Exhausted

I had no idea 44 hours could go by so fast.  I could have sworn I just got to Sweetheart's house a minute ago.

I left in the middle of the night last night.  We never really went to sleep, just sort of dozed in and out of sleep on the couch until 4am, when I had to start scrambling around and throwing things in my suitcase.  Get it together, call a taxi, hurry to the airport, where I would be even less happy with my food choices than I was at JFK two days ago.  I still have not eaten today and I'm trying to see how long I can last.  I'm starting to get dizzy, so forgive me if this post goes nowhere.

The plane was freezing cold, but I was too tired to complain, so I wrapped my scarf around my knees and tried to sleep.  The people sitting in front of me must have had too much coffee, because they wouldn't shut the fuck up.  So I wrapped the scarf around my ears and passed out.

I've made it home and now... Now I have to be at work in three hours?  Fuuuck...

Once again, I need to get my ass off the internet.  I need to take a nap, I need to take a shower, I need to go to work.  I'm sure I need to put food into the equation at some point, but that's a lesser priority right now.  Sleep.  Sleep is the number one word on my mind right now...

First flight out

Queens, New York

JFK International Airport 

6:30am

                  

I took Jet Blue's first flight out this morning.  The sky was pretty at 6:30 in the morning.  I left my apartment in the middle of the night, journeyed down to JFK, and was highly disappointed to discover that I was unable to get a cheeseburger before my flight.  The food places at the airport were only serving breakfast.  What the fuck kind of shit is that?  This is supposed to be New York, right?  I'm supposed to be able to get anything I want, anytime I want.  It was six in the morning and I wanted a cheeseburger and I couldn't get one.  Fucking BS, man.  Had to settle for a crappy ass slice of pizza because I'm sick of eggs in the morning.

I got up at four in the morning and got on a plane so I could spend 44 hours in New Orleans.  Nobody knows I'm here.  I'm not going to tell them, either.  By the time they read this and figure it out, I'll be gone.  I had no real reason to come down.  Just bored.  Had a couple of days off, missed my Sweetheart and decided to sneak away.  It's a routine by now.  Getting on a plane and coming down here is no different to me than getting on the subway and going to work.  I could get to the Jet Blue terminal in my sleep.  I almost did this morning, I didn't truly wake up until I started getting pissed off about the cheeseburger thing.

I hate to write and run, but I'm down to 36 hours now.  I didn't come down here to sit in a coffee shop.  I'm really not exactly sure what I DID come down here to do, (get laid) but sitting in a coffee shop definitely isn't it.  Until tomorrow...

Nothing good can come from this...

It's a movie now.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I remember when the book came out.  Every woman you saw had a copy of that book glued to her hand for a while there.  They all tried to get me to read it.  "It's so inspiring," they would say.  "It's so brave, and honest.  You absolutely have to read it.  It's, it's... it's life-changing!!"

Needless to say, I was skeptical.

I went to a bookstore, flipped through a few pages, and was unimpressed.  Seemed like a bunch a self-indulgent, new-age nonsense.  I put the book back on the shelf and forgot about it.

Last year when I went to Peru, I befriended a lovely mother and daughter from Washington, DC while traveling in the Amazon jungle.  We became quite close, and when we parted ways in Cusco the night before I was heading to Machu Picchu, the mother pressed a book into my hand.  "Here," she said, "Take this.  I'm finished with it and I would like you to have it."  It was a copy of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I smiled, put it in my bag, and forgot about it.

A couple of days later, I broke my knee, you probably know the story, and I was in the hospital and in serious pain with nothing to do.  All the books and magazines were in Spanish, and I'm much too lazy to learn Spanish, regardless of how much I enjoy traveling in Spanish-speaking countries.  Same with the flat-screen TV I had in the room, all Spanish.  I don't watch TV anyway.  So I decided to pull out my copy of Eat, Pray, Love and see what Miss Elizabeth Gilbert had to say.

I read the entire book during my two-night stay, and in retrospect it was probably the perfect book to read under such circumstances because halfway through the first chapter I completely forgot about how much pain I was in because I wanted to smack the fuck out of Elizabeth Gilbert.

For those who have been under a rock and are unfamiliar with the book, let me sum it up:

It's a book about this stupid, whiny, petulant bitch crying and moaning about being thrown into an emotional tailspin and crippling depression all because she had to make the hugely selfish decision to leave her husband for no good reason other than he wanted to have kids and she didn't, preferring to pursue her own career and her own happiness, living a life of pure self-indulgence.  So she leaves her husband, who has been a perfect husband and hasn't fucked her over at all, and the emotional ramifications of this selfish decision were so great that Miss Gilbert, after fucking some hot, young actor for a while, is forced to take a year off to spend four months in Italy eating, four months in India praying, and four months in Indonesia "loving," whatever the fuck that means, because Miss Gilbert makes a huge declaration in the beginning of this adventure that SHE'S NOT GOING TO HAVE SEX AT ALL FOR THE WHOLE ENTIRE YEAR, so of course, she has sex with some guy she meets in Indonesia.  She also shrewdly convinces some publishing company to fund this little sabbatical for her, so she can write a book for them about it later.

Incidentally, Miss Gilbert also makes a huge declaration at the end of the book that SHE'S NEVER GETTING MARRIED AGAIN EVER.  She now has another book out about how, surprise surprise, she's married.  Hmm.  I'm sensing a pattern here.  Next will be her huge declaration that SHE'S NEVER, NEVER HAVING KIDS, EVER.

It was one of the worst books I'd read in a long time.  I considered writing my own version, entitled Eat, Drink, Fuck, but it looks like someone beat me to it.  Fucker.

So now they've made it into a movie, and women across the country will be leaving their husbands for no good reason and trying to go find themselves in foreign countries.  And people will again say how brave she was to make that painful decision, and how amazing and strong she is for getting past that debilitating depression and I will want to smack the fuck out of them.

I would love to see what would happen to Miss Gilbert if life tossed some real problems her way.  Because there are far worse things that could happen to a person besides leaving your husband for a young, hot actor who's awesome in bed.  Trust me on this one.

Moving day

Hi!  I'm back!  Did you miss me?  Yes, you did.  Don't lie to me...

I've been busy.  Wandering the country, near and far, far and near.  Went to visit Leigh in North Carolina again, had way too much fun again.  I moved to New York in the meantime, too.  As far as moves go, it might have been the easiest transition I have ever made, even easier than when I left San Francisco.  Because I can't seem to keep still for more than six months at a time lately, I have managed to pare down my personal belongings to the point where they fit into the back of a Jeep Grand Cherokee, more or less:

            

Which is great, because that's about as much space as I have in this apartment, more or less.

Loading the truck was easy, mainly because I didn't have to do it.  Mainly I stood around saying, "I don't think everything's going to fit" while Sweetheart loaded the car and said, "That's everything.  What else did you want to take?"

When I got up here, things were just as easy.  Remember the dude from craigslist I told you about, the one who took all the crap from this apartment that I didn't want?  He had said to call him if I needed help unloading the truck when I got back, he said he'd be happy to help me, seeing as how I had given him so much stuff and he really appreciated it and blah blah blah.  So I called him the day before I got here.  Do you know what he said?  "Absolutely, I'll be over at noon tomorrow, you just hold the elevator door open and I'll do all the heavy lifting."

Wow.  Welcome to New York City...

This, by the way, is a completely different version, in fact, a completely OPPOSITE version, of the story about my first day in San Francisco, my "welcome" to San Francisco, if you will.  Remind me to tell you that little gem someday.  Advance apologies to my friends and former co-workers in the Beautiful Bay Area, who are entirely sick to death of hearing that story by now...

Alaskan afternoon

I won't be making it to Alaska this summer.  I really wish I could.  KKV and Ty are there right now, and the Donnellys are going on that fishing trip again.  I talked to Kirsten a couple of weeks ago, and she said that Nome has been beautiful lately.

But time and money and life are getting in the way right now.  Which is a shame, because I was really looking forward to driving the road down to Homer...

                                


            

Lazy day

Salvación, Peru

            

Dining!

Somewhere on the road to Ollantaytambo, Peru
August, 2009

It was a beautiful two-hour journey to Ollantaytambo.  My driver was all personality, regardless of how little English he spoke, and was extremely patient (and amused) with my pathetic grasp of basic Spanish.

"¿Foto?  ¿Aquí?"

He was also very patient and accommodating of my desire to stop for pictures...

          


We were having a lovely afternoon.  He asked if I was a vegetarian.  ¿Que?  Apparently he knew a place that had good chicharrones, did I want to stop?

For chicharrones?  What's the Spanish word for always?

            

Seriously.  Best fucking chicharrones ever.  Big, fatty hunks of pork drenched in even more fat.  The most flavor you can fit on a fork.  Red onion relish, plump, juicy corn, spicy peppers.  Sr. de Huanca has got it figured out.  The "two pigs fucking" logo is just an extra bonus, really.  Like lagniappe...

  

No, you won't

        

For some reason, I took great offense to that sign.  I saw it at a gas station somewhere along I-40, I think in North Carolina.  I found it to be entirely too presumptuous.  I won't be back tomorrow.  Man, I don't even fucking LIVE in this state.  I'm just passing through.  Even if I DID live here, why would you automatically assume I would be coming back tomorrow?  Maybe I won't need to buy gas tomorrow.  Or maybe I'll find somewhere cheaper down the street.  Maybe I didn't much care for your selection of soft drinks and iced tea.  Maybe your cashier was rude to me and I'll never come back.  Actually, that's not true.  The cashier was really nice.  The bathrooms were clean.  Everything was fine, to be honest.

Maybe I just think too much.  I guess that's what happens when you're in a car with twelve more hours to go and no one to talk to.  Maybe that double latte in Asheville wasn't such a good idea...

Lazy day

Wilson Creek, North Carolina

I still don't know where I'll be living in two months.  New York?  New Orleans?  Who knows.  But wherever I end up, North Carolina is poised to become my new favorite distraction.  It's only a day's drive from either city, and there's tons of places like this to lounge around all day with your friends...

      

    

                    

      

    

              

Change of scenery

Rural Hall, North Carolina

I'm settling in beautifully here at Leigh's.  It's gorgeous here, and being around that woman is like slipping into a nice warm jacuzzi.  It's been far too long since we've been able to stay up until four in the morning talking about everything and nothing.  She's got a nice big house in the woods with funky stuff on the walls and a cute car in the driveway.  Can you tell a New Orleans girl lives here?

What a difference a day makes.  Twenty-four hours ago I was in a studio apartment on the upper west side in the middle of a concrete jungle.  I woke up today surrounded by this:

              

    

        

I think I'm going to like North Carolina.

Road trip

Had a busy week in New York.  Had lots of fun, saw lots of friends.  Spent a lot of time Getting Things Done.  Life is looking good.

In the middle of a long drive back to New Orleans.  Resting here with Leigh for the weekend in Rural Hall, North Carolina.  We're going to visit Wooo Bobby tomorrow.

I had fun on the road today.  Got into a long conversation about rolling papers with the cashier girls at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.  Folks are so darned friendly in that state.

I got hungry in Virginia.  I saw this sign somewhere off I-81, and was skeptical:

                  


Truck stop BBQ?  Could be hit or miss.  I've had some pretty good truck stop food before.  I still dream about that chicken-fried steak from that greasy spoon off I-10 in Texas.  So I decided to give it a shot.

I recommend the pulled pork plate, Carolina style, with applesauce and coleslaw.  Douse it with some BBQ sauce and a little hot sauce.  Mix some applesauce and coleslaw in with the meat.  I don't know if it's the best in Virginia.  But it's pretty fucking good when you've been in a car for seven hours.  Maybe it was the rolling papers.

          

Quite a ride...

Cooper Landing, Alaska
August, 2008

                


Have I mentioned how much I miss Alaska?  How much I'm dying, aching, itching, literally chomping at the bit to get there?

Yeah.  I'm sure I've mentioned it.  Once or twice.  I know of more than one person who's sick of hearing about it.

Last time (actually, the only time) I was in Cooper Landing was kind of funny.  The lady who owned the B&B that I stayed at in Seward said there was a guy up there who had horses, and I should look him up if I wanted to ride.  So a few days later as I was leaving Homer, I gave him a call.  It went something like this:

Dude: "Oh yeah, I've got horses.  When do you want to ride?"

Me: "Uhh, whenever.  Tomorrow?"

Dude: "OK, yeah.  Can you come in the morning, at like eleven?"

Me: "Sure.  I'll drive up there tonight.  Where should I stay?"

Dude: "There's a place up the road, another one down the street.  I rent rooms here at the ranch, too."

So basically I said oh great, I'll just get a room from you, I'll be there in about four or five hours.  He said fine, someone should be there, give me your number just in case.  A couple of hours later, I get a phone call:

Dude: "Hey, I've got to go up to Anchorage tonight, be back in the morning.  Just come on over here to my place, the house is all yours, I'll leave the back door unlocked.  You can take the side room, the one with the purple bedspread.  Help yourself to anything you'd like, the fridge is fully stocked for pretty much whatever you need."

Are you fucking kidding me?  Dude.  You don't even fucking know me.

Yeah, so I'm a City Girl.  Whatever.  It blew my mind that somebody who DIDN'T EVEN KNOW ME was willing to leave their home unlocked for me to wander into and sleep in.  Plus he left a kitchen full of bacon, eggs, and reindeer sausage for breakfast?


I'm glad he did.  It was a full day, and a hard ride...

        



The best was when he asked me to help him hook up his new television the next afternoon.  That was the whole reason he'd driven up to Anchorage the night before, was to buy a big new, fancy television for the living room.  Only problem was, he didn't know how to hook the fucking thing up.  You're asking me?

Oh honey.  You picked the wrong girl.

I did my best.  Which wasn't very good.  Poor darlin'.  He was still on the phone with customer service as I pulled away.  I'll have to pay him a visit if (when) I get up there this summer.  See if he ever got off hold, at least...

        

                    
          

Moose tongue

Salty Dawg Saloon
Homer, Alaska

It's calling my name.

      


  I'd really like to get up there at some point this summer.  Last time I was in the Salty Dawg, I met this guy:

                

He'd been moose hunting that morning, successfully it appeared.  He was saving the tongue for a friend.  A very lucky friend, I might add.  I'd love to have a friend who would bring me fresh moose parts for dinner from time to time.

Chihuly ceiling

Norton Museum of Art
West Palm Beach, Florida

                       


My host took me to the Norton Museum of Art while I was in Palm Beach.  We had a beautiful, wonderful day.  This room was my ultimate favorite.  They even had comfortable benches, so you could lie down and drink in the beauty.  Perfection.  

Eye Candy

Palm Beach, Florida

  

              

Laurent Perrier taste, Korbel budget

Still in Palm beach.  Life is still surreal around here, although I must admit, I've gotten pretty comfortable riding around in the Rolls.  It's going to be tough readjusting to the Toyota.
  
My host has been treating me like a princess, which is easy to get used to.  What's not easy to get used to is seeing hundred thousand dollar cars parked at the beach, or Pablo Picasso hanging in the local art galleries.  Amazing stuff in there.  Dali, Warhol.  I noticed a beautiful sculpture and went to take a closer look.  It was a Renoir.  Who the fuck buys a Renoir?  I guess the guy driving the Aston Martin.  "It'll look nice in the parlor, won't it, dear?"

Damn it.  Why don't I get to hang Jean-Michel Basquiat in my living room?

Walking around Worth Avenue was a riot.  All your usual names, Saks Fifth Avenue, Tiffany, Hermès.  They also had some nice boutique shops.  I noticed a beautiful little black dress in the window of Gypsy.  Every woman needs a little black dress, and I'm in the market for a new one.  I knew it would be insanely expensive, but figured it couldn't hurt to take a look.  I have a nice tax refund on the way, and I like to splurge now and then.  I work hard, I deserve nice things, right?

So I went inside and checked the price tag.  $2,300.00

Hmm.  Maybe when it goes on sale...

Shadow Shot Sunday

Palm Beach, Florida

I was wandering around at the beach today and came upon two girls with their arms around each other's shoulders.  For some reason I found it to be a compelling scene, so I stopped to take a few shots.  Wasn't sure if they were family, friends, or lovers, so I watched and listened for a while and figured out they were sisters.  What a loving family.  Made me wish I wasn't an only child...

        

            

 www.heyharriet.blogspot.com

Parallel universe

I'm in another world right now.  It looks kind of like Earth, but not the Earth I'm used to seeing.  There are mansions and Bentleys everywhere.  There's a golf course across the street and a Rolls Royce parked outside.  Not my usual scene.  This is the house I'm staying in:

        

There's a lovely courtyard out back.  A great place to lounge around and play with your computer:

                            

I'm in Palm Beach, Florida right now.  I hear you asking, "Hey wanderlust, what the fuck are you doing in Palm Beach?"  The short version of the long story is that I am here visiting my deceased mother's extremely wealthy best friend.  It's the first time we've met.  The reason it's the first time we've met is an even longer story that I won't bore you with right now.  It's been a pretty interesting visit so far.

By some strange cosmic coincidence, my friend Lauren, who I also met as a result of my mother's death, happens to be visiting Palm Beach right now as well.  Her sister (yet another dead Mom connection) saw my facebook page, realized I was here, and told her to call me.  I was delighted to hear from her, and of course we had to go out for drinks.  

She picked me up and off we went to Cucina.  We ordered some booze, sat down at the bar and looked around.  It was like we had entered an alternate reality.  These people are so far out of touch with the real world, they're not even on the same planet.  It was truly surreal.

The funny thing was, it was the exact same scene you can find on any Bourbon Street bar any night of the week.  Men and women on the prowl, people getting shit-hammered and dancing to the same old regurgitated pop tunes people have been dancing to for thirty years.  If I hear Mustang Sally one more time I'm going to jump off the roof of my mother's apartment building, I swear.  It was your usual horrifying scene, except all the women were wearing designer couture and breast implants, and the men were all wearing button down shirts and blazers.  EVERYONE was wearing five hundred dollar shoes.  There was a woman whose lips were so pumped full of collagen she looked like she was balancing two jumbo hot dogs on her chin.  It was unbelievable.

We found the whole thing to be quite entertaining, especially as outsiders looking in.  It's great watching the ridiculously rich make complete asses out of themselves.  Ahh, alcohol.  The great equalizer.  Because rich or poor, drunk is drunk.  It's rarely pretty.  No matter HOW expensive your shoes are...

Rest stop on the road home

Onion Creek, Austin, TX


I really love Austin.  J & J are lucky.  They have all this a few blocks away from their front door:

        

        

Austin is beautiful, even in winter when the trees are bare.  The rest of the year all of this is alive, lush and green.  It's amazing.

                  

There's a cactus patch up the hill.  Great place to spend an afternoon if you have two energetic dogs in your company.

              

                

I always enjoy being here.  To me, Austin feels like the comfort of a familiar lover's bed.  Wish I could stay a little longer, but I've got to hit the road.  Stopping off in Houston to have lunch with a dear friend I haven't seen since August 2005.  Next stop, New Orleans.  There's a very important Superbowl party I have to get to.  A Black and Gold Superbowl party, to be exact.  The Saints are going to the Superbowl.  For the first time ever.  I may have mentioned it once or twice.  WHO DAT!!

Dining on the road home

Dripping Springs, TX

When you're in Texas, you know you have to stop for some...

              

And when you're in Dripping Springs, Texas, you have to make sure you stop for some Bar-B-Q here:

                            

I'd been driving all day.  It's a long road, the road through Texas.  I wasn't far from Austin, not at all, but it was pouring down rain and I was starving.  It was that weird time in the afternoon, between lunch and dinner, so I had the whole place to myself.

                                  

              
                      
I mean really.  What more do you need?

Actually, I would have preferred a Purple Haze.  But they only serve Anheuser-Busch products.  It's OK.  At least A-B makes that ZiegenBock stuff, which isn't half bad.  Brewed 'specially for Texas.  After seven hours in a car, a beer is a fucking beer, right?

                          

Chopped brisket.  Spicy sauce.  A reprieve from the rain and a cute waitress.  I like Dripping Springs.