The Everywhereist

I’ve been carrying this one with me for a while. Wondering if I should write about it, but mostly hoping I would forget about it. Because this, dear friends, was the Dick Move that started it all. It happened years ago, during an otherwise almost-perfect trip. And when I think of all the others that followed it, I realize they pale in comparison. Because this one was calculated. This one was personal.

It was the Dickest Move of them all.

And finally, nearly 2 years after it happened, I’ve decided to acknowledge it for what it was. Because I’m tired of carrying it around with me. Tired of thinking about it. Tired of feeling that tightness in my chest whenever that weekend is mentioned. After all, it was my wedding weekend. And I deserve to keep only the happy memories from those sun-scorched September days, and dismiss all the bad (even if means pretending that certain people weren’t at my wedding at all). I’m going to let it all go. But first, let me tell you what happened.

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Ross: home of crazies and drug-fiends. Incidentally, I was just at this Ross in San Francisco last week.

SF Ross photo by Rojer, via Flickr.com.

Kids, I’m beginning to worry. I suspect (though I have no real proof) that, like green eyes and being able to roll your tongue, being a magnet for crazy people is genetically predetermined. Such is true of my mother (though really, she may be more attracted to crazy than crazy is attracted to her. But that’s another story.) And I think it’s true of me, too. (more…)

I can’t actually believe I had to write this post. I think that what I’m about to say falls firmly within the bounds of obvious human decency and etiquette. I feel that it’s something everyone one should already know – like how we shouldn’t shake babies nor pick our noses while performing surgery on someone.

And yet, apparently, there are a few morons wandering around out there who simply have no clue. Consequently, this blog post, however obvious, is now necessary. I am going to take a deep breath before I start. A breath that will not only signify my exasperation, but also give me enough air to scream through the rest of my post.

(deep inhale …)

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Photo courtesy of Nexeus Fatale, via Flickr.com

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I could have easily turned this post into a Dick Move!, but that’s pretty much a given when the TSA is involved. It seems there’s no point in even complaining about them any more. Though they supposedly serve the people, they’re not accountable to the people. It puts them on par with the IRS, the secret police, or an evil monarch.

In short, you’re screwed.

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Okay, first, a few disclaimers: my friend Christine suggested we visit a grocery store called Stew Leonard’s while we were in New York. Christine is all kinds of lovely, and I trust her judgment completely (check out some of her brilliance). Sadly, we didn’t have the sort of visit I (nor Christine, I suspect) would have hoped for. Nevertheless, I’m completely glad we made the trip there: it was fun and surreal. Plus, how could I not go to a place that’s been described as “The Disneyland of Dairy” in The New York Times? And while things didn’t exactly go as planned, I actually like it when it happens during travel. It usually makes for a good story. And let’s be brutally honest: sometimes Dick Moves! make for great stories.

Like Disneyland, Stew Leonard’s even has its own clearly marked exit off the freeway, and has a street named for it.

Yay! I love cow products!

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Dude, I’m know this is a little late, and that everyone has probably already said this before, but seriously: DICK MOVE, Underwear Bomber. Besides the obvious reasons (duh, killing thousands of people and being a fanatic asshole is LAME), you also made it seriously inconvenient to fly back to the states. Which I realize isn’t really that big a crime in light of all the other you shit you tried to do, but since it was the only thing you succeeded in accomplishing, besides burning the shit out of your legs, I’m going to bitch about it. (more…)

I attempt to stick my entire fist in my mouth. Not long after, it will be my foot.

Oh, shit.

I’m not perfect, right? I’ve never pretended otherwise. Next week I’m devoting an entire post to WTF was going on with my hair in Scotland. I can’t even give the semblance of normality for one-tenth of a second. I am a tragically flawed and neurotic person, and I’ve been lucky enough in life to have found someone who finds my many shortcomings to be charming.

Thank god, because they seem to scare the bejeesus out of everyone else. (more…)

I’m am licking some wounds.

Not literally, of course. Though I sometimes bite the sides of my fingers.

But my feelings have been hurt. I’ve been slighted by a few people in the “travel blogging industry.” I suppose it’s not a big deal, and I suppose it shouldn’t matter. Perhaps the funniest thing of all is that I didn’t really reach out to them. I was just kind of minding my own business and our paths crossed, and they made it clear: “You sit over there, little girl, while the big kids play over here.”

One woman was introduced to me by a mutual friend. The friend thought we’d have much to talk about, but her friend in turn said, in so many words: I am too busy to bother meeting with novices.

Another blogger got snippy with me. She made one of those dismissive comments that I usually get about my age – but now that I’m getting older, it was about something else – something so ridiculously personal, I don’t know what possessed her to write it. And it hurt me so profoundly that I’m still trying to figure out what to do about it. Besides unfollow her on Twitter, which I did immediately. (more…)