The Everywhereist

(This is no doubt going to piss some people off. Oh, well. Isn’t that what Tuesdays are for?)

I’ve adhered to many of these rules for a while now, and I figured they were common knowledge. But the more I travel, the more I realize that they most certainly aren’t. So please forgive the obviousness of some of these edicts, but they must be stated. And with that, I give you the Ten Commandments of Air Travel:

1. Thou shalt do all thou can to hold in thou’s farts. If thou really can’t contain thine own flatulence, thou canst either get up and release it in the bathroom, or at the very least turn on thy little overhead fan thingy.
   -
2. When other people are trying to sleep, and thou has a window seat, thy little plastic curtain shalt be lowered so that the blinding light of the sun does not shine directly in the faces of other passengers.
   

   Thou should not do as this man hath done.

   - (more…)

Hanging out in the hospital exam room.

-

I was hoping that brain surgery would teach me a thing or two. That I would wake up from my operation with some sort of hidden knowledge that’s only accessible to those who’ve had their skulls cracked open.

It’s not that I thought I’d wake up speaking French or anything (though I wouldn’t have been against that. I’ve always wanted to learn French). Rather, I imagined I’d groggily rub my eyes and look around with a new appreciation for the world around me. My new perspective would prevent me from getting upset about the small stuff.

I thought that after brain surgery, I could rise above the trivial crap we often find ourselves miring in.

And for a while, that was the case. They say that your true self comes out when you are heavily medicated, and my true self, to everyone’s surprise, was an absolute sweetheart. I loved all my nurses, even the blond that Rand had dubbed “the nasty one” (“You just don’t understand her like I do,” I said, drooling onto my gown). I declared my mother the best mother – NAY, the best HUMAN – in the entire universe. I was even tempted to call a few people that I hated and tell them how I had changed my mind about them, how I was wrong to suggest that if they were a crossword puzzle clue, they’d be “a four-letter word that starts with ‘c’ and rhymes with punt.”

Trust me, no one was more shocked than I about my new-found niceness and goodwill.

(more…)

-

Have you ever fallen in love with a place that you’ve visited, but you can’t really figure out why? There’s just something inexplicable about it that makes you happy to be there?

And the more you try to describe your rationale for loving it, the crazier you sound? To the point where you might be clutching someone’s hand, trying to convince them of the magic of this place? And because you’re so damn passionate about it, you fail to realize that the person you’re talking to is somewhat scared for their life? And that you’re now frothing at the mouth and screaming about homemade fudge and free parking on weekends and you look positively mental? This doesn’t just happen to me, right? RIGHT?

Well, that’s kind of how I feel about Jacksonville, Oregon.

(more…)

-

One of the nice things about brain surgery is that you can pick out all sorts of clever things to say for when you come to. I had a few quips lined up (“I have a splitting headache!”, “Who wants morphine? I do! I do!”, and “Which of you bastards tried to tip my surgeon to ‘throw in a lobotomy’ while he was in there?”) but it was my friend Natalie who gave me the winner.

(more…)

It’s grey in Seattle. And chilly. I’m sitting here in my office, contemplating grabbing a sweater.

For the record, I’m already wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But it’s in the high sixties in here, and I have goosebumps. It’s out of sheer stubbornness that I don’t grab a cardigan, because it is July, and that sort of thing is just not acceptable for this time of year.

Indeed, it hasn’t been the most summery of summers.

Supposedly Memorial Day weekend was nice, but Rand and I weren’t here for that. Instead, we popped down to Oregon, and spent that weekend in Portland and Astoria, where it was – you guessed it – chilly and grey.

But I don’t need the sun to have fun. These pictures are proof of that.

They are also proof that my husband in the cutest thing in the world. As though there was any doubt.

1. Driving to Astoria (road near Longview, WA).
   

   Fact: there is sunshine right up until you get too close to Astoria.

   -  (more…)

I have never really liked Las Vegas.

That statement may sound like blasphemy to some of you. And it’s almost a surprise to me, too. After all, Vegas is an entire town built around the Seven Deadly Sins – and you guys know how much I love those. I try to incorporate at least four of them into every single day (fact: I have eaten 3 desserts in the last 12 hours). But despite this, Vegas never managed to strike a chord with me.

(more…)

As a writer, I am constantly concerned that something big might escape my notice, and when a new social trend is born, when something of cultural significance occurs, I will emerge from a bathroom that smells of methane and will ask the masses: What did I miss? And they will roll their eyes and feel embarrassed for me, as I did for that man who I encountered on a bus in mid-September, 2001, when he asked someone if they had heard about these planes crashing in New York (as he had just found out about them), and it was all the rest of us could do not to shout, HOW COULD YOU HAVE NOT HEARD ABOUT THAT?

(more…)

I spent the weekend in L.A.

After 48 hours or so, I was run out of town by an impeccably-dressed, gorgeous mob with chiseled abs, all screaming in unison: “DEATH TO THE SQUISHY MORTAL.”

Okay, fine. I’m exaggerating.

They actually said, “LASER HAIR REMOVAL AND NO MORE DESSERT TO THE SQUISHY MORTAL.”

Which is way worse, I’m sure you’ll agree.

But hey, a vicious mob is a great way to meet new people.

“You wield a torch like a pro!” or “OMG, that pitchfork matches your earrings!” are good ice breakers.

(more…)