Oh hey! Remember me?

I thought I'd give a little update, in seeing as I've been here just over three months! By which I mean, I've been living here unemployed for three months -- what is an educated unemployed young adult to do in a job market that is inundated with educated unemployed young adults? What every other educated unemployed young adult does -- go back to school to become an over-educated unemployed no-longer-young adult, or blog while continuing to look for jobs in vain. I'll go with the latter.

Observations on Job Hunting in NorCal:
There are no jobs. Anyone who thinks they can hire in this economy is crazy. No, really, they are legitimately insane. Therefore interviews are always interesting, but you will never actually want the job. You will remain unemployed and will only interact with truly insane people until YOU become legitimately insane. There are now two options:

1. You accept job with legitimately insane person. Money-making prospects slim. OR:
2. You become so crazy you think you can employ yourself and others. You post job openings that only legitimately insane people would ever agree to do. You wait until a bright young thing goes crazy, hire them for an "internship", and make yourself look legitimate. Legitimately legitimately insane, if you will. Money-making prospects slim. But hey, at least you can say you do something. (My sister met one such fellow with me, because he said I could bring her to the interview and he was so creepy on the phone that I did just that. Her reaction: "I wonder if he knows nobody actually works for him...")


I am actually getting pretty good at this job-hunting thing, however. As long as you know going into an interview that hundreds of people apply for every job opening within an hour of it being posted, and that your interview will likely amount to nothing, it really takes the stress out of the whole process.

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE.

In case you are a conspiracy theorist, no, I was not making up some elaborate story this whole time. Bailey put up pictures! Oh, no, wait, that shit was totally photoshopped. See, 'cause there's wind on earth, and in some of those pictures, our hair is perfectly still. We couldn't have been in a desert in Arizona! We were actually on the moon, and had it staged to look like the desert. It was Natasha's doing, that sneaky beetch. She said something about feeding us all "vhiskey braid" and turning us all into "leetle Laikas" if we told anyone that Americans had set foot on the moon with her.

Oh, and I promised we would post about our plans and we didn't. Nina left me this morning out of San Jose. We are BOTH moving to LA now. Me in a couple of weeks (from the Bay area), her in a couple of months (from San Antonio). I applied for two jobs today -- one I don't really have the experience for but would be fun, and one I know I'd be really great at, because Environmental/Outdoor Education is my jam and working with kids is so fulfilling. And before you say it, although this blog is the furthest thing from G-rated, I do, in fact, have a filter when speaking to children, so suck on THAT lollipop, mister!

Except I don't talk like that either, because that's even more creepy and weird.

Woo! We made it!

We'll post more tomorrow. But YEAH! WE'RE HERE!

We have sweet plan as well. The adventures .... continue?

So it's been a few days. The ladies and I spent two nights camping out at the Grand Canyon and it was absolutely magnificient (and I can now confirm that yes, it is just a smidge wider than your mother's ... smile). We saw a sunset, a sunrise (got up at 5 for it -- go us!), and pissed off our neighbor's by having a tent party after quiet hours in which Bailey and Nina kept alternately ejecting, "Drink soma dat!" and, "Taste it and see!" in an attempt to get me to keep drinking the Jim Beam. I know my limits, and they knew they had a new hit single. The stupid neighbors just don't appreciate genius, apparently. Losers.

On the way to the Grand Canyon, Nina got locked in a bathroom for 45 minutes. There was no 'station' to this gas station, just an RV park and a restaurant next door that swore to not have the keys. We called everyone to try to track down some keys, and finally the guy in the restaurant "found" the key. Except it turns out it wasn't even locked, just stuck, but he was convinced Nina was just "holding it closed." If you have never seen me be rude to a stranger (I never have been) this was the time. I scoffed at him and said, "Are you kidding me? She wouldn't hold the fucking door closed for forty-five minutes. " And proceeded to kick at the door with my flimsy sandal. But this man's large booted foot turned out to be just the ticket. Yay sir!

NOW WE'RE IN CALIFORNIA! In Los Angeles, to be exact, with Arielle Neal and Grace Vroom. Arielle's roommate Paige is such a sweetheart, too. I am totally in love with this place. We went to Malibu yesterday to see Alyssa Mason and her friend Allie at Allie's beach house. The day was bittersweet... we had to say goodbye to Bailey. It's been an awesome journey so far and I am going to miss the shit out of her. I slept alone for the first time in three weeks and had no one to steal the covers from. Nina wouldn't come down off the couch and cuddle with me. She knows better.

Roswell, New Mexico

So we're in Roswell, NM. Nina, Bailey, and I had a really nice car ride up. Very relaxing, and the speed limit was 80 all through western Texas. Got a little hotel, and we're watching The Office and hanging out. You know, we're just chooglin' ;)

Yesterday, Bea and I got tattoos in San Antonio. Hers looks really good. Hopefully she'll throw up a picture soon. Here's mine, fresh off the press, and red as hell. I love it!

Texas!

(This is me on the way to Texas. Thank you xkcd.com!)

We are in Texas with NINA! And let me tell you... life is pretty collectively life-like. Yesterday, we hung out with her friends at this "pool" (read: really rad swimming hole that was formed by a dam on a creek). The water was this beautiful blue-green and SO clear. You could see straight to the rocky bottom, and there were little cliffs and ledges to dive/rope-swing off of. It was a perfect day, until this lady who clearly hadn't gotten laid in a while yelled at us for cursing in front of her 13-year old son, having glass bottles, and existing in general. Then she had said son take sexy pictures of her, which was gross, but gave me some hope that maybe she would put it on her match.com profile and get some. But then she swam around on a floatie with her little freshly groomed foo-foo dog on her back and it became clear that this woman was never, ever, ever going to get laid, and therefore, would continue to plague this world with her stale cuntiness. Damn.

Bea and I are off to get some ink! Wish us luck!

What happens in New Orleans stays in New Orleans.

This is seriously long, but this one day was probably the highlight of our trip.

We’re in New Orleans right now.

But let’s talk about Birmingham, Alabama for a hot second. Margotmotherfuckingwade showed us an INCREDIBLE time. Her house was awesome, and not just because it was beautiful and had a sweet steam shower. Walking in the door, we were greeted by a zebra skin rug. In every room, there seemed to be at least one safari animal’s hide or head adorning the floor and walls. By the way, her mother shot all of them.

Margot brought us to the rock quarry of her family’s business. But it’s not just a rock quarry. There’s an old steel mill there that was built in the 1800s, but went out of usage around 1980. Margot took us to explore the massive structures. It was incredible to see the vines overtaking the cracked and rusted metal, with trees growing on the old platforms several stories up. Many of the floors had fallen out, and slabs of concrete were dangling from delicate strips of eroded steel. In one building (with a sign out front warning of the cancer hazard – authorized personnel only) we found a room that had served as someone’s living quarters. There was a Coke can and a bottle of Pepto Bismol from 1982. I’ll have you know the Pepto looked as fresh and pink as any bottle you would buy from a store today. That shit is like Twinkies, apparently. The steel mill’s new usage? Art commune. Hell. Yes.

Then, Margot tells us she’s bringing us to her grandmother’s house. Margot stops in the driveway in front of a fallen tree, so I stop my car and prepare to get out to help her move it. But then the tree suddenly lifts itself up and clears the way, because, oh wait, it’s a gate. We pull up in front of a beautiful brick house painted purple with greenish-gold faded accents. The inside is astounding. Chairs and snakes hang from the ceiling in one room, tree branches and crows made of recycled tires from another. The house is entirely filled with art – by Margot, her grandmother, and incredible artists I would never dream of ever owning a piece from. Casts of Margot and her twin sister from Margot's art show sat in chairs at the dining room table veiled in white. A chocolate snowman dildo sat on the table in the foyer. Mannequins, nude women, neon, trees, birds… I was in heaven. We entered her grandmother’s closet (which is bigger than Marc’s, something I didn’t think was possible [and yes, that’s what she said] ) and Margot models for us the fake hunchback her grandmother likes to don under her clothes. She has incredibly ornate clothing, and my favorite -- a paper bag dress. We went into her bedroom and I came face to face with a Jeff Koons piece – his hot pornstar wife, of course. I saw some of his work at the Guggenheim years back. That man is ridiculous.

Then we got to see Margot’s workspace, some of her art, and photos from her opening. This woman is not just an incredible person, but an incredible artist. It was such a treat.

Margot treated us to a lovely Thai dinner and beer with friends that night. They were all such chill and lovely people. It was SO MUCH FUN. I loved every second of it. THANK YOU MARGOT!!! WE LOVE YOU!

Oh, and we also shot BB guns.

But yeah, we’re in New Orleans now.

Homo the AIDS-Infested Shark!

Bea and I are in Augusta, GA with Ira! YAAAAAAAAAY!!!!

Within the first third of the 8.5 hour trip, the iPod and both of our computers ran out of batteries, so we were forced to listen to the radio. Let me tell you, this was excruciatingly painful. The radio stations down here suck. Also, they are blatantly homophobic.

One radio station was talking about how children in schools should be protected from gay-straight alliance sorts of clubs since their sexuality is not 'solidified' until they are 17 or 18 years old. My own personal experience with 'straight' women over the age of 18 has shown me that sexuality doesn't solidify - but what do I know. I'm just a confused, greedy bisexual. One of the main tenets of Mount Holyoke College is 'sexuality is fluid', so I just pictured swarms of angry MoHos swooping down and making these DJ's daughters question their sexuality. And answer it, in many, many ways.

Oh, and then there was "Homo the Aids-Infested Shark." Because there's no better way to kick off Shark Week than gay-bashing. They did an interview, and 'Homo' responded in a high-pitched lispy voice, saying that Myrtle Beach was not for him, and the Jersey Shore was where he would feel more at home, so he could "bite The Situation's dick off... yum!" The DJ then responded that Homo had threatened to bite his rectum off ... and then call him cute. Classy, boys.

On a happy note, off to Birmingham, Alabama, to go visit the lovely Margot Wade!

My Drug-Free Acid Trip

Hey ya'll, Carlo here.

I decided to go for a little jog yesterday, without really knowing the layout (if we are going to pretend it has any sort of coherence) of the community my father and Jeanette live in. Mistake.

To really get the idea of what this adventure was like, picture yourself taking LSD and then going for a run. You try to follow the roads but they keep curving all over the place and you forget which direction you're going. Suddenly, a double-lined road turns to a gravel lane, and you have to go another way. In front of you is a seemingly insurmountable hill that you can't quite find the top of... until you do, and then you see another up ahead. This cycle repeats over and over again -- you run until you can't run anymore, then you walk until that hurts too much too, then you just run again, because what else can you do?

But it is not all a bad trip. Every once in a while, you come across a field of horses, an incredibly vibrant community garden, a picturesque and deserted beach on the bay backed by freshwater wetlands, an airpark, the waterfront of the lake in the center of the community, a doe and her two fawn who are not remotely afraid of this sad limping creature before them .... shit, they think, that thing's so pathetic we really ought to just chase it instead.

It took me four hours until I was found (heading in the right direction finally) by my father. It took him two and a half to find me. They had called the cops to see if anyone had been hit by a car, and had also called security to tell them to keep an eye out for me. Bailey and Jeanette were also on the hunt for me.

Moral of the story: Do not let a Carlo out of your sight, because you might never find her again; or alternatively -- don't put LSD in Carlo's coffee before she goes for a run. I'm onto you, Dad.

I'm a Lusbian!

Sup queers'nsteers,



After an enthralling goodbye party for Carlo, and an impressive display of the fastest hungover-packing job in history, we have made it to Lusby, Maryland. And therefore... I can officially say that she has turned me into a Lusbian... we all aren't until we are. And let me tell you, I am enjoying every minute of it. These folks know how to enjoy the finer things in life: boating, beaching, searching for petrified sharks teeth, and topping off the day with a friendly crab eating contest amongst friends. Carlo was a very close second to her dad, who knows a good crab when he sees one, but she did win the prize for messiest at the end of the meal. Congrats! You did it! We have two more days of relaxing here and soaking up the sun (although we will all probably be too burnt to move tomorrow) before we hit the road again.



Our next stop, unless fate has other plans for us, is Augusta, GA. We are making room in the car somehow and picking up our dear friend IRA, who will join us for few days until we get to Texas.

I wasn't sure we'd make it this far, so here's hopin'. We got the attitude, we got the motivation, we got the sense of adventure, we got you behind us.

peace and blessings,

B.

Oh, you said separate checks! I thought you said separate limbs! My bad.

So I'm having a going-away BBQ the night before I leave. Shitty timing, because I have to work the day shift and then begin my epic travels, but I'm working every other night I'm in town from now until then, so I'll have to be careful with my hangover prevention, because friends don't let friends spend their last night in town sober. Or at least mine don't.

Speaking of work, I've noticed a trend on Facebook of people complaining about 8 and 9 hour workdays. Have I been on LSD my entire life or is that not the standard for anyone above the age of 15? I know servers/bartenders bitch incessantly, but in our defense, I think a server would be embarrassed to complain about anything less than 11-12 hours. We will, however, throw a fit over anything requiring more effort than using a soda gun. Ugh, coffee, really?! I bet you want a water with lemon, too, you sick fuck.

Happy Birthday Nina!

Nina was born 22 years ago today! Thanks to Nina's parents for her life-like life (and consequently, my collective life-like life)! I love you, Neens.

You know what really bugs me?

Clothes. I hope they don't have them in California.

I mean, I know from all the "money shots" of starlets getting out of limos that you are more likely to find a herd of unicorns, drama-free lesbians, or any other such imaginary creatures than a pair of undies that covers your kitty. If stars can't use all their money and power to track down a pair of underwear, then surely this article of clothing must be non-existent on the West Coast, right? This could be a good sign... I hope it's just one giant nudist colony.

(It may or may not be really effing hot in my room right now)

Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of post-structuralism.

Today, I began packing. By which I mean I unpacked the boxes I hadn't unpacked when I moved to Northampton and repacked them in different arrangements into different boxes.
I meant to get organized and get rid of a lot of stuff, and I did get rid of some stuff, but not nearly as much as I wanted to, and now the stuff that's left over doesn't really seem to go with anything anymore. I worked for seven tedious hours only to end up in the exact same place I began, and the journey was just obnoxious. It was like trying to follow a post-structuralist anthropologist's "argument"... except the only words involved actually exist, and there was less blood on the floor when I was finished with it.

What? Don't look at me like you don't beat the shit out of things that don't make sense to you .

The Plan

Before my roadtrip, I am stealing Bailey (aka Beeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa). Where's Bea? New York. But Next week, I'm picking her up, and we'll be in the valley for almost a week. Bailey will join me for the first half of the trip, and Nina will join me for the second half, so expect both of these sassy ladies to contribute to the blog. We're going to take a hundred bazillion pictures too.

Here's our itinerary of important places. We will need to stop in the middle of nowhere sometimes, but no one cares about that, so these are the places shaping our route:

-- Albany, NY. Pick up car, say goodbye. (July 23rd -- 26th)

-- New York, NY. Pick up Bailey, say hello. Visit Chiara. (26th -- 27th)

--Northampton, MA. Finish packing, say goodbye! (30th or 31st)

-- Lusby, Maryland. Visit my dad and stick around for a day or two to play on some boats.

-- Huntsville, Alabama? Not sure yet -- it was my former hometown, where I lived for 6 or 7 years. Depends how sappy I want to get.

-- New Orleans, LA. Because it's on the way and I've never been.

-- Texarkana, TX? Where I was born. 6 hour detour -- probably not going to do it, but once again, I could get sappy.

-- San Antonio, TX. PICK UP NINAFACE :D Put Bailey on a plane for Colorado :(

-- Grand Canyon. So I can see something wider than your mom's ... smile.

-- Las Vegas, NV. Visiting Shauna, my childhood best friend. NOT being drunk gambling idiots. Not my scene.

-- CALIFORNIA! First to Los Angeles, CA to visit Arielle and Grace (if they will have us) and drive around at a slow crawl, if traffic permits even that, getting to know the place. Then onto Monterey, CA, to see the aquarium, then head 2 hrs north to San Francisco, CA. Unload my stuff, visit with long-lost family, apply for jobs in LA and SF, look for places in LA and SF, look at cars, etc, all while attempting to convince Nina to move in with me somewhere. After a week or two, back to Los Angeles, CA. Fly out, play around some more, check out apartments, maybe some interviews if I'm lucky... oh, and KELLITA!


FIN.

Why, you ask? The short answer is crunchies. If you'd like to hear my self-indulgent prattle, keep reading.

So I'm moving to California. No, I don't have a job there. No, I don't have a good reason to go. But I don't have a good reason not to go either. As a migrant, I have a very romanticized view of throwing my shit in a car and going someplace 'cause I feel like it, bitch. Like I said, very romantic. I also have a bucket list, and picking up and moving to California is on it.



The story goes like this:

One picturesque New England spring day, one of my besties Arielle and I decide to meet up for some much needed back massages, as Mount Holyoke has decided it would be fun to rape us with the clock tower in lieu of finals, and we are feeling a little less than comfortable. We emerge from our respective study spots, which in reality were probably cozy little spaces tucked within the bowels of the Hogwartian library, but my memory is recalling a dark windowless room with a solitary metal chair -- there is water dripping from the ceiling onto my head and pooling at my feet, which now resemble dried apricots. My laptop is in my lap (appropriately), but it seems to have a water force field around it, because it remains dry and intact as I slave away writing Facebook status updates about how I'm slaving away.

So Arielle and I see the sun for the first time in days, and because I apparently think of the library as a sweatshop, I tell Arielle, "I've got to get the fuck out. Let's just get in the car and go to California or something," while I massage her back with unnecessary aggression, muttering about crunchies and otherwise being creepy.

"I've always been told I'd love LA," she coos. She admits that the thought has crossed her mind more than a few times. Over the course of the next hour, we switch roles, and continue to plot our move to LA at the end of August. Arielle's small hands move with surprising strength underneath my shoulder blades, and with firm, fluid motions, she is able to persuade my knots into submission. I drool all over her pillow. (What -- you expected a sexy lesbian love scene? Who do you think I am, Carlo? ... oh wait.)

A week later we admit via text that we were joking, but we can't stop thinking about the idea. Of moving.

Next thing I know, Arielle is going to LA and I'm still in Northampton unable to find a job that doesn't involve asking people whether they want fries or cole slaw with their burger. Poor Kellita has to listen to me ask her a thousand questions and tell her the same things over and over about my plans to go to California. She watches them take shape.

However, the plan changed yesterday, because I've been offered a place to stay in San Francisco for a bit, I'm going to temporarily live there while I check out jobs/apts/etc. in both locations and decide whether I want to live in SF or LA.

I can say with 60% certainty that my glorified view of this move to California has nothing to do with the epic massage Arielle gave me while we were talking about it. Okay, I'm lying. More like 49%. I am 30% sure I will not let her epic massages be a deciding factor in my choice of city. I mean, if Grace is willing to let me borrow her girlfriend every now and again, of course.