the whole new plan for my future, would not have lighted in my mind had that perverted old man not awakened me from my slumber, had I not been puking on the train that evening, had I not been in Alaska in the first place. So at least one good thing has come from all of this. And I use this story about film school and Evan as an example of the new mindset I’m going to try to employ. There’s one more story that helps to explain why this has all come to a head this morning, why I awoke today with a feeling that I need to be more myself.

A Golden Moment

The day after my surreal experience with Nasty McNasterson, I had to get back to Anchorage, but I was still quarantined. So they put me back on the empty train car and didn’t let me out. Luckily, the kindly, overworked lady who arranges our housing arrangements in Fairbanks provided me with snacks for the long ride. Among these treats was a carton of something I’ve never tried. Cherries. I don’t know why I’ve never eaten cherries before, but I never have. And here was a whole carton of sweet black cherries.

Anyway, I admit I slept for most of the trip. In the “evening” I woke up, stretched, and dug my book out of my backpack. Thus began one of the most serene and beautiful experiences of my life.

The sunlight came in relaxed and lazy, lounging sideways, as the sunlight is prone to do in Alaska. The birch and alder and spruce whirred by in a strobe-like blur of white and green and brown. The cottonwood trees had released a flurry of white cotton pixies, swarming and whizzing silently and gleefully past the windows in millions, lending a snow-globe effect to the afternoon. Crystal clear ponds reflected the blue of the sky and the white of the cumulus clouds stacked up above the horizon in all directions. My eyes could scarcely take in all of the beauty, and a peace settled over me. My attention turned to the interior of the train car, to the bowl of ripe cherries, and I ate one. Delicious! The juices burst into my mouth, ripe and sweet and unexpected, like a show of affection from a child. I realized that the blackest cherries were the most delicious, and I soon had a cup full of their pits. Amid the sensual beauty, I turned back to my book. The sunlight cut a sharp angle across the pages, the fibers of the paper casting shadows, tiny and definite, on each other.

Then I looked at my hand, which was holding the book open. My skin is a honey beige, more golden than most people’s, and in the yellow sunlight it looked healthy and warm. I turned to look at my reflection in a nearby mirrored panel on the wall, and the sun again cast a favorable light on me, entering my eyes at a slant and seeming to illuminate my irises from inside; they glowed like electrified amber. And for the first time I can ever remember, I thought, “I am beautiful.” Such an astonishing thought! I have never seen beauty in myself like this. I’ve grown up wishing for lighter skin like my friends, blue or green eyes like the kind I personally find more attractive, a different body altogether. But in that moment of peace and beauty and spirit, I was able to see myself through different, more fiery and perceptive eyes. I was able to see myself as an essential part of a whole wide beautiful world, inhabited by astoundingly good human beings and remarkably brilliant ideas and preposterously delightful nature. There is beauty in places I’d never thought to look. In cherries, in trees, in myself.

And this is the big thing I’m bringing home from Alaska: a recognition of my own worth and beauty. A new-found respect for my own desires and dreams and abilities. A love as deep as ever for the friends who have helped me to become who I am so far. And a determination to forge a path forward to that unique person that I, and no one else, is meant to become. I love you all.

--Robbie

another picture i took....

Unexpected News

First, you can see my Alaska pictures here.

Next, guess who got married after all....

Q as in Coupon

A lady said that to me on the phone once. You know how people always say "V as in Victor?" This black lady was giving me her password for her website when I worked at Tahitian Noni International, and she said "S as in syphilis, E as in eye, and Q as in Coupon." I couldn't tell if she was stupid or hilarious.

So Chris tells me I need to write something amazing to make up for my not having written for the last week while the internet was on the blink. The problem is, I never know what to write about. I wish my blog could illuminate the entire human experience. I wish people could read it and know in that moment exactly what it's like to be me. But I can't even write about things as fast as new things are happening to me. There's just no way. Like what Ed Harris' character says in "The Hours":

"I wanted to write about it all, everything that happens in a moment. Way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread, all our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it. Who we once were, everything in the world, everything all mixed up. Like it's all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed... no matter what you start with, it ends up being so much less... "

I was told by a friend today that I am hard to read. I get told that by my friends all the time. How can that be? I spend most of my social energy on being straightforward. Have I failed so completely? Even my best friends tell me that I'm hard to read. Possible reasons why:

1. I spent so much time in my youth hiding "who I really was" that now I've become inaccessible.

2. (This is my guess) I am so interested in other people and how they think and feel and exist that I forget to let thim into my world, as well. I feel like such an alien in the world. Sometimes people realize that I'm cutting them open and seeing how they work, that I've got them tied down in my spaceship, and it disconcerts them. Sorry, folks.

3. I'm just so open that I actually say all the things I'm thinking and people just assume there must be more.

4. I am shielding you all from the bizarre and banal thoughts in my head. We're sitting there having a conversation, and while I'm talking to you about how delicious the spaghetti is you think "I wonder what he is really thinking about, and whether he likes this spaghetti or he's just saying that, and if he's lying then is he doing it because he likes me or because he's trying to avoid having to talk to me about it?" and I'm thinking, "Man, I wonder why there aren't really any colors that start with 'D.' I mean, I guess there's 'dandelion,' but that seems like a stretch, and Crayola only carried that color for less than ten years, anyway. And it's kinda cheap to count colors that are just named after some flower. I wonder whether violets were named after the color, or whether the color got its name from the flower. Maybe it was just 'purple' before that. Man, this is good spaghetti."

I have a feeling it's a bit of all four.

...................................................................................

Those of you who read my blog and saw my concert last week can tell the rest how great it was. Lend me some credibility so next time I invite people top something, they come. Some really hot girls from my ward came, actually. That made me swell with happiness.

I made friends with the first chair violinist afterward. The kid is really cool. I introduced myself at Pinetree's behest, and we ended up hanging out after both nights of the concert. After the Friday concert we went on a nice little hike with Wiggle and Blue Shorts and Pinetree and everybody. We also had pizza at an underground place called "The Pie." That pizza was incredible. The Violinist invited me to do the whole conference thing at his cabin. So I did.

We drove up on Saturday morning. The cabin is at Sundance. We(when I say we I am including two other strangers who were there; there was nothing illicit going on, dirty people) listened to the Saturday morning session on the radio. It was pretty cold up there, so we sat with quilts, and then when the sun hit the porch I moved outside to the deck. The air was redolent with the smells of decaying leaves and pine smoke, and carried the sounds of the nearby stream and the wind through the aspen trees. Every time the chilly breeze picked up at all, the golden maple leaves would come tumbling all around us as though we were in a giant mystical snow globe. White and orange butterflies intermingled with the leaves. The trees themselves were yellow with a sun-kissed red spot at the top, exactly like a peach. I basked in the warm sunlight and the warmer spirit, listening to the words of the speakers. President Faust's words struck me particularly, as he spoke of gaining the image of Christ in our countenance and surrounding ourselves with those who have the light of Christ in their eyes. And about how the lord leaves us alone for a while to see if we will be righteous in the dark. I have always thought that: that maybe the good I do while the sun is high and the days are long just gets stored up for the long winters I invariably encounter from time to time--a sort of spiritual hibernation. Now I have to go read "The Ant and the Grasshopper" again. I think there might be more to that story. Maybe it's just the Greek version of the ten virgins.

Well, after that session, we hiked up to the waterfall. At one point, as we were crossing the logs over the stream that meanders through the meadow up there, a stiff wind came up and the motley forest to our left came ablaze with millions of tiny leaves flying high up to the sky and raining down all around us. We got up to the waterfall and I ran into my old friends Josh and Megan, and their baby. That was strange, since they live in California, but I was very happy to see them. My new friends and I sat around and sang hymns in four-part harmony over the roar of the falls and amid the flecks of white water that surrounded us like a mist.

We went back to the cabin, and listened to the rest of Saturday's conference (I must say I loved the tag-team combo if Elders Oaks and Holland--my two favorite apostles--on the whole woman issue). The Violinist made whole-wheat spaghetti (the new friends are hippies, by the way), and it was great to sit and be nourished physically and spiritually.

Sunday we had even more friends, and so we baked biscuits and cinnamon rolls with home-made lemon glaze and we had fresh-baked bread with home-made apricot jam, and mango juice, and pine nuts and yogurt. It was incredible. Sunday followed the same pattern as Saturday had, except that this time we lit a fire in the huge two-story fireplace, and sat in the couches in front of it as we listened, looking out the humongous single-pane windows that stretched from floor to ceiling on either side. There were stellar jays on the deck, and the leaves continued to shed themselves for our benefit.

When conference had ended, we listend to classical music and read books. The cabin was chock-full of bookshelves, which held, between the candles and teddy bears and model sailboats and pine cones and other bric-a-brac, tons of books. There were Caldecott winners and classics and camic books and religious books. We all sat there serenely, sanguinely reading and looking at nature and listening to the music and smelling the fire and feeling the glow of happiness and friendship. The entire experience was sublime.

Once upon a time I would have felt antsy about not doing anything, and not talking, but I think I am past that now. I just sat there and enjoyed the feeling I was having, and the knowledge that it was okay for me to feel that happy.

Anyway, if you find yourself wondering what's really happening in my head these days, it's probably a lot of this stuff, recycling through.

I have to go to work now, but one more story for the benefit of some ladies in Colorado:

I got home from work the other day and my roommate said, "Someone called for you. It sounded like Satan."

I laughed. "How do you know what Satan sounds like?" I chided.

"No, she said her name, and it sounded like she said 'Satan.'"

"Oh. That makes sense."

Sure enough, the message said, "Hey, smurf, this is Satan Satan Satan," and then faded out. Then back in the chirpy voice, "Call me back!"

"So how do you know Satan?" retorted my roommate.

"Oh. It's my mom." Thanks, mom. It's nice to have characters like you in my life so I can write about them. You're so weird. Elder Oaks says we can't get released from our families, so I guess there will be a lot more stories like this one in the future. Weirdo.

Autum

I feel so connected to things right now. I think that waking early is like an anti-drug. Life seems suddenly more boring and you get more done and you feel more acutely connected to your surroundings.

My plan to stay awake all the way around the clock to fix my sleep schedule worked. The past four days in a row I've been up before eight o'clock. This morning I awoke naturally and rested at six thirty. I wrote some letters, read my novel, decided that it's a little bit uninteresting to sit there on the couch while my roommate s paraded by in succession, leaving in an order that mostly indicates who's slept through the most classes.

It's starting to feel like autumn. "Autumn" is the word that disqualified me from the fifth-grade county spelling bee. I remembered that stupid silent "n," but capitalized the "A." I almost made that same mistake just now, too. What a gyp.

It's starting to feel like fall. I know it's summer for another ten days, but--

Crap! It's the twelfth! I forgot to go to court this morning. There I was lounging about and I totally forgot I was supposed to go in. I wonder what happens now. Whether they just fine me and I don't get to plead my case or whether they now put out a warrant or what. I'll have to look into that. I need to re-establish my secretarial relations with Jenny.

It's Jenny's birthday today. I am going to go to her party after FHE tonight.

I wish I had a bright scarf and a big coat to wear outside right now. I seriously feel so alive!

Why is it that all the interesting things happen at night? Last night I retired at about ten o'clock, after practice for Latter-Day Sounds. At midnight I was awakened by a call from Racherella, who informed me that I was going to Beto's with her, Veronica, Chris, Pinetree, and the Ring Bearer. That was great fun. Pinetree is supposed to report all the funny things Racherella was saying, but if he forgets, I'll do it. I hope my blog isn't just turning into a shopping list of all the things that I do. I'm just too happy to be introspective right now.

I'm off. I can bear it no longer. I must go play outside. And then return and write some happy poetry. Goodbye, all.

Road Trip Report Part 2

And now back to our regularly scheduled program. (And sorry, by the way, for taking so long. I promise I will be posting very regularly from now on.)

Anyway, there was some b**** at the wedding who kept ordering us about. One of those horrible type-A busy-bodies. I really wanted to tell her off, but I don't really know who she was. We were imagining that maybe she just comes in off the street and bosses around wedding parties just for fun.

They did the whole traditional wedding with me escorting one of Flavor's sisters down the aisle. I pretty much hated that. I had to stand there in the line the whole time with a pink tie on. Now here's the best moment from the trip. Are you ready?

The bishop asked that whole thing about in sickness and in health, yadda yadda yadda. Ouija answered, "I do." The acoustics of the room were great, and for some reason, at that moment, I realized the solemnity of what they were doing. I just let the echo of his voice wash over my ears. Then it was her turn. The bishop asked that long boring question again, but this time I really paid attention to the words he was saying, picturing my brother and his wife in sickness and in health, rich and poor, etc. When it came to the end, she answered clearly in her soprano voice:

"Why not?"

Well, she brought the house down. After that stunned moment of silence, everbody was laughing. It was so unexpected. In that moment, I knew she was family. Nanny leaned over to me and asked, "Does she really want us to answer that?" I told him to forever hold his peace.

The funny thing is that it seemed to be the prevailing attitude about the wedding. "Why not?" Well, Ouija, here's to hoping it works out for you. I just hope she doesn't have the same attitude toward divorce. But seriously, I think they'll be good together. I'm not sure about the legality of their marriage, but she at least seems funny.

Dad wondered aloud whether Ouija was ready for such a commitment. Fat Aunt Carol reproved him smartly: "Well, he's four years older than you were at YOUR first marriage, and HIS bride's not even pregnant." Touché, FAC. On a side note, Fat Aunt Carol had her stomach stapled and has lost hundreds of pounds. She's still the fattest one in the family, but she's no longer the fattest person I've ever seen. She's even taken up cycling, somehow. Maybe she's Fast Aunt Carol now. On an even further tangent, at one point my mother (whose mind must be slipping in her old age) almost introduced her to someone as "Fat Aunt Carol." We always have to be careful about that.

The food was Mexican and it was actually really really good. I had to sit at some dumb table while everybody paraded by, including my crazy former landlady. Awkward.

They threw the bouquet, and some little girl caught it. Then they threw the nasty garter belt. There were only maybe ten guys out there. It was me, Doan, Nanny, BamaBeau, and a few children. We were only a few feet away. Ouija didn't even turn his back to us. He just looked at me and threw it right at me. It glanced off my hand, and Nanny dived and caught it. The sad thing is that it's probably accurate.

We had pictures with my dad's side of the family afterward. That was great. I really felt a connection with my cousins. That was nice, since we've never been very close. None of them are even close to my age, so there's always been some distance. But I realize I have an interesting role as the oldest cousin. Natalie, age 15, told her dad that she wished we lived closer. They live in Reno. I had to agree. And John, 12, showed me how far he could bend his fingers and feet backwards, and told me he practices every day. I really got a kick out of that. He wants to bring me to school with him so I can do my contortionist act. Anyway, I hope we are able to stay in touch this time.

During those pictures, Doan, Wiggle, and BamamBeau decorated the car. They put some pretty unmentionable stuff on it, which was funny up until the point when the cousins wanted to go see the car, and there's ten-year-old Emily reading these horrible things aloud.


Emily reading the horrible things Wiggle put on the car


some of the terrible things Wiggle put on the car

When my mom saw that one, she said, "Oh, so that's why the call you Wiggle." Wiggle was so embarassed. It was great.

After the wedding, there was a dance, which I hate. The Maggot was able to charm me onto the dance floor, though. We danced for several songs, with me all bent over uncomfortably to reach her. After a while, I think I was looking drunk enough that she could tell I'd had it. She pulled me down to her ear and said, "I think you're tired."

"I am."

"You should go rest." And with that, she was gone. What a special little maggot she is.


(This is the only picture you get of the bride, by the way.)


That's my sister, the Maggot

After the wedding, Nanny couldn't find his pants or wallet. The girlfriend stayed with him, and my friends and I went to the store to buy stuff for the Nanny Challenge. The Nanny Challenge is a game Tox and some friends invented. What happens is we blindfold Nanny, then feed him the most disgusting things we can find at the store. Then he declares a winner based on what which was the most horrible to eat. This time I fed him a spoonful of hot chili oil. Bamabeau had pickled pig's feet, Wiggle had anchovy paste, Nestor had baby clams in oil, Doan had a brown banana smoothie with dirt in it, and we brought catfood on behalf of the girlfriend. BamaBeau won with the pigs feet, and Nanny lost, as always. Here's a shot of the winner:


We have a winner! (You can see the cat food I spilled on his shirt.)

After it was done, we put all the remaining ingredients in a blender with some Nyquil, maple syrup, and grape soda, and left our "smoothie" in the fridge with the hopes that his roommate would drink it. It turned out Doan had taken Nanny's pants, by the way, assuming Nanny had left already.

We went outside after that to change the church sign. It said, "Smile. It increases your face value." We figured out how to take letters from the other side so it would read, "Lying. It increases our church attendance." Alas, they had put a padlock on the church sign since the last time we vandalized it. After that, we went back to Tox's house to sleep.

Saturday: San Francisco

Saturday we found out that we had a stowaway on the trip. Our fifth and unknown passenger was Toasteroven's cold. It was living inside of me, and producing a whole lot of snot.

In the morning, Tox came with us to my dad's for breakfast. Dad gave us eggs and tortillas. The first batch was great. The second batch was burnt and horrible, so we clandestinely fed it to the yappy dog under the table. That shut up the dog and rid us of the eggscrement. Then we played Dad's SNL Trivial Pursuit DVD, which was wicked awesome, though it seems only Tox and Dad and I are really into SNL. Meanwhile, BamaBeau and Wiggle were getting a kick out of the fact that the yappy dog was trying to hump my arm. Have I ever mentioned that I hate the concept of pets in general? They are not family! If animals were meant to live in buildings, they'd have invented them on their own. This is why I'm not opposed to pet beavers.

Next we went and fetched Buh. Tox left us at that point. Wiggle climbed her first tree at buh's house.


the first tree Wiggle ever climbed

On the way out of town, Buh and I decided we were hungry and needed Jack-in-the-Box right then. BamaBeau was stressing about driving, though, and didn't stop. Soon we passed another Jack-in-the-Box, but no stopping. On our way to Oakland, in fact, we passed a grand total of 6 Jacks-in-Boxes, and never went to any. Each time, Buh and I would squeal like wretched children, "Jack-in-the-Box! C'mon! I'm soooooo hungry!" BamaBeau was unmoved.

We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. Wiggle was so excited. "Wow, cooool!" BamaBeau intoned, "I am so much cooler now that I've driven across the Golden Gate Bridge."

At that point, Buh, who'd only half been listening to the conversation, perked up. "That's not the Golden Ga--" I nudged him sharply in the ribs with my elbow.

Soon the truth was out. "Hahaha, you guys," I said obnoxiously. "I can't believe you guys believed me that that horrible dinky rusted little bridge was the Golden Gate Bridge. Hahaha." Some things are funnier to me than they are to a bunch of grouchies. I don't know why that is.

We got to Oakland and walked around on the roof of the temple. That's allowed--I promise.


Oakland temple

Then we went to the visitors' center. A busload of rambunctious Sunbeams came in and put their fingers in the holes of the feet of the Christus statue. That was cute.

Then one of those sister missionaries took us through the new section about the family. We walked from scene to scene, stopping each time to watch a video about a Utopian (or at least Utahn) family. The family was so saccharinely perfect, from their all-American accents to their color-coordinated wardrobe, that I actually began to be turned off by it. It didn't seem like they were showing us how to be a perfect family, or even conceding that being a perfect family takes hard work. Instead the video seemed to be highlighting the differences between a good family and a real one. Which is what I put on the comment card. And I kept the little eraserless semipencil. Oh, and that was after I fell asleep during the sister missionary's testimony. She was the scratchy-voice type. That's the worst type. I think that in the brain of a scratchy-voiced sister missionary, this is what happens:

Scratchy Drew-Barrymore-style voice=Emotional. Emotional=Spiritual.

It's not as though I fell asleep in the back of a tour group in a darkened room, either. Oh, no. This was just the five of us on a bench, lights on, facing her directly. Even as I slept, I knew she was looking right at me, but I couldn't help it.

Moral of the story: Don't go try to get a spiritual uplift from an annoying person when you're sick and operating on four hours of sleep each night for the last three nights and you really just want a Sourdough Jack more than life itself at that moment.

Next we went to Nestor's cousin's house. Buh and I were pleased with the serendipity of finding a Jack-in-the-Box on the same block as the house. We ate in the car (I got a strawberry-banana shake; I've been accused in the past of being sexually attracted to those things, and that might not be so far off) while the friends went inside. We followed when they were done. I was a bit bothered to learn that the cousin, whose name evades me because I was calling him "Gandalf" in my head the whole time, and his fiancé, who was named after the Loch Ness Monster, were coming with us. I sensed a power struggle coming on.

We decided to take Bart into San Francisco. That stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit. I pushed my way in front of Wiggle on the train, and stole her seat next to Nestor. Wiggle was to have none of that, so she pushed her way onto the seat as well. As the train was going under the bay, we slowly inched Nestor off the seat. We almost got her all the way off before she realized what we were doing. Meanwhile, Buh and BamaBeau had discovered that the Asian gentleman sleeping in the seat across from them had the exact same scar as Harry Potter! I don't know if it shows up as well here as it did in real life.




They would have leaned way in to get a better picture, but his little son kept stoically watching them photograph Dad. And also we have all seen The Grudge.

In San Francisco we saw a trolley, but then boarded a bus (at Gandalf's recommendation). We all had to stand. There was a creepy guy staring at Wiggle, so I moved between him and her. Then he stood up, and I totally got his seat. Yeah, buddy.

We got to Pier 39 soon thereafter, and I headed straight for the sea lions, since I find those to be infinitely more interesting than expensive imported novelties. Alas, mating season wasn't to begin until May and June, but we saw them do some interesting things nonetheless. The sun set right about then behind Fisherman's Wharf, which was beautiful with the lights and the water and such.


Fisherman's Wharf, sea lions, and the sunset from Pier 39

Fisherman's Wharf was our next stop. We ordered various bits of seafood from street merchants. I was kinda wanting to split off from Gandalf and his Loch Ness Monster, but couldn't seem to shake them. The fish and chips I ordered were gross, but I finished them off because they had cost me six dollars. I was hoping for battered fish but got breaded, which was yucky. I think maybe they just had a Costco bag of Van de Kamps under the counter or something.

Then I dragged everyone up to Ghirardelli Square for some ice cream. Wiggle bought the two of us a Foghorn (dark chocolate and raspberries--my mouth waters at the mere memory of it). The seating policy there is terrible. You order at the door, and then you have to find your own seats. Since there were seven of us, that proved difficult. We ended up hovering like vultures over a table of teenagers. Across from us was a Japanese family with its eyes on the same table. As soon as the first of the teenagers left, Wiggle and Buh sat down, thus procuring our spot. Those Japanese were so miffed! Anyway, we got the table.

There was a man sitting by himself at a small table against the east wall. He kept standing up and flipping off/cussing out some invisible person beyond our table. He was a 30-something, good-looking, buff Italian man. It was really creepy. We still never found out whom he was so pissed off at.

Then we took the bus (our transfers were still good) to China Town. Wiggle bought me a really cool knife with a sheath. At some point in the night I went insane, and started running around pretending to stab people, and walking like I had cerebral palsy, and saying strange things to the homeless. I helped Wiggle purchase a beautiful amber bracelet. I got a San Francisco hat. I don't wear hats often, but I thought it would be nice to get one. I also thought it would be nice to get a shot glass for BamaBeau's collection. I got him a rainbow-colored gay pride shotglass. I think I'm hilarious. We soon realized that all stores in China Town have the same trinkets, and I was still itching to get away from Gandalf and the Loch Ness Monster, so we devised a plan. We would take BART back to Oakland, say our goodbyes, and then drive back into San Francisco and keep playing. We proceeded accordingly.

The hitch came while we were waiting for the train at the station, but not in the way you'd think. There was a Target ad lying there, and Gandalf and Buh and I scrutinized it and mocked the models and the tacky fashions. We could tell that the models had had the clothes photoshopped on in some of the pictures. They hadn't even really worn the clothes they were modeling! Anyway, the reason this was a problem was because I started to think Gandalf was really cool. Too bad it happened so late! On Bart, we discovered that we share the ability to bend our fingers all the way back. This was so great. Neither of us had ever encountered another with the same unique ability. We decided that we are a community now, and are going to try to become a protected class. Then I can get jobs and scholarships, I bet.

When we got off BART, we tried to take pictures, but the flash wasn't so hot. I came up with a solution:


not the most flattering angle, but it's the only way we could get everyone in it with Bamabeau's weak flash

Then we got back in the car and headed across the Bay Bridge. We had two breath-holding contests across the bridge. It's really long. I won the first and Wiggle won the second (though I did make it all the way from Angel Island to land again).

We had to go to the Castro, since none of us had ever been, and Eleka Nahmen had told me to see how everyone handled it. The thing is, the Castro is just one small street buried somewhere in this big giant city plagued with steep hills, tortuous roads, and one-way streets. Our plan of attack: drive whichever way was looking gayer until we got there.

We saw a billboard for a gym that had a big muscular guy on it, so we took the next exit. Then there was an intersection. "Well, we shouldn't go straight!"quipped BamaBeau [well, BamaBeau claims I said that]. We took a left and soon we saw a sign that advertized sausages next to a sign selling liquor. Hmmm. Sausage. And then Liquor. We went that way. Soon there were more and more rainbows. All in all, it took us about 15 minutes to find the place.

Parking was awful. We ended up parking on a hill in a space that was just barely shorter than the car. Then we walked. That was the scary part. At first it was fine, and we didn't see anything any more disturbing than what we'd seen in China Town. There were these hilarious rainbow stairs, and I got a picture when no one was around.


me in the Castro

Then things started to get scarier. The girls relaxed a bit when they realized they weren't the only ladies on the street. They were freaked out even worse when they realized that yes they actually were. There were some drag queens, some old men doing things to each other that I don't want to talk about here, and Nestor claims she saw some gross items littering the sidewalk. One walk up the street and a walk back to the car and we were done. I found it mostly amusing, but also a bit disgusting and terrifying. It was further proof that that is no way to live. Wiggle went into shock, and Nestor could only moan something about being "not okay."

We got really lost trying to find the real Golden Gate Bridge. BamaBeau and I sat in the front seat having forcedly airy conversation to try to alleviate the silent pressure that was building up in the back seat. When the girls started to notice that we were way lost in some deserted part of town, they became a bit testy. We found it soon enough, though, and stopped at the lookout point and took pictures. Buh and I even found a raccoon named Trevor that wanted to be our friend, but we only got pictures with Wiggle's camera. Ask her about them!




After that long day, we drove back to Tox's house.

Sunday: The Beach

We woke up really late and straightened a few things. Then we went to Subway. They were having a two-for-one special, so we bought two each: one to eat and one to stow. Then we went to Walmart and bought some supplies. Then it was off through Sonoma county to the beach. We really wanted to get there by sunset, but we were running pretty late. We ended up making it to the top of the hill and our first view of the ocean just as the sun was setting.






Steep Ravine campground was closed when we got there, so we parked at the side of the windy clifftop road and decided to carry everything down the steep ravine. I grabbed my sandwich, my sleeping bag, and one of the tents, and started down the road with Wiggle. There was a sign that said "newt crossing," but it was too dark to see any newts. We got down to the campsite and waited for BamaBeau and Nestor. When they got there, we realized they had left the other tent in the car. It was decided that the girls would sleep in the tent I had packed in, and BamaBeau and I would sleep under the stars (there were a ton). So we started to pitch the tent. That's when we realized there were no poles. It was decided that the girls would sleep in the tent like an envelope. Meanwhile, I was being all anal about people using flashlights. Flashlights are a pet peeve of mine for some reason. Just let your eyes adjust, people.

We ate our sandwiches. Mine had been flattened by my butt in the car, so I pretended it was panini and I think I liked it better that way.

We soon realized we'd not be able to light a fire, since the tide was high and it would be hard to get drift wood or walk along the beach. We decided to bless the sacrament (we'd gotten permission from BamaBeau's bishop before the trip to do the sacrament outdoors). BamaBeau had brought some San Francisco sourdough bread with him. And then he pulled from his backpack the cup we'd be using. I guess nobody had really thought about it beforehand. The cup was the shot glass I'd bought him in San Francisco. The gay pride rainbow shot glass. Yeah. Well, once BamaBeau realized how terrible an idea it would be to drink the sacrament from one of those, he went looking and returned with the lids to our water bottles. Those did the job nicely, thank goodness.

I should mention the frogs. There was a small pond near our campsite. The frogs in the pond were ridiculously loud. Wiggle had never heard frogs in real life like that. Well, as soon as BamaBeau started in on the first prayer, the frogs became very quiet. When we passed the bread around, they were silent. They stayed quiet until the very moment we finished. It was almost eerie.

I took a walk down to the shore about then. I sat on a rock and watched the white foam crashig around me. I started to pray. To be honest, I'd been hoping this trip would be a good chance to sort some things out in my life. I began to pray, and was startled by the bitterness in my voice.

I had asked a few weeks before in the temple for Heavenly father to humble me. I've never done that before, and usually regarded those who recommended that practice with much contempt. On that occasion, though, I had realized that I had not been feeling remorse for my sins, and such a prayer seemed appropriate. I braced myself for the smiting blow from God. And it never came. And I started to wonder why.

Well, here I was on this rock after what was one of the best weeks of my entire life, praying in angry tones. I told my Heavenly father that I was so happy lately. And that was the truth. What I was angry about was that I never feel the Spirit any less, even when I do things that aren't right. And I was getting fed up with making the same decision every day, and getting the same results, and never knowing whether I was even happier living that way than I would be living the other way. I know so many good LDS people and so many of them are depressed and miserable. I don't know why that is. Yes, I know there are happy Latter-day Saints as well, but there doesn't seem to be real correlation. Just as there doesn't seem to be correlation in my life between how I'm living and how I feel.

All this came out on that rock. I also complained about how easy it was for me to be happy with just the nature and culture and family and friends around me and nothing else. And then about how I didn't know if I could really be happy with a woman for the rest of my life.

And the waves kept beating down on that rock, and the rock kept crying out to the waves to just let it fall into the depths of the sea.


this is where I sat and pondered

And then I Understood. It happens every so often when I pray. I Understand. What I Understood was this: it's not fair of me to ask the Lord to break me down and humble me. That's my job. If I'm aware it needs to be done, I need to do it. My tone changed then, to an apologetic one. I told my Heavenly Father how sorry I was for having approached him from such an unmoving stance, and how I hoped he would forgive me for always coming to him with my own list of demands and complaints, and never to see what he would have me do. If I were a servant, I'd have been fired long ago.

And then I Remembered. I Remembered how great my life is. I remembered that those things come from God, and I remembered that he is willing to bless me if I do what is right. Most of all, I remembered the time in my life when I had a girlfriends, and how happy and perfect things were then. They were even better then than they were on this road trip. I realized that I could be happy with a wife, and that she could be in on the adventure with me. And then the Spirit was there. The same Spirit I hadn't felt at the Oakland temple because my heart was not there yet. My prayer came to a peaceful conclusion, and I sat for a moment watching as the waves actually did their cadent work of breaking down the rock, only very slowly and much more gradually than the rock desired.

I went back to camp and Nestor was missing. BamaBeau and Wiggle had been freaking out, I guess. I decided that they should go look for her while I stayed at the campsite in case she came back. They were back after a few minutes, and it was a bit anticlimactic, except for the fact that they'd been afraid when they found her because of the spectral light reflecting from the grey blanket in which she'd been wrapped.

At this point it was getting cold, and we decided to go to sleep. Nestor went by herself to the bathroom, and a raccoon jumped out of the trash can and she screamed. That was funny. Then it was beddy-bye time. I was still sick and tired, so I went right off to sleep. So did BamaBeau, but I guess the girls had a little more trouble. A few hours later we were awakened by the sound of the girls being obnoxiously loud and playing steamroller in the collapsed tent. Wiggle told some crazy story about brocolli chewing off people's knees and something about Jell-o molds. Then they came up with the blessed idea to go for a walk. Thank goodness.

As soon as they were gone, BamaBeau and I hatched a plan. We stood up, gathered up the sleeping bags and the tent, and began to move everything to a different campsite. We started up the path with the tent dragging between us, but soon we heard the girls coming back up the trail toward us. "Into the bushes!" I whispered. We took off into the brush, but the problem was that it was dry and we made a loud crackling sound. We started all-out running, but soon there was a flashlight beam on us.

"Busted!" cried Wiggle over the roar of the surf. We knew it was true. Still, we maintained our course through the bushes and found a flat spot and lay down to sleep. The girls found their way over, too, and slept in their tentvelope. BamaBeau stolr Nestor's pillow for me. That was nice. Soon everyone was asleep.

Monday: Back home.

As I slept in, the others went to the ocean and took pictures of the sunrise and such.


that's Nestor


sunrise from our campsite


a stream at the beach


near the beach


lilies in Steep Ravine


the hills from our campsite


I don't know what these things are





Eventually I woke up and noticed that the "bushes" we'd run through the night before were actually poison oak. That was a bummer. We packed up and hiked all the way back to the car. We actually saw a newt crossing the road this time. His name was Toby. He didn't really want to be our friend, but he let us take this picture:


Toby the Newt

We got to the car after what seemed like forever. I slept all the way back to Tox's house. The we did a modicum of cleaning and packing, and we were on our way. I slept until Reno. Then it was Nestor's turn to drive. As we were driving and playing this game Wiggle invented where we name all the jelly belllies by color, the car started to do something weird. BamaBeau was asleep in the back seat. Nestor pulled over and they opened the hood and Wiggle declared that the belt had come loose and was trying to figure out which part was the belt. When Bamabeau was awake fully, he asked Nestor what had happened. She reported that she'd been driving, and then all of a sudden the car wouldn't accelerate and it would just make a noise like "VRZHOOOOM" when she hit the gas. BamaBeau explained that she'd simply put it into neutral. Oh, right. We got back in, she put it in drive, and we were fine. A while later we got pulled over. We were worried. I did my patented move where I put the seatbelt on under my arm so the cop can't tell from the back. The guy told us that one of Wiggle's headlights was burnt out, made sure everyone was over 18 (good thing we didn't end up bringing J; apparently it's illegal to take minors across state lines without written parental consent), and let us go without even a warning. That was nice. The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and at 3:00 a.m. we were home.

The end.

p.s. I managed to get poison oak on my arms, legs, and lips, and I still have that dumb cold.