can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?

My favorite part of the treck was the last day - Bozeman to Seattle. Almost 700 miles of pretty. Paul was determined, determined he said, to drive us out of Montana. I was making silly jokes about how we’d been there 2 days or 6 weeks or 134 years. Montana is big. Big as in you can spend three days driving through it and still have another three days to go kinda big. It’s also breathtaking. I had never before had a landscape make me feel all fluttery and in love. Extra surprising to me given my city mouse status. I’ve never been a camper or nature hiker, I’ve never owned a sleeping bag – yet there I was, breathless and wide eyed as we drove curve after curve of mountain passes from western Montana through Idaho. We both felt kinda sentimental leaving Montana. It probably didn’t help matters that I had picked Simon and Garfunkle as the music to leave Montana by, or the slight drizzle and overcast skies. Unlike much of the trip Paul and I were mostly quiet, feeling kind of small in comparison to all the beauty that was around us.

It sounds so trite.

But listen up, city dwellers, there are places still that are empty. Where there are no billboards or electrical poles or airplane noise ordinances. Where it’s just tall and golden and full of colors that are brand new and completely familiar at the same time. Where you can really get the feeling that you are tiny. Just a hundred pounds or so of squishy and there are these trees that effortlessly outstand you and these mountains that have rocks resting on them that are triple your size.

It was that stunning.

It’s turned me into one step above a Harloquin novelist!

Three things about Idaho!

What Paul thanked Idaho for: taking care of the downhill.

His other astute observation: in winter, I could pretty much sled from Idaho to my apartment. Depending on snow cover.

What I bet and lost on: the “Welcome to Idaho” sign was not, I repeat, NOT shaped like a potato.

I was swirling with emotions when we got into Seattle. You can’t really see the city until you are almost in it. We turned a bend and all of a sudden there were lights everywhere. As we took our exit and were spit out into downtown I was just stuck on thinking “I live here now.” It wasn’t in a freaked out way, or in a terribly excited way – it was matter of fact. Convincing myself. Calming myself. That kind of way.

We, of course, got a little lost. Took a try or two to find the building. But once I realized that I had my apartment number and address mixed up – we were all set and just across the street from where we needed to be. Opening the door and peeking into the street lamp lit room, I felt like a kid sneaking into a neighbors playhouse. Familiar yet unsure. It smelled of fresh paint and recently refinished hardwood floors. Paul was the first to find the swing. I was the first to swing on it though. He gave me a big hug and suggested a much needed beer. My heart was pounding. We grabbed the keys. Locked the door and walked to Collins Pub for beer, booze and a jumbo ravioli.

Later, we feel asleep in the living room. Mattress on the floor. Looking out the windows. I was drunk and happy and preoccupied with the boy lying next to me. The first night here was as good as it could have ever been. Paul was a nice bit of home to have around and the city was a good dose of brand new. The next day would be the best day ever. EVER. It was movie good.

Today was my first day of work. I wore high(ish) heels and met about 14 dozen people, all of whose names I won’t remember tomorrow. I made one friend, a food critic, who took me out for what has surely got to be the best macaroni and cheese in the entire WORLD and then assisted me in my quest to purchase a shower curtain. I walked home from downtown after dark and came to the realization that my neighborhood is about 200% sketchier at night than it is during the day. Thank goodness for my crime fighting skillz!

I’m about one ruby slipper heel click into being home.

buffalo girl

I’m nearly unpacked. If the Ryder (Not Ryder) truck were still parked outside, I would hug it for being so small. So toy like. So ten foot. I know that I gave it a dirty look or two when I wasn’t able to fit in the coffee table or the microwave or the stereo or the tv… but in the end it all worked out because any more things in my apartment and I’m pretty sure the swing wouldn’t work.

The swing you wonder? YES. The swing. There is a real life, honest to goodness, working swing in my apartment. Hung from the rafters. In the middle of the main room. With a somewhat unconventional furniture arrangement and a good kick start, I can swing until my hearts content without having to endure any dirty looks from impatiently waiting 3rd graders. Nice.

The other reason I’d hug the truck is that it was such a good idea to drive. Oh sure, I thought that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to drive when the truck was sliding on the ice at the North Dakota border, but the rest of the drive more than made up for it. The 360 miles between Glendive and Bozeman were beautiful. The sky really is bigger in Montana. The horizon seems closer to you and the sky just fills up. It’s uncluttered with billboards and the telephone poles are set far back from the road so you hardly notice them. Everything was golden, just coming out of a winter drought. Lots of Montana looked like it was a hillside in a model railroad. The pine trees and rocks seemed so overwhelming and small at the same time.


The drive went by quickly and we made it into Bozeman before 8. Paul and I split a grilled cheese and French fries at a little diner on main street where the open sign said: “Sorry, we’re open!” I wished out loud that I had had one for the coffee shop. We walked around Bozeman a bit, still tired from the drive and weird morning sleep. We chose the most cowboy of the hotels that we passed and checked into the Western Heritage Inn. There was a stuffed bear in the lobby! And an elk head! The staircase looked like the Brady house! It was a good choice.

I took a much needed shower and Paul went and scored some beer from the neighboring Kum and Go (two in one trip, go figure!) – the day ended drinking beer and making fun of the local news station who when interviewing the newly crowned 2005 Bozeman Chef of the year, called him the 2005 Chief of the Year under his name. We set the alarm, fell asleep talking and laughing and wondering why Bozeman was spelled with a “Z” but Missoula was not.

The next night we’d be in Seattle.

I spent some time at Zeitgeist today. Writing whatever came to mind mostly. Thank god for writing. It’s effortless. A laptop. A pen. A piece of paper. I don’t need to unpack the taped up boxes of art supplies and paint brushes to make something. I think Lisa called my never-ending sentences and overstuffed paragraphs “splash and ping thoughts.” I liked that lots. Here they are. Splash. Ping.

Stiff neck. Feather bed. Still smells like him. Heavy eye lids wanting to sleep still gray weather making for a nice day. Sat in the coffee shop and looked at newspapers. It feels like New York Chicago San Francisco rolled into one. The skyscrapers disappeared into fog this morning. Like a movie. Like a photo. Like a painting. The manhole covers have steam rising from them. White poofs against a city colored background. You can see your breath but it isn’t cold. The same homeless man is curled up in the vestibule each morning as I walk past, long strides, head up, to get coffee from a block away. Tan dirtied wooly blanket covering all but his white grey socks. The sound of drips splashing down from the awning. Car tires in puddles. My feet hitting the wet pavement. Spring came early thanks to a 24 hour drive. The weather is warm. Wet. Swimming. Tames my hair. Makes it fall into soft curls. I want to wear my sunglasses but instead carry my pink flowered umbrella. There are seconds where it feels like home despite the unpacked boxes and unfamiliar faces. Unimpressed uninspired unmoved by where I had been. Uterus in utero, hold on tight. Unicorn underfoot, careful where you step. Unified ultimatum unconditional underclass, watch the hammer, hit, real, slow. Up up up. It goes. Tattooed number. Unidentifiable urchin. They all look the same. Ulcered uncle. You. Know. More. Reach into his head and pull the ideas out. Lost. Boy. Found. Girl. It’s going to be a good year.

my baby does the hanky panky

It was already middle of the night dark when we left at 8:30. Paul was coming off a seven hour drive back from Chicago. His band had played there the night before. Thanks to either his youth or his rock n roll cowboy-ness, he was ready for the first leg of our twenty four hour drive after a bathroom break and a spring roll.

I had recently come into the habit of saying “lest” and “it’s all good” far far too much. Lest as in: “We should turn the lights off lest the aliens find us.” And it’s all good as in: “The truck won’t fit all my stuff. No worries. It’s all good.” I found that my use of the later phrase actually meant that it was NOT all good. In fact, it usually meant that it was quite terrible and I had no idea how to remedy the situation. My only rule for the drive was to be pinched in the arm whenever I said either of those two phrases. Paul obliged. I think it was an “it’s all good” that led to laying my arm down on the pillow between us for the requisite pinch and instead got a much anticipated hand hold. Paul and I had developed this strange and fast friendship over the past month or so and my crush on him had started to polka dot my thoughts after the whole Scooby Doo Incident. It was nice to have butterflies again.

We drove through Minnesota without much problem. I drove first and he tried to sleep a little to ready himself for his turn. We talked a lot, listened to some music, tried to figure out an Encyclopedia Brown mystery or two and went through half a book of Would You Rather questions. For the record, Paul would rather forever have to speak in the style, accent, and intensity of Hitler whenever talking to members of the opposite sex rather than having to take all his meals in a hockey net. I can’t say I'd pick the same.

North Dakota tried to give us a hard time. The darkness was so dark that I got a little edgy. It was all horror movie and Bela Lugosi. There was a thick layer of clouds so no moonlight was peeking through and the sky was starless. Lots of times we were the only car on the road, no one ahead of us, the side mirrors only showing black for what was behind us. No street lights. We each tired to sleep. Paul successfully, me not so. I opted for a few No-Doze pills purchased from the Fergus Falls, MN Kum and Go. Seriously, the Kum and Go. Ha! Just before dawn and just before hitting Montana, it started sleeting and the roads got icy really fast. We pulled off to the side and decided to give it a half hour for the sun to come up. Thanks to the No Doze, I was wide awake and anxious. Paul fell asleep with his head in my lap.

After 30 minutes it was still sleeting, although with the sun up, it was easier to deal with. Paul offered to drive and we decided we’d just get into Montana and find a place to stay. Glendive was the first city we found, about 40 miles past the North Dakota border. We wound up at the Super 8 and fell asleep within 30 seconds of our heads hitting the pillows. In my newly acquired insomniac style, I woke up much before the 1pm alarm. I quietly snuck out of the room and used the phone in the lobby to check in with everyone and reschedule the movers. We had decided to add a day onto the drive in order to miss a storm that would surely have made driving the curvy mountain passes pretty scary at night. Which my mom, especially, was very happy to hear due to her constant Weather Channel viewing that day. I spent the rest of the morning at the town diner across from the hotel. I wrote some haiku and ate some scrambled eggs.

smell of scrambled eggs
and perfectly coiffed gray hair
breakfast served all day

the first day of spring
landscapes, more gray than golden
big sky Montana

an hour ‘til one
his hair splayed over pillows
me, writing haiku

five foot two feet of
pure glamour grandma spunky
lipsticked coffee cup

I snuck back into bed and tried to get in another hour of sleep before the alarm would sound. Paul and I were both smelly and the room had rocketed to about 200 degrees thanks to the heater kicking in but never off. We had dubbed it the Tour of Sketchy Hygene somewhere along the way. I settled back in and wished I was brave enough to grab his hand, but fell asleep without much worry about it. When the alarm did go off though, he grabbed mine. We curled up together and whispered our days itinerary which only consisted of for sure driving to Butte and if the weather was alright, trying to get to Bozeman. With bad breath and all, we kissed for the first time then found some toothpaste and got back in the truck for part two of the drive.

pinch me, pinch me harder

I’m in Zeitgeist Coffee. It’s a cool place about two blocks from my apartment. Legend has it they have these really amazing donuts, but I have thus far restrained. And by thus far I mean, I’ve been here three times total and the only time pastry was an option, I opted to split a blackberry oat scone with U-Paul. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really haven’t had to put any work into passing up the donuts. Tomorrow, when I walk down here in my pj’s for some iced coffee that 1) I don’t make myself and 2) have to pay for, well, we’ll see how the donut boycott is going then.

If you haven’t guessed already, Zeitgeist Coffee is in Seattle. Which means we made it. Which means that while Montana tried to kill us, it didn’t succeed. Which means that this last week has been a careful mix of teary good byes, happy birthdays, making googly eyes at Paul and lots and lots of driving.

Last Friday was my burpday. I noticed that while Blogger hasn’t updated my “Recent Posts” since November, it sure was on the ball by immediately upping my age come the big day! Thanks, Blogger. Glad you’re looking out for me.

I am now 34.

You know what that means: one of these years the pigtails are gonna cease being cute.

The last three days in Minneapolis were really difficult. Saying goodbye to friends I’ve had for years and who I’ve come to rely on lots as I’ve struggled through this mess proved to be harder than I imagined and I imagined it to be pretty hard. My last night was spent falling asleep on Jodi’s cushy sectional couch while holding onto Irene’s hand. And I probably don’t need to say it but just incase I do, I was bawling like a toddler. Surprisingly, the ickiness of the last year has had a lot of payoffs and one of them is a renewed friendship with my two best friends. Saying good bye to them was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’m certain that I have some of the best people in the whole world as my cohorts. And that makes me pretty sure that I’m one lucky girl.

Sunday was a mad rush of last minute packing and trying to reduce the size of my puffy eyelids to a thickness in which they could be opened more than a quarter inch. I had to make a couple tough decisions – ditching the TV, the coffee table and microwave in favor of clothing and art supplies – but all in all, most everything important fit snuggly into a 10 foot Ryder (Not Ryder) truck.

Ah, the truck.

The little yellow moving truck with the yellow duct tape over where it had, at one time, said Ryder. I assume the last time it bared it’s name with confidence was sometime right before the Oklahoma City bombing. Since then, I’m guessing it’s been all duct tape and second glances. To make us even 30% more sketchier as we drove across this fair and mighty large land, was the fact that our Ryder (Not Ryder) truck was registered in and baring license plates from Oklahoma. Even better. I started calling Paul “Tim McV” and nicknamed myself “Nichols.” We didn’t bomb anything more than the occasional joke though. It really was a fine little truck. It navigated the steep and curvy mountain passes with grace and only made a burning smell one time.

Sunday night was spent eating Chinese take-out on the floor of my empty house with my best friends and waiting for Paul to finish his drive back from Chicago, drop his bandmate off and eat the spring roll I had ordered for him. We were on the road by 8:30, leaving via the western suburbs and talking about how strange it was that I wasn’t crying. Paul didn’t think it was strange at all. It was an adventure he thought. A fresh start. As our shared Pisces horoscope had said a week earlier, “the season of our awakening is now at hand.”

“See, you have no reason to cry.” he said.

“I guess you’re right.” I nodded back.

howsomeever

All good things must come to an end. And thankfully, all terrible things must come to an end, too.

YEE-HAW!

Tomorrow is my last day at Purgatory Coffee! There were days where I honestly thought I would grow old and die here but the last couple months have been filled with far more hope than doom. Oooooh, I’m sure I’ll get a little teary eyed when I hand over the keys since I’ve the tendency to get teary eyed over most anything remotely touching - although I’m pretty sure it’ll be fleeting. I’m also pretty sure that as of tomorrow there will be a little extra bounce in my step because I got through this and if I can get through this, well, I think I’ll be able to get through anything.

My head is so full it’s hard to write. A dangerous mix of daydreams, to do lists and Soul Coughing beats. I linger on the daydreams. The giggle inducing sun in my hair better than the movies daydreams. They float me through the hard parts. The overwhelmed more things to cross off than I have ink for parts. I’m mostly just in awe of how life works. I find myself wanting to say “thank you” a lot. Not sure to who. Just sure of the why. I feel grateful. So thanks, world. Maybe you’re not so mean after all.

Next is a going away/birthday (burpday!) bash that will hopefully go down in the annals of parties had at Big V’s, then I’ll leave Minneapplesauce on Sunday for a two day drive with U-Paul across the top part of the U.S. We have an iPod, lots of nicotine gum and some Mad Libs. The recipe for hijinx if I’m not mistaken. We’re littering the trail with haiku penned in permanent marker on sticker paper and affixed to gas station bathroom stalls as well as our fair share of banana peels. If you want to follow us, just look for the messy haired duo with the Sharpie arsenal.

The next time I’ll probably have time alone with my laptop will be in my new apartment in C@L. Seattle. Sea. At. El. Huh. Wow. Wish I could send you all post cards and invites and blow kisses your way. It’s been a good run. It’ll be a better one soon though. Farewell, home. Hello, new one. I’ll come back to visit. I promise.

ffoo!

I'm alright but my laptop has sprouted devil horns and fangs! Makes it hard to type! I'll try to tame it later and post something about the crazy week! Crazy in a good way! HOW COOL IS THAT?!?

so much time and so little to do. wait a minute. strike that. reverse it.

Let the happy induced freak out begin! I have to pack! I have to sell the store! I have to tap dance and jump on the couch for AT LEAST two hours a day! I have to sell my house! I have to sell most of my stuff! I have to find an apartment in Seattle! I have to STOP drinking coffee!

It’s a lot! In a good good thank god I couldn’t be happier about it way!

Yesterday I started to read Ulysses. I’m on page 34. WISH ME LUCK. This book has kicked my ass on at least three occasions. Here’s hoping the fourth time is a charm. So far, I like the banter between Stephan and Buck. I like the ghostly image of Stephan’s mother coming to him smelling of “wax and rosewood.” I like how Joyce makes compound words out of words that might have never been compounded otherwise. I hope that I’ll get so into it that I can’t set it down. Where I carry it around where ever I go in spite of it’s heavy hardcoverness. The edition I have was a find at a used book store. It’s teal green cloth hardcover with two black lower case j’s on the front. All 1950s beautiful. It smells musty and bookish. I like how it feels in my hands. I read it out loud just before falling asleep and let the left over images of Ireland and Bloom fill my head as I close my eyes. Fourth time. Charm. Fourth time. Charm.

Yesterday Basement Dwelling P and I embarked on a project that culminated in us feeling like Fred and Thelma from Scooby Doo. We had the lofty plans of opening a door to the back alley that had long been boarded up and nailed shut. P, or let’s call him Fred, did all the heavy thinking and came up with the plan as to how to unnail the door open. After a few tries, it was freed and with much joy we threw open the door only to find ourselves face to face with a BRICK WALL. A surprise to be sure! We felt around some for super secret hidden latch, expecting it to open all jagged edged along the mortar – but no such luck. Disappointed! Not wanting to give up hope for a separate basement entrance, we headed down the creaky stairs to the creepy basement. We searched around for another door, a boarded up window – anything – all the while our way being dimly lit by a Bic lighter and our hair getting caught up in the cobwebs. We think we found a trap door! We know we found some spiders! It was an alright afternoon. All I needed was an orange turtle neck and some glasses. Oh, and an ascot for P. Fred style.

I’ll end it with this note. Last night :A:, B and I were talking about elementary school romances. Mine was Ross LaHaye. Blonde hair, blue eyed Ross LaHaye. We were a “couple” from kindergarten through 5^th grade. We’d talk in class, hang out at recess then he’d throw snow balls or berries at me on the walk home depending on the season. But then I moved away. The realization: that still stands as my longest relationship! No good! Or maybe good! He was pretty cute for an grade schooler!