tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83280600992580943452024-03-01T17:11:52.149-05:00cellar door notes30ish & single.Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.comBlogger345125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-44497932809043805802016-02-29T01:19:00.001-05:002016-02-29T01:19:50.894-05:00Day 181: Hatching West<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello, hello. My apologies for being absent while I travel. It was going to be my attempt to keep Cellar Door Notes up to date with everything I have been doing so my life can be in one place. Unfortunately, keeping up with everything while on the road is tough.<br />
<br />
To see what I've been up to, please visit my travel blog <a href="http://www.hatchingwest.com/">www.hatchingwest.com</a>. However, I do plan to come back here and post the juicy NSFW bits of my travels when I have time. And return to regularly scheduled CDN posts once I have life set up for myself again because, yup, I'm still a vagabond.<br />
<br />
Much love, my readers and I'm sorry for the delay. -H<br />
<br />
PS comments are open on HW so feel free.</div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-49480259699543191192015-09-24T16:37:00.000-04:002015-12-11T16:37:59.756-05:00Day 20 , 21: Southwest Montana, Introducing Yellowstone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I woke up the next morning, showered, packed up and out quick to
avoid the weird man (although he did find me in the morning) and make up for
the lost time I had staying in Hardin v. Billings (although I did save about
$10 in site fees). Any feelings I had the previous day of not waiting to be on
the road had 100% faded away. I felt at one with the road and immensely enjoyed
the beauty of Montana.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roadside gorgeous typography, about an hour west of Hardin</td></tr>
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Today's goal was Lewis and Clark Caverns (State Park) about four hours away from Hardin. It was
suggested by the popbottle glasses guy in Miles City. I loved it and the whole scenic drive there! After a steep
and hot 3/4 mile hike up to the caves, we spent two hours inside looking and
learning, then I was back out. Despite the gift shop guy suggesting Bozeman
when I bought my pin and told my story,
I (forgot or something) and went with my original plan of Butte. I questioned
it on the way there and while there and once passed it and on my way to Idaho
Falls (3 hours out of the way), I decided to head back to Bozeman because it had
more oil change choices. I drove 90 miles back to Bozeman and, again, woke up
early to make up lost time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnYJMMzI4L8ZttbjP7nBUgjoKqmfKF5O1_uR6xWRh3Yc6KKajW8IIkWCl3siaA6uV5TqaAG0VSxPF-Uvxrzmsz_bhULlVkwKEfG96zUGmIMPHYQKF3myIDTVFpoR-UkPaAaa4h2ydMoE/s1600/12004075_10103153980424883_1785491330522829445_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnYJMMzI4L8ZttbjP7nBUgjoKqmfKF5O1_uR6xWRh3Yc6KKajW8IIkWCl3siaA6uV5TqaAG0VSxPF-Uvxrzmsz_bhULlVkwKEfG96zUGmIMPHYQKF3myIDTVFpoR-UkPaAaa4h2ydMoE/s400/12004075_10103153980424883_1785491330522829445_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the flash is blinding in the dark, can you tell?<i> ha.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">imo, pitching a tent should be free... but tellerTaylor<br />
an attractive good sport</td></tr>
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While my oil was being changed, I had breakfast
down the street so that 1. I could eat and 2. I could charge my electronics. It
was my first proper meal in weeks. (I really should have taken of advantage of
more than just that pie last night.) In that short amount of time, I decided that I liked the vibe of Bozeman so much, I decided to pudder around
main street. I went to Wells Fargo to get out multiple denominations for
campsite trust boxes in anticipation for Yellowstone. The people there were so
damn nice. As were the folks over at the thrift store across the street. (I got
some Keen's for $4.50!) For a while I sat in the Safeway/Starbucks parking lot browsing Tinder to get a feel for the scene. At around 4pm, I was finally off to Yellowstone<span style="font-size: 18px;">. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">that was a<i> medicinal</i> popsicle: my throat hurt.</td></tr>
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I arrived at
the West gate a little after 6pm. Free entry in the evening, where I entered Wyoming briefly, took some
photos of the beautiful rose colored sunset (<i>top</i>) and then back over the <br />
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Montana border to find a campsite since, unfortunately, all the Yellowstone proper ones ($15/night) were already full or closed for the season. The first site in
West Yellowstone, just outside the park, was $63. Nope! I went to another just a little further out: $40. I
figured it was either drive out in the dark and hope for something cheaper or
suck it up and figured I'll save the gas and hassle. (These campsite costs are
killing my budget!)</div>
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As I paid, I went through a now very routine round of questions: <i>How many people? </i>Just one. <i>Just you?</i> Yes. <i>You're alone?</i> Yes. <i>Do you
have a dog</i>? No. <i>So just <b>you</b>?</i> YES! Aside from the normal
line of questioning, he made me nervous on account of asking if I was sleeping
in my car or tent, but maybe it was just the freeze warning in West
Yellowstone. I'm locking my tent extra tight tonight and staying up late and
sleeping with my stun gun ready to go. After making a vat of spaghetti to last
a week, I'm bundled up warm for a low of 32, putting on some Golden Girls and
nodding off the bed. Tomorrow I <i>really</i> see the park.<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-10476433603176504462015-09-22T16:36:00.000-04:002015-12-11T16:36:36.273-05:00Day 19: Dragging<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For whatever reason, this proved to be my most favorite campsite.
Another mom and pop, the guy in charge had on popbottle bifocals and offered
some places to see in Montana. He also<i>
::the heavens open and angels sing:: </i>gave me a wifi password. I admit it: I
have missed Netflix A LOT. Television has always been my zone out, comfy place.
And his WiFi actually worked. Plus, I had food. Real food: sautéed chicken and
avocado on a bed of leafy mixed greens with tomatoes. Paired with that, was my
wine and Netflix. It was a damn good night (despite wasting an hour looking
for my damn bike key, which I ended up finding under my tent after I had given up
looking). Just off of interstate 94, the Big Sky campground made me feel
incredibly safe and was super clean: I totally recommend it if you're ever on
the move.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then, to no fault of their own, I woke up this morning again
to wind. The fucking wind; it saved me from the heat on my hike yesterday, but
today we're not friends again. I was tempted to stay, but the only thing that
really got me out of my tent and on the move (aside from getting away from the
damn wind) was that there was a Dairy Queen outside of the Wal-Mart. And
I love DQ: If a man ever took me on a first date to DQ, immediately wife
material. It bares mentioning that the mid-west loves it's DQ's. While living
in DC, I always said it would be my dream to open up a DQ in the District -
there isn't one, not for miles. And let's be real, DQ is the shit: burgers, ice
cream - what's not to love?! But ever since Ohio, I have not been at much of a
loss to find a Dairy Queen. Which is good, because the one in front of Wal-Mart
was boarded up and closed and, to my point, about 20 miles down 94 there
was another DQ, waiting for me to indulge in a chocolate cone with sprinkles;
rewarding me for ambling out of my tent, packing up and moving again today when
all I really wanted to do was stay put somewhere two nights in a row. But, I
realized, if that's my biggest complaint, then I don't have much to complain
about. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I made it to Little Big Horn Battlefield around 4:32p (they close
at 5), having pseudo-accidentally taken the scenic route through the Crow reservation. I have all
but abandoned GPS at this point and am almost solely using paper maps. As luck would have it, entry after 4:30 is free (despite the unfortunate timing of a rushed visit). There, at the
monument, I met a Dakota/Cheyenne Native who quickly introduced himself and
invited me to join him and the old man he was with for dinner and traded info. There was a
trading post/cafe down the street and while I was buying socks, he texted me
that he was in the adjoining cafe so <i>hey! </i>free pie. (Too bad I was still full
from my $2 DQ burger and cone - <i>sprinkles are free in Miles City, ya'll!!</i>) <o:p></o:p></div>
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After, he said if I was staying in Hardin we should hang out. By
then, it was getting dark and I don't like to drive in the dark (the states are
far too pretty to miss and I hate the feeling of chasing light). I found a campsite on the edge of the Crow
reservation, where I was again, the only tenter. The host's office smelled
like cat pee, he was missing some teeth and his wife wouldn't allow me to park
on the grass. A creepy guy came over and asked me if I needed help
pitching. He then came back over again - after some loud singing; well, at
least - to ask if he was too loud and offer me a beer. It was then I decided to invite the Native over for
bourbon or the left over Wal-Mart wine because I wouldn't have minded either of
those men hearing a man's voice with me. My new 'Indian' was here for a couple of hours, we had decent conversation about this and that and then I sent him on his way, locked up the tent nice and
tight and now I'm off to sleep. ...Cause when I wake up tomorrow, it's time to pack up, move and do it all over some place new - and hopefully I won't be dragging ass again.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-6931534454433787932015-09-21T16:34:00.000-04:002015-12-11T16:35:17.440-05:00Day 18: Hiking, to Montana<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPyMlqCTmbOPgD131izDTlif8M4cv30fM-nbsyUh2F-qWzG-mUgynmKJvJI-cnuqMipxooTgv37gJ3CS5pvfmruVBjgiJyjRXZJP_qglHROCchWdbMk5LoRP4aXmcnFJuqMY2k4Hqjag/s1600/unnamed+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPyMlqCTmbOPgD131izDTlif8M4cv30fM-nbsyUh2F-qWzG-mUgynmKJvJI-cnuqMipxooTgv37gJ3CS5pvfmruVBjgiJyjRXZJP_qglHROCchWdbMk5LoRP4aXmcnFJuqMY2k4Hqjag/s320/unnamed+%25284%2529.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">emerging from my tent.</td></tr>
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I awoke in the morning feeling really refreshed. I treated myself
to "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" on my PC before/while falling
asleep last night even though I hadn't had electric hookup for a while and wasn't
sure the next time I would be able to get a charge in. I'm really settling into
the comfort of my tent. Snuggly would be an apt description. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I heated up my coffee that I couldn't finish yesterday thanks to a
mystery illness (and accidentally ate Sun Chips for breakfast). This was only
after I took a baby wipe bath in my tent -<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>pure
glamour, I tell you -<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>and
washed my face in the restrooms with ice cold water that you had the hold the
handle of to keep on. On this morning, I learned that I can well wash my face
one-handed.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Oh the places
you'll go, the things you'll learn.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>With
my coffee in tow, I put on make-up in my
current form of a vanity (<i>below</i>) and dry shampooed my hair. Despite things like baby
wipe baths and making good friends with public toilets, I still have not given
up doing make make-up (and when the moment presents, my hair. Although to be
honest, most days I don't even brush my hair anymore.)<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpga1wKL9g0yzLMqttzxgbaNftU10Gz1jNM0vGBiXIY5wDg_bxmdv8vjKkNPW-2Ex_yeczKFLmNiV6U3DCOEk4rHTZnBYfa1JvoW9dH3_mhVfIGjM0gRLynHn-9bP26qZwOGVMH5aSjyQ/s1600/unnamed+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpga1wKL9g0yzLMqttzxgbaNftU10Gz1jNM0vGBiXIY5wDg_bxmdv8vjKkNPW-2Ex_yeczKFLmNiV6U3DCOEk4rHTZnBYfa1JvoW9dH3_mhVfIGjM0gRLynHn-9bP26qZwOGVMH5aSjyQ/s400/unnamed+%25288%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYV4CIm_gdjKWq2aAr3hldBe29li11JsBPBJHY5IZqOGE5oVeTJU7fX2Druw5_kTR0MbCcDlJFnQ_2h175YOvzIcu2HSiYzPFe-0tiwVIxT-lEUZC1be32IDDn9oVikZv4ETLIIKbtbW8/s1600/unnamed+%25286%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYV4CIm_gdjKWq2aAr3hldBe29li11JsBPBJHY5IZqOGE5oVeTJU7fX2Druw5_kTR0MbCcDlJFnQ_2h175YOvzIcu2HSiYzPFe-0tiwVIxT-lEUZC1be32IDDn9oVikZv4ETLIIKbtbW8/s400/unnamed+%25286%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
After filling my bottles with the potable water, I was on my way.
Although soon I would find out that TR Park's water is strange, it feels like
you can chew it. My masticatable water and I were </div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
out on the trail on a 83 degree
day in the middle of flat and rolling fields. On this day, I was finally thankful for the overzealous wind. I hiked for about 1.5-2 miles, complete with fields of yipping prairie
dogs and one beautiful, full coated (hungry, I think - he was in one of the
yipping fields) coyotes, until I came across the 4th pass of the Lower Paddock
that I couldn't confidently get over without risking all of my electronics and
probably my dignity. Besides, I was hot and the meager breakfast of Sun Chips
(and a melted on-the-hike granola bar) weren't cutting it. Soon, after 3 hours,
I was back at my car -- now covered in my own salt.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9a1Nx5YBBO60LFv4_j-FthXO0rOhsNQZad6EzJoBf797Xt0cs1KAL5rNYqZlvB-dTvtRaR6pea1MfIFUl4E24lW8EmsbSfo8DxrzDJOjKoUnwSuh42urakZLOgUBnBRe6wb3i2lUvFY/s1600/IMG_6656+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9a1Nx5YBBO60LFv4_j-FthXO0rOhsNQZad6EzJoBf797Xt0cs1KAL5rNYqZlvB-dTvtRaR6pea1MfIFUl4E24lW8EmsbSfo8DxrzDJOjKoUnwSuh42urakZLOgUBnBRe6wb3i2lUvFY/s400/IMG_6656+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">how very Cheryl Strayed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I headed over to another nature trail. This one was only about a
mile; a high point with lots of cliffs. I spent about an hour there hiking,
taking it in, and snapping some pics - some I probably had too much fun with.
But, damnit, it was a good damn day. <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0URIFATu5coyZ5akhH7BNYSUBg-67_N8OnxiU2APfxZLtz7EQUo0JdYz0llOZPHr0et7WBkdTsQjNAT5epGpeO-12EHiuzG9DzUNsRpPZ7ucTAOaWYBlDJtRGMQWp5yImskJ-Mes4e78/s1600/IMG_3150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0URIFATu5coyZ5akhH7BNYSUBg-67_N8OnxiU2APfxZLtz7EQUo0JdYz0llOZPHr0et7WBkdTsQjNAT5epGpeO-12EHiuzG9DzUNsRpPZ7ucTAOaWYBlDJtRGMQWp5yImskJ-Mes4e78/s640/IMG_3150.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs1JKeqHiaBqGO0xBpu1x3M3mr9NLjB0UbPMtS40gRXhH9Qk7JVaBuF8nAQj2CBHobFBXVH_5aO3rbKqdkfXlAQo-XPRuP-UKRrqnvCjITYqMLA0EkAjoNUhw9RXrtmwvM6m5aNEc1ztE/s1600/IMG_3155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs1JKeqHiaBqGO0xBpu1x3M3mr9NLjB0UbPMtS40gRXhH9Qk7JVaBuF8nAQj2CBHobFBXVH_5aO3rbKqdkfXlAQo-XPRuP-UKRrqnvCjITYqMLA0EkAjoNUhw9RXrtmwvM6m5aNEc1ztE/s640/IMG_3155.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCXgVj7LVobnW5gnAbNKcDhTxZZ907KfiA4cfl9fZnO84bET5_xww123xt1k3YkEcyI_ClDbYhcqM-JElaMFhMZCpysZR9oMi3kdkL_LCrV9HD6ybG2uLmU8k4zRVa6MOTbOIIeiJ3AI/s1600/IMG_3159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCXgVj7LVobnW5gnAbNKcDhTxZZ907KfiA4cfl9fZnO84bET5_xww123xt1k3YkEcyI_ClDbYhcqM-JElaMFhMZCpysZR9oMi3kdkL_LCrV9HD6ybG2uLmU8k4zRVa6MOTbOIIeiJ3AI/s640/IMG_3159.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ir-UDOyWV2a78JNz9eHSWkdpGvM6M00z59-o9Y-10OqSr0Rx7qCVGvYzO7q45ZY6v8Yg5gMG3R278SoiuiGzSXwvRi4HbbYKGgxWBYC7DBUSPMWPZHnhOLx2eWsKw14sZw9IN-VV6y8/s1600/IMG_3203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ir-UDOyWV2a78JNz9eHSWkdpGvM6M00z59-o9Y-10OqSr0Rx7qCVGvYzO7q45ZY6v8Yg5gMG3R278SoiuiGzSXwvRi4HbbYKGgxWBYC7DBUSPMWPZHnhOLx2eWsKw14sZw9IN-VV6y8/s640/IMG_3203.JPG" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(can you tell i discovered the continuous self-timer?)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
It wasn't until about 4pm that I left TR Park. After about 27
hours within the park (and I could have stayed longer, happily), I would
absolutely pay $20 to get in again. I headed to Montana and was going to stay
in Glendive, MT at the foothills of some more badlands (as suggested by the
couple at the World's Largest Buffalo). Unfortunately, it was only about 5:30pm
(so there was lots of daylight to drive in left), I still hadn't seen a damn
place to buy groceries (even in the town of Glendive, which seemed to have a
decent population) and, moreover, it was $28 to camp there. <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGspvs8TapQ9WWEDSqQHAloB834EmXXe2KvNpYnFf7ovWjUOfocYt-CdOXNE_1nfCRkcEVLIw4zF88V_-S_GlhvBnp88mMf1-D6YHsEK_dL-6yLNqPRXhjU_ouWVl20uomiw_hVgRwJz0/s1600/IMG_3274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGspvs8TapQ9WWEDSqQHAloB834EmXXe2KvNpYnFf7ovWjUOfocYt-CdOXNE_1nfCRkcEVLIw4zF88V_-S_GlhvBnp88mMf1-D6YHsEK_dL-6yLNqPRXhjU_ouWVl20uomiw_hVgRwJz0/s640/IMG_3274.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>hey, i tried, nice largest buffalo couple.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
So back out I was. I headed to the next town over: Miles City.
Lots of signs for places and food, it looked like the most townie town for at
least 1000 miles (that reminds me, I need an oil change...) and figured they
may have food. Wal-Mart it was! The cashier and woman behind me (who commented
"you got everything you need" as she held up my $5 I bought as a
treat) told me where I can camp, as the only place in town I saw was the KOA
and really expensive. So I headed over to Big Sky RV park and campground, where I got some advice on what to see in Montana. And here I sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
More hiking pics... (and some more wild horses as I exited a park):</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDwPl7UxEgRjQ6Ibl2WmzflWweQKF0Aj4Y0YlVVL4tVMDMMZHLVKaUaJTzFWhek-3X72RmpHqqtCj_2Mac9gI6yxDYQQKV7VvB_erxfGkYGHXcznDBntwqUM1CKbSza_wG56TO8U4gHg/s1600/IMG_2953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDwPl7UxEgRjQ6Ibl2WmzflWweQKF0Aj4Y0YlVVL4tVMDMMZHLVKaUaJTzFWhek-3X72RmpHqqtCj_2Mac9gI6yxDYQQKV7VvB_erxfGkYGHXcznDBntwqUM1CKbSza_wG56TO8U4gHg/s640/IMG_2953.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prarie dogs are very noise; walked through about five fields of them on my trek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnI-4M4vOWBZY6amPRAB4vNVgTZE657UawR-fVbTPcIZ4fmdFCqzmwPV4H_cO-FWxFQG4_yc9FfWroaYaNm-pqUOcq3Nwei-QgZwC-yeKOenepzTvnVNMW4kjeYZ3-38UGQnsWU7NccA/s1600/IMG_3034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnI-4M4vOWBZY6amPRAB4vNVgTZE657UawR-fVbTPcIZ4fmdFCqzmwPV4H_cO-FWxFQG4_yc9FfWroaYaNm-pqUOcq3Nwei-QgZwC-yeKOenepzTvnVNMW4kjeYZ3-38UGQnsWU7NccA/s640/IMG_3034.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikjdsdfw4CrNbLnvHIP2uGEr24xjicE2qUugeZdj2gvChe9-4yPXekqB8X54yMT_Lrd5Lg8ntfKYBP7eJ4zlqKQ2WnWL6oBG_2hyphenhyphenqvnc0j58BH4JmponAK5KPsNQME1t4jfMaSYVjqqg/s1600/IMG_3039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikjdsdfw4CrNbLnvHIP2uGEr24xjicE2qUugeZdj2gvChe9-4yPXekqB8X54yMT_Lrd5Lg8ntfKYBP7eJ4zlqKQ2WnWL6oBG_2hyphenhyphenqvnc0j58BH4JmponAK5KPsNQME1t4jfMaSYVjqqg/s640/IMG_3039.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Changing of the seasons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fwYvRmSc-4u_EB0C_zW2dsQYhL0yfkO_yUTU1LtGdPh8SZ5JfgvOJirYAxe36CqUZb-QgGCzUa9H3Zi5t76Ca1foCFaYimAcSb-UZUnUOQHBAFg88YPdyDVS8l2Es_tZHOHX28Hrl8Y/s1600/IMG_3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fwYvRmSc-4u_EB0C_zW2dsQYhL0yfkO_yUTU1LtGdPh8SZ5JfgvOJirYAxe36CqUZb-QgGCzUa9H3Zi5t76Ca1foCFaYimAcSb-UZUnUOQHBAFg88YPdyDVS8l2Es_tZHOHX28Hrl8Y/s640/IMG_3060.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coyote on the hunt in a field of prairie dogs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2O3cS6HMF33HTWoBB8Y_M_PJJMbd2F5fzzHHHG-l1BEykmknZjx7-YVryJqIp3DEbWg0Bfz2cgosjK-PgohxHb9wK-zvadUM31gSfvCrb3Khc29myVtIEc60kSbuP50_eKVxXTtXU4Q/s1600/IMG_3084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2O3cS6HMF33HTWoBB8Y_M_PJJMbd2F5fzzHHHG-l1BEykmknZjx7-YVryJqIp3DEbWg0Bfz2cgosjK-PgohxHb9wK-zvadUM31gSfvCrb3Khc29myVtIEc60kSbuP50_eKVxXTtXU4Q/s640/IMG_3084.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prairie dogs on alert.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgZ3ab-u-p3V60sjhtD7AwoucKJdykQUBOaxgJ10wAzT52gGHpd7SyJz1p87g_KYtev4JGiMHnzvHK1yDhZ6_B0TFxtjf_3ntWzi9sKYcpyUK4nIRnVaxZDXLcavyVvSWX5HOFXh5U-o/s1600/IMG_3094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgZ3ab-u-p3V60sjhtD7AwoucKJdykQUBOaxgJ10wAzT52gGHpd7SyJz1p87g_KYtev4JGiMHnzvHK1yDhZ6_B0TFxtjf_3ntWzi9sKYcpyUK4nIRnVaxZDXLcavyVvSWX5HOFXh5U-o/s640/IMG_3094.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buffalo tracks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-22028306150937388942015-09-20T00:46:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:46:55.642-05:00Day 17: Theodore Roosevelt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I started my day with a nice breakfast: Three eggs and toast with a Yoo-Hoo. The mom part of the mom and pop campsite came to ask how I slept in my tent: "fine, why?' I responded. And then I realized she was the owner and just being nice. I'm apparently still not used to that. She asked where I was off to and I told her that I quit my job to travel the country for some months. The guy in the conversion van must have overheard, because once I was packing up to leave, he chimed in to ask me how I liked this lifestyle.<br />
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"I thought I would miss working," I began, "but I don't." He chuckled and said he understood. That he just went back to work for 12 weeks doing electrical work down the road at a new wind farm after 16 months off. His name was Ron; fifty something, I'm guessing. He loves Jesus. And often takes whitewater trips in an inflatable kayak - once 135 miles alone. He one day wants to do the whole Missouri.<br />
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We talked for about two hours and he offered me something - anything. I took advantage of the map of the US he had that I had been searching for for weeks: A surprisingly difficult thing to locate. I did find one in Hill City (where the coffee shop I posted from the other day was, but it was from 1979). I suppose I shouldn't be surprised though, as I had been looking for a grocery store for about four days and had yet to really find one. (I don't know where people in the Dakotas get their food from.) He offered me more when, after 90 minutes of conversation about life and where I should go to next, we were saying our goodbyes: "Bourbon, weed, books, food...can I buy you lunch?" I declined and then he asked if he could pay for my next night of camping, "I really want to help you out on your way."<br />
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"Well, I'm not going to refuse it," I said and he handed me a $20.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painted Canyon</td></tr>
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About an hour and 20 minutes later, I arrived just south of the Teddy Roosevelt National Park. By now I was behind schedule (due to the lengthy morning chat) and I wasn't feeling well. Perhaps it was the eggs that weren't warm cold warm cold warm cold in my cooler attached to the 12V supply that only works when the car is on for the past three weeks. Maybe not. Either way, I was dealing with a dicky belly. <i>Look, life on the road isn't all push button showers and eating that other half of the DQ burger you got while lost in Mobridge for breakfast after finding it on the driver's seat in the morning and other glamorous things...</i><br />
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I passed by Painted Canyon before turning around to see it. There were some buffalo on the grass: My first siting. I hung around there for a while chugging Pepto Bismol, visiting the lav, and wondering what in the hell North Dakota has against ginger ale. (I searched multiple times for it and no gas station carried it.) Feeling mildly better, I headed to the entrance to the park and was floored when it was $20 to get in. I tried to budget well when planning this trip, but it didn't even occur to me that I would have to pay to enter all the parks - and $20 to boot! The cheeky ranger at the station told me to blame DC; clearly she saw my plate. She handed me a park paper and told me to think about it.<br />
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I drove out and thought about the $20 Ron had handed me that morning. It seemed as though the universe was at work. I decided to use that money to enter and camp within the park since it was only $14; hike some trails tomorrow since I was feeling ill and weak today. Now, having seen it, I don't know why the park isn't more widely known because it was truly amazing. Suddenly, I'm healed. (Really though, like night and day.)<br />
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I'm really glad that Bill mentioned it (or was it at the random couple from Indy at the World's Largest Buffalo?) My favorite part was when my car got surrounded by bison - which resulted in some nice photos (see top). I am, however, still kicking myself for not nabbing a video of the whole ordeal. It was nerve-wracking a bit - I thought they would gore my car a couple of times, but I just stayed still and kept the Gershwin playing. (I swear the Rhapsody in Blue is why they kept coming nearer and nearer...that or the idiot behind me that kept walking up to them.)<br />
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I also encountered lots of prairie dogs, a coyote with beautiful amber eyes at the golden hour, wild horses, and some (what I think were) white tailed deer. Plus the amazing terrain of the park over a short 36 miles. I look forward to a couple of hikes tomorrow.<br />
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But first, when I arrived at Cottonwood campsite tonight, there were two more bison about 20 yards out from where I set up my tent. One even walked up to the woman beside me's picnic table and waited for a treat. Although when I went to put my camp deposit in the box, they had migrated there and gained a friend who didn't like my presence so hot to trot back into my car after popping $14 in the box.<br />
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Side note: While running out of food night, I made a really stellar meal out of what little I have left: A Knorr rive pack (chicken pilaf) with canned peas and boiled carrots plus a can of tuna. Quit tasty and filling - and as glamorous as this life is, I'll probably eat the other half for breakfast.<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-64127508694244331102015-09-19T00:45:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:45:59.597-05:00Day 16: A Trip-Saving Trio<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every night I sleep with a different tool from my arsenal -
tonight it's my flip knife. There's no real rhyme or reason which weapon is the
protection of choice for the evening,
but, to be honest, I meant to sleep with my pepper spray tonight (as in,
had it when I was throwing things in the tent for the evening) and now I can't
find it. And that was only the choice
because I put my stun gun somewhere earlier today when I went to the
coffee shop and I can't recall where (I don't like to carry my weapons in my
pack with me, just in case they search or something). So, suffice to say, I
suppose, that the nightly weapon is based on availability/locational knowledge.
Living out of a hatchback has it's challenges.</div>
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I have tried to be very diligent about putting things back
in their places so far: head lamp hangs from the rearview, lantern/flashlight
clips to the net pocket that hangs between the seats, floor of passenger is the
kitchen, toiletry bag behind driver's, etc. I realize that with such a small
space and a bunch of stuff, I have to be careful about staying organized or everything will be
lost and nothing will be found. In turn, disorganization would likely increase
my prep time for doing anything: cooking, showering, pitching my tent, etc. if
I didn't keep everything in check. Tonight, this came in handy. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
After a driving day - Black Hills, South Dakota to Bowman
(75 miles south of T. Roosevelt National Park), North Dakota - I decided to
treat myself to a bourbon, and, by chance, a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chipwich" target="_blank">chipwich</a>, which I had been in lust
of since St. Paul. (A quick note to acknowledging how effing nuts it is that the topography of land can change so drastically - green mountain forests to yellow flat grasslands - in just a couple of hours of driving.) I finally got in before I needed to use my headlamp to pitch
my house for the night, so I made a quick run to the gas station for ice and
ginger ale after the pitch. While there, I unknowingly dropped my wallet and,
while doing my routine roundup of things when I exit and/or enter the car,
realized my wallet was gone when I got back to the site. </div>
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I rushed back to the gas station, mulling over the idiotic
oversight to leave every one of my credit cards, et al. in my wallet. Luckily,
the guy parked next to me turned in my wallet and Viv, the lovely Kum & Go
(that name is questionable) clerk turned it into police. Small town wonderful,
the officer (pretty sure the only one on duty complete with North Dakota accent)
drove back to the station to return it to me. (Most weird was that they still
don't use area codes in this town. For whatever reason, to me, that is so bizarre.)
That trio saved my hide and now I'm back in my tent, (foregoing the bourbon
even though I dug it out of my hideaway space under the trunk) hunkered down for
another cold night - only this time it's a balmy 45 - in another mom and pop
campsite.</div>
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I've sort of deserted my camp site app and, for the second
night in a row, settled into a place I found via road signs that's owned by
whomever's house that is out front. The app is useful, but also a bit of a
pain: Like when I tried to use it in Fargo and ended up at a fairground. They
had it listed as campsite <i>and</i>
fairground in the app, but - I've now surmised - that probably only means that
it serves as a campground when there's a fair going. So, here we are in Bowman,
ND ... in someone's back yard (wallet in tow, flip knife to the right).</div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-57045727280730802132015-09-18T00:43:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:45:15.449-05:00Day 15: Black Hills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwaFKBlVOCYhhwQ2QmSXsb6Wh3SNGHPgwxTdfsKQ1G_awxEDWGTQUIlSLVUIX6TP8aH9JsfEN-rpOboZF9CHTr1t9RCPFkHLG8MsSju6_AmhbvVIeJGnmqCXJc15wkOO308y9Z0FMcJM/s1600/12039566_10103144105364583_8345952914289158467_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwaFKBlVOCYhhwQ2QmSXsb6Wh3SNGHPgwxTdfsKQ1G_awxEDWGTQUIlSLVUIX6TP8aH9JsfEN-rpOboZF9CHTr1t9RCPFkHLG8MsSju6_AmhbvVIeJGnmqCXJc15wkOO308y9Z0FMcJM/s640/12039566_10103144105364583_8345952914289158467_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dances with Wolves set, and an idiot in the mirror, waving :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">waking up in the badlands. not pictured: the f*cking wind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>The wind is a bitch: Day 2. </i>(See images at bottom of post for proof.) Only this time, my tent actually
collapsed. I wanted to finish a chapter in the book I started reading in loo of my nightly Netflix, before I moved on
with my day, but the stupid wind thwarted my plans. It was then that I
discovered what the little Velcro tabs on the inside of the fly are for: So
that your poles don't go all cattywompus in the wind. I packed up and emptied
out my limp tent then took it down and headed to the showers.</div>
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On this day I learned that when I have to pay for my shower
and it is timed and the wind is blowing in the shower curtain with it's cold
air, I can take a shower in 4 minutes. This, in yet another
green-turned-seasoned moment, meant that I had to stand in the luke warm water
for another 4 minutes while I waited for it to time out and turn off. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZl4b8dCF1ovQdiFhzp2ZRHGgJdrj2mk9aUOiI5YL11QgWkpJsavACA20-HnIoyULltGtb6R63VaTsJAlqgGJs9Rp6P769U2YKXAcldjlRmsLaL_xhtcduIvjY5ZbZcFH9FEL30gJbKQ/s1600/11219217_10103144105169973_589226115398123593_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZl4b8dCF1ovQdiFhzp2ZRHGgJdrj2mk9aUOiI5YL11QgWkpJsavACA20-HnIoyULltGtb6R63VaTsJAlqgGJs9Rp6P769U2YKXAcldjlRmsLaL_xhtcduIvjY5ZbZcFH9FEL30gJbKQ/s320/11219217_10103144105169973_589226115398123593_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>I headed to the visitor's center, grabbed myself a pin (pins
became my collection thing by happenstance, really), learned Interior (a town
of like four next to the Badlands) had a gas station and headed on my way through
Buffalo Gap Grassland to Rapid City -with a quick side road stop to pour
myself a bowl of cereal. (It is surprisingly easy to eat a bowl of cereal while
driving.) </div>
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Unaware of what I was going to do next, and with no internet
connection, I spent a minute in Rapid City running errands while trying to
figure out my next move: Dollar General for supplies, washer fluid, rising the plethora
of dead bugs off of my car (seasoning myself some more, I realized the flies
were so awful in Fargo because they like the bug carcasses), and dropped by
K-Mart to look for a cheap pair of leisure tennis shoes of all things I
thought of in preparation, I missed every day shoes I can wear socks with). And I found some adorable ones (<i>pictured below</i>)! It's the little things.</div>
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I looked at a map I was given by the lady in the hotel in
Mobridge, South Dakota when I almost caved and got a room but they had no
vacancy. "Mt. Rushmore": I had been there before 20 years ago, but I
thought "oh hell, why not." That seems to be a general theme I have
here. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhnmXihcQmyHaEFEL7Egih-f26Ow2hfN8BzMoqH0orsGMdifdbFWfG0vy9ZeSCFEOUKYFrY-4ttlh0Rx90B9cQnSpUBcSqHtLXcEgnxWQjoDQ7Cyu5Yq8O7yfJwbBnZwE_tX5DtqQEmM/s1600/12042805_10103144105718873_4264288833008085912_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhnmXihcQmyHaEFEL7Egih-f26Ow2hfN8BzMoqH0orsGMdifdbFWfG0vy9ZeSCFEOUKYFrY-4ttlh0Rx90B9cQnSpUBcSqHtLXcEgnxWQjoDQ7Cyu5Yq8O7yfJwbBnZwE_tX5DtqQEmM/s400/12042805_10103144105718873_4264288833008085912_n.jpg" width="300" /></a>I made a quick stop into the movie set for "Dances with
Wolves" then kept driving up the mountain. When I got there, I brushed my
teeth in the bathroom before walking up to the monument. My life is growing in
the number of situations I never really thought I'd see myself in: While
looking in the bathroom mirror of a national landmark as I brushed my teeth, I
realized this was one of them. After Mount Rushmore, the map said Crazy Horse mountain.
With still no Internet and no idea what this was, I followed signs and the map
to that. It's another carving in the side of the mountain - but I couldn't
spend another $11 to enter a park today, so I had to pass and said maybe I'd
come back for the laser show. What I really meant was: <i>I'm broke but we'll
see.</i></div>
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I wasted some time in Custer just down the road and admired
the greenery and landscape before I decided to head back for the laser show. To
my surprise, I was given free admission since most everything was closed down.
I think it was mostly about it being past season. But I had a little cup of
single serve wine I'd picked up in Custer as a treat. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAya4tA3lSkUVf9jhEhSIRt8dKf1XSdSCAYJKLw6NAxD-Ed0FRTzVWNq6Fl7NhnqdKxSZDF0gM2YbL4UA3lTiF8CVgqaXricStKIRNF5032dj4nn2P81xVgJaidCu7LJKQJKw1vb8vivU/s1600/12046758_10103144167160743_8621808717959446480_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAya4tA3lSkUVf9jhEhSIRt8dKf1XSdSCAYJKLw6NAxD-Ed0FRTzVWNq6Fl7NhnqdKxSZDF0gM2YbL4UA3lTiF8CVgqaXricStKIRNF5032dj4nn2P81xVgJaidCu7LJKQJKw1vb8vivU/s320/12046758_10103144167160743_8621808717959446480_n.jpg" width="180" /></a>After the show, I decided to stop over-complicating the
campsite situation: <i><a href="http://www.hatchingwest.com/2015/09/day-13-couple-of-dakotas.html">See Mobridge</a></i>. I headed to a site 0.3 mile from Crazy Horse.
I was the only camper and it was well into the thirties, but despite the nervousness
of Gary (and Tootsie, the owners) I had no qualms about sleeping in the cold of
the night. I don't know if it is my confidence in what I'm doing growing or
pure stupidity, but I slept through the night, ripe and ready for the next day
- currently at Hill City having a cup of $1.63 coffee and mooching WiFi. Today,
it's back up to North Dakota for Teddy Roosevelt National Park. </div>
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I wish I was making better time, every day I feel like I'm chasing light. I always think 'this will be the night I get into camp before sunset,' but have yet to achieve that goal, despite my circadian clock moving up each day. In a way I feel rushed, but I also don't want to
rush myself and move past anything I may was to see or, even worse, rush to the point of not enjoying this. I keep reminding myself to be in the moment and not about what is ahead. Because of all of my extra asides and stop and<i> ohhh shiny objects and Buffalo Museums!</i> I set up in the dark every
night. I eat in my tent often and I can't remember the last time I had a hot meal
(minus that Wall Drug kid burger - not recommend, but <i>Pro Tip: Order Kids
Meals, half the price and not much smaller</i>), but I'm really enjoying
myself. </div>
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Yesterday I was thinking that I thought I would have more existentialism, but that I suppose it's difficult because I'm fairly satisfied with myself<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-TtnIWUTcSFHAyfxpSkYwDePlG1cO7pQYyoC8ujK46ldpKITNdDXtIaWOX6cer6IqB182XYDM4pu9q8sz3kOy6iDQt-ShPhOfmK0BrNJmU2WJNBszmhU4RB8wtEtXT15fb_bQ39vZQ8/s1600/11207298_10103144161033023_269007839060659243_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-TtnIWUTcSFHAyfxpSkYwDePlG1cO7pQYyoC8ujK46ldpKITNdDXtIaWOX6cer6IqB182XYDM4pu9q8sz3kOy6iDQt-ShPhOfmK0BrNJmU2WJNBszmhU4RB8wtEtXT15fb_bQ39vZQ8/s320/11207298_10103144161033023_269007839060659243_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 15.68px;">PBJ for dinner in a -10 degree bag? This is</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 15.68px;">my life now. </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 15.68px;">And I'm okay with it.</i></td></tr>
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(despite inquiry of of older men asking what I was running away from when I told them my plans before I began). Today, I asked the man not to zoom on me when taking my photo at Mt. Rushmore and he said something to the effect of, "Some people don't know beauty even when its looking back in the mirror." </div>
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I responded awkwardly with, "No. I think I'm attractive, but all my photos are close to my face because that's all the longer my arm is" and despite being mildly conceded in response (or perhaps just confident), I realized there is nothing I'm trying to fix by this journey. I'm just here. Admittedly, this trip is everything and nothing I had imagined, but so
ful-fulling to feel so self-reliant and know that I can set up a tent in the
dark in 8 minutes and sleep soundly in a night that sings 35 degrees into my bones. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWFF6uB_xaJCbw39Da_DEuOXz9gCW1xg9x8x6yaPZYHKav9vjxn3X2MMAuN8CezPqozTEgfUnHoQUJFh8l2uRk7LkeC0g4pVXQWf3G3JwZF8OXVIt_nTRx35idynMmMdqgB-3KoIumQc/s1600/12042731_10103143175198643_1607434260391878375_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWFF6uB_xaJCbw39Da_DEuOXz9gCW1xg9x8x6yaPZYHKav9vjxn3X2MMAuN8CezPqozTEgfUnHoQUJFh8l2uRk7LkeC0g4pVXQWf3G3JwZF8OXVIt_nTRx35idynMmMdqgB-3KoIumQc/s400/12042731_10103143175198643_1607434260391878375_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SO. MUCH. WIND.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAE-qAQHYdwVxOTRqnk2qSD0SsEHDqhgEl8RdGtrshbEMB9N1afNDiCwDoD4sFvhGFqUkkUmKLHXwNA76Zqeh84gzWJ7j1ZlAWHOlSxbGAwlTpxrHXz3ilkFeiGhBNdGD1T_srcwDeXZU/s1600/1517399_10103143130278663_642894668620741103_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAE-qAQHYdwVxOTRqnk2qSD0SsEHDqhgEl8RdGtrshbEMB9N1afNDiCwDoD4sFvhGFqUkkUmKLHXwNA76Zqeh84gzWJ7j1ZlAWHOlSxbGAwlTpxrHXz3ilkFeiGhBNdGD1T_srcwDeXZU/s400/1517399_10103143130278663_642894668620741103_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self Portrait: <i>Windblown</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_XjOikImYbMG7RG5d1TzH8UPerA9Mwi55nnqR3yllOrz3D-x65xafwavBIWvWvzNj5jtrgP6Y7NgcU5QR1oNsZO1_7Pmx3Z5GXmvTBF8l8IRrx1CkhEU4lXK3WdAtxe_GZggVhcOtkg/s1600/12033154_10103143155268583_7109985086968952808_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_XjOikImYbMG7RG5d1TzH8UPerA9Mwi55nnqR3yllOrz3D-x65xafwavBIWvWvzNj5jtrgP6Y7NgcU5QR1oNsZO1_7Pmx3Z5GXmvTBF8l8IRrx1CkhEU4lXK3WdAtxe_GZggVhcOtkg/s400/12033154_10103143155268583_7109985086968952808_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior's Gas Station was old school.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmzy5XgA_WPSDCIUrsNkptaZxGZY5k7TwAXiZYZ5X4gY6s7ZTQYbvtLkU711eP5ioGaPnI3CYJXTehA1hbEl8fc_FaDfJpF4hnFwPkWYxy9Li8HA98U5XYkKUvP7Z04Knpo4JJFZx-tA/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmzy5XgA_WPSDCIUrsNkptaZxGZY5k7TwAXiZYZ5X4gY6s7ZTQYbvtLkU711eP5ioGaPnI3CYJXTehA1hbEl8fc_FaDfJpF4hnFwPkWYxy9Li8HA98U5XYkKUvP7Z04Knpo4JJFZx-tA/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KMart, I will never make fun of you again. You've<br />
go some sweet sneaks for $17! </td></tr>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-64134731141327054032015-09-17T00:41:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:41:50.165-05:00Day 14: Wall and Badlands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main St, Wall, SD: Wall Drug</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkajLiZVa3P9ltzn0T0dYDciPTV1cYDWRh7QxW3w0WZRH9cNd3zz8kSkyLxsL9nugzUAEIVKH-HvHKRWSC4Clxf8kuNjAbvfK_htFtj7-AR7SJRbTeVPbEa855jN30GE7b4DHZQYWbUI/s1600/IMG_1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkajLiZVa3P9ltzn0T0dYDciPTV1cYDWRh7QxW3w0WZRH9cNd3zz8kSkyLxsL9nugzUAEIVKH-HvHKRWSC4Clxf8kuNjAbvfK_htFtj7-AR7SJRbTeVPbEa855jN30GE7b4DHZQYWbUI/s640/IMG_1470.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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sleep. I spent half the night waking up wondering if I should brave the rain
and cold to tie down my fly and half terrified the tent was going to collapse -
although if that happened, I'm honestly not sure what would happen; it's not
like my tent was going to ball up and roll away into the Lake Oahe (or maybe it
was the Missouri River) with me in it, but we'll blame it on still being green.
Finally I gave in, irritated enough to leave in haste when one side finally
almost collapsed at 8:30a. I think this is the fastest I'd ever packed up my
tent and gear thus far - including taking a few minutes to eat the other half of my DQ burger from the night before that sat on the drivers seat that night. (Beggers can't be choosers, folks.) The morning was brightened - aside from half a cold burger, still delicious - slightly by the fact that 1.
I got to choose my own water temp (<i>ahhhhh so hot!</i>) and 2. I didn't have to press a button or pay to use it.</div>
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Once I was ready, I was on my way to Wall, South Dakota - excited to see the first sign at 79 miles on and amused onward. I
had been before, but it was 20 years so I figured it would be nice to go back -
far, far different than my distant memory. I remember it being one big store -
it was dozens of little ones. My original estimated arrival time was 3pm, but
somewhere I gained an hour. I spent a while taking photos and ambling through
the waves of elderly. Walking through Main Street I had the thought: I am
bringing down the age average by about 10 years all by myself -- and that's not
to say there weren't a lot of people there. </div>
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Next, I headed to the Badlands, about eight miles away. Lots of photos (I'm still trying to find the time to grab the photos from my big camera!! I don't have as much down time as I had assumed prior to starting this trek) and lots of little stops and it was time for sunset - I had been waiting for it, unfortunately clouds slightly obscured the sunset, but lovely nonetheless. I drove back out of the park (took some photos in front of the
sign, hiding my idiocy under the guise of night - will have to upload that
later) and then realized I didn't know where to camp for the night. So, once
out of the park, I looked at the map for the park and realized there was a
campsite in the middle of the Badlands - about six miles from where I'd just
driven back from. I called and confirmed vacancy then drove 24 windy miles back
into the Badlands interior to camp - paying close attention to my dwindling
gas.</div>
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I got to the site about 9pm and set up camp. At this point,
my tent and sleeping pad set up is sub 10 minutes. I've been timing it since I
started. My goal is 5 minutes. After a
totally fancy dinner of tuna fish, I hid the evidence from the now howling
coyotes and settled into my sleeping bag for the night.</div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-6767258061679203052015-09-16T00:39:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:40:34.602-05:00Day 13: A Couple of Dakotas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my best attempt at imitating regal </td></tr>
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"[hopeful] Gas or Jesus? Gas or Jesus? [dumbfounded] Real Estate?! ... [feriously elated] Burger King! Fuck yea! ... [in awe] Oh. My. God. It's gorgeous." And welcome to an actual 30 second verbatim conversation I had with myself tonight while running near empty on gas and starving, seeing billboards for the first time in over 200 miles, and then noticing the changed landscape. Is this my life now?<br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Speaking of: Hello from inside my nylon house! (That Verizon Jetpack was a superb bullet to bite!) </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">It's camp day three and I think I'm getting better at pitching this thing. It has been a bit frustrating getting over the hump of being totally green when it comes to this. And, full disclosure, I almost gave up and holed up in a sketchy hotel for the evening in BFE South Dakota tonight. This state isn't great about marking camp sites and tucks them pretty far away. After driving away from DQ (I hadn't eaten anything all day) with the drink atop my car and unable to find the site for the 3rd time, I checked the hotel for vacancy. She advised me that the sign for the campground is prior to the sign before the park. I went back again and somehow found it, unfortunately the registration was less than straightforward as well. Instead of putting money in an envelope, as I experienced in Iowa and North Dakota, they make you register online (or by phone) even for same day (moment?) reservations. Plus a $4 fee just to get into the park - so I lost a dollar stuffing a five in the envelope then another $8 for out of state fees. So there went $17 campsite - it's now $30. Par for the course, I suppose: It was a bit of an odd day, to say the least.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKvEXMDJh3F570KDi65EUNlAZ3P5CucxKhf2C5kKoRu0CKQh63rBRISAcUT2nf-yYyqaRpyJ2GG2qD4s1vR1HPAsvlbToykCMZAuFyC-0N8w9NBiddXJnuv4Xr4CnMjma50_foWoDgcM/s1600/12038083_10103139368746803_8548769621110701196_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKvEXMDJh3F570KDi65EUNlAZ3P5CucxKhf2C5kKoRu0CKQh63rBRISAcUT2nf-yYyqaRpyJ2GG2qD4s1vR1HPAsvlbToykCMZAuFyC-0N8w9NBiddXJnuv4Xr4CnMjma50_foWoDgcM/s320/12038083_10103139368746803_8548769621110701196_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>It started off across from a merky river that at night I assumed would be a beautiful lake - what with the abundance of lakes in Minnesota and Fargo being just over the state line. Not the case. And apparently flies really, really love that merky water. I couldn't get out of there fast enough after a lingering mosquito had the sharpest bite I've ever felt. I skipped breakfast, cleaned up - tried reorganizing my car yet again - and walked to the showers. I already have a short list of things I know I will look forward to having again once this trip is over. At the top of the list, perhaps, is being able to shower without having to press a little button every 30 seconds. (I mean, who can realistically shower in 30 seconds?! <i>Yes, I timed it.</i>)<br />
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With my mood soured by a poor night's sleep - in part thanks to the campsite being nestled under a busy interstate bridge - and the morning bugs, I decided to follow a sign for a zoo shortly after leaving the park for a pick-me-up. Red River Zoo was an adorable little gem nestled behind gas stations and fast food in what I'm guessing what a part of downtown Fargo. A couple of hours later I was on the road again until I saw a sign for the "World's Largest Buffalo". <i>Well, duh. </i>I stopped again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the nice couple took my photo, but it's on my nice camera<br />
and, thus, not easily accessible. will upload later for scale :)</td></tr>
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<i></i>There was a cute settlement of Jamestown along side the Buffalo and buffalo museum. I met a nice, middle-aged couple near the world's largest bison. They were from Indianapolis and just left Minneapolis that morning. They were following my trail - but at a much advanced speed. Heading to Yellowstone, they're likely in Montana by now but I dipped south on the advice of a man I met in a WalMart parking lot yesterday. Bill Butcher. (<i>Hi, Bill.</i>) An amateur photographer who warned me that after Bismark in North Dakota, there was nothing until the Teddy Roosevelt National Park and suggested I go to Wall Drug and Black Hills. I wanted to get to the Badlands (and Wall Drug again) so yes, this was my new plan. (Side note: Bill educated me as to why people in Iowa were looking at me like I had four heads and alien arms: Apparently wearing colors and tank tops in Iowa is scandalous. <i>Well color me Scarlet!</i>)<br />
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The sky was so beautiful when I arrived at the campsite tonight that I barely wanted to nestle into my tent. The stars so vibrant I swear I could reach out and touch them. I had been watching the skies flash in the distance while trying to find the site, but when I checked the weather and it was all clear. I, green and all, then assumed it was so special mid-west phenomenon. But now, I can hear the thunder; the rain drops are starting off slow, but fat. The wind is picking up - the rain intensifying as I type. I hope to stay dry tonight. Signing off in Mobridge, SD.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My current life in an image. :) - complete with collapsible<br />
bucket for dishwashing and bags for trash. every inch of the <br />
hatchback is used.</td></tr>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-11781360314006280422015-09-15T00:38:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:39:05.107-05:00Twin Cities, Minnesota<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I arrived on Friday night and planned to stay a few days. It's Tuesday morning and I'm finally gearing up to leave didn't leave. Honestly, yesterday, I just got lazy. My cousin and I had a great time and we were super busy all weekend - so I'll blame that. (Well that and I arrived on Friday still sick from whatever my nieces treated me with, so now it seems I'm on the mend.) We road bikes, visited a few of her favorite spots to eat, went out dancing. Aside from being fairly certain we were trying to be luring into a sex trafficking ring out of the nightclub, it was a good time all around.<br />
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Most notable, for me, was how happy everyone in Minneapolis was. The folks in St. Paul were nice <br />
too, but didn't seem quite as content as those on the other side of the river. There was a certain energy that the people had and it was contagious. Secondly, there always seemed to be something going on. My cousin would look at her phone pontificating "what;s going on today" as if there's always something going on - but there is. There was a jazz festival downtown St. Paul on Saturday and on Sunday her favorite brunch place was having a "Block Party" with live music and whatnot to celebrate 20 years - an event we just happened to stumble upon at a 'garage sale' even at another of her local favorites the day before. If it weren't for the snow, I would definitely consider setting up shop in Minneapolis. Go figure. </div>
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Having not done my homework yesterday, I still didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. In theory, I was suppose to spend Monday cleaning my mess kit and planning my next moves. Instead, I spent the day watching 'Psych' on Netflix. <i>Whoops. Hey, we all have our own ways of psyching ourselves up for what's next.</i> (<i>That pun was entirely unintended. Ha!</i>) Perhaps I was inspired by Netflix, because I have decided to go to Fargo next. And I'm off!<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-87801918757974691442015-09-11T00:35:00.000-04:002015-11-05T00:38:05.297-05:00Day 7, 8: Introducing Camping<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corn, anyone?</td></tr>
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I left Chicago with a general goal of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. No particular reason, really, aside from it seemed a good midpoint between Chicago and my next destination of Minneapolis. In fact - full disclosure - I uploaded all of my previously written posts at a highway rest stop in Iowa who offered free WiFi. Which is to say this blog was set up and established adjacent to toilets (they were <i>very</i> specific about their hotspot).<br />
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I got to a town about an hour south of Cedar Rapids and decided I really needed to get a Verizon jetpack for wireless. Despite the surprisingly good service of Sprint's 3G in Iowa, I was becoming more and more aware that 1. I was heading into territory that Sprint would likely not cover and 2. I was very, very alone. After putting it off for about a month, I sucked it up and added $50 a month to my bills for the semi-security of an extremely limited amount of wireless data and was on my way to Cedar Rapids.<br />
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Using my camp app - and with the sun quickly setting to the left of me - I headed north in search of a campsite. As green as I am, I didn't occur to me that a campsite would be totally sold out. So after no spots appeared open at he first site, I had to drive another hour and hope for a spot at the second site. However, the first site armed me with the knowledge that campsites (in Iowa at least) post a board with envelops where you fill it out, put in your deposit, then take your receipt and tuck it in the post of the spot you claimed as yours. When I arrived at he second site there were plenty of spots open, but it took me about 20 minutes in the rain to figure out there green papers meant that the spot was reserved. I ended up pitching my tent next to the woods in the pitch black in spot number 13 - how lucky? It wasn't until the following morning when I woke up that I realized there were a slew of other camp spots 20 yards down the road - including tenting specific spots. Whoops.<br />
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It took me about 20 minutes to pitch my tent and another 10 to throw bags and my sleeping pad and blanket in there. The tent wasn't perfect but I DID THE THING!! IN THE DARK! IN THE RAIN!<br />
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I cooked my Ramen under my fly because I was too afraid of the animals screaming in the forest behind me. (It may have not been entirely safe, but I made sure the fly didn't get hot enough to melt so that's something.) It was also unfortunate timing to remember I'm mildly afraid of the dark. At 4am I had to face both fears when I woke up freezing and, after realizing I couldn't just ignore that it was 57 degrees outside, had to put on my headlamp and fetch my sleeping bag out of the car 40 feet away. From there, I slept like a baby.<br />
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When I awoke, I got to see where I had come to in the dark. It's an interesting thing to see where you landed once you can see you've come to. What a beautiful surprise...<br />
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After a cup of tea and trying to reorganize my car for camping better, I took a shower. Lovely accommodations...although I can't complain much for $16 a night.<br />
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Here I learned my lesson of the day: Lavender soap beats sulfur water. After shower and a quick lunch, it was already 3pm and time to head for Minnesota. I'll be there for a few days with my cousin before I'm really on my own camping through September.</div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-51092485671105624792015-09-09T13:37:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:37:48.154-04:00Chicago (A Set of Delays)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday I finally left Indy. I spent a lot of time with my
sister and her three little girls - two of whom vomited two days apart. Aside
from the illness it was nice. I think the stop was healthy to have in between
the I-70 tears and trying to figure out how to camp (it's been 20 years).
Unfortunately I was delayed a day because I had to wait until Tuesday morning
to take my car to a Mazda dealership there to have the shaking looked at. I
think we may have FINALLY figured it out - bent rims. I went with the cheap
solution of having them put both bent rims on the back for $60 vs. $400 to
pound out the dents.</div>
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By the time I arrived in Chicago three hours later in the pouring rain. I was
exhausted and not feeling well. I assumed it was because I didn't sleep well
the night before since one of the girls was sick and another began the night
sleeping with her knee in my back. I napped in my car.<br />
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A few hours later, my friend in Chicago was home from work.
We headed to dinner (his treat. thanks man!) and went back to his apartment to
hangout where I soon began to feel nauseous. I slept on the floor most of the
night trying not to vomit. I was going to head out of Chicago today, but I felt
so ill that when he left for work, I went up to his bedroom and slept until
12:30. It was a beautiful day but I felt so weak that the only thing I had
enough energy to do is watch "21 Jump Street" reruns on ION - a
surprisingly entertaining 90s classic. </div>
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<i>Obviously</i>, this is starting out well. </div>
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So, what this meant was another delay. The first was from the tetanus shot I got on August 28 that bed-rested
me for most of the weekend everything was suppose to get packed and sent me to PA two days
late. An added day delay for my car (thanks to Labor Day). And now this second sick delay thanks
to some upchucking babes. On the plus side, today I'm feeling much better and managed to down 3/4 a piece of toast with peanut butter and go to happy hour where I enjoyed a beyond delicious mint tea (kudos to The Map Room).</div>
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I was supposed to be
halfway through North Dakota by now, but I'm still where showers and ice cream are accessible. Not exactly roughing it. I am getting nervous for camping though.
Tomorrow I'm heading to either Iowa or South Dakota to camp for a night or two
before heading to Minneapolis to visit my cousin. Considering I don't even know
how to approach paying for the spot for the night, I pitched my tent once (a piece - I have two), and a campground app (with spotty service) and interstate signs are my
only resource, this is should be an interesting turn in the trip.<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-85203146271955993962015-09-05T13:35:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:37:40.023-04:00Day 1: Crying down I-70<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">birds on a wire, over a gas station; somewhere in eastern indiana</td></tr>
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My mother called my sister and told my sister I had a meltdown and be nice to me. On account of being back on my own sort of schedule - despite delays - I woke up at 10am to get moving. I unpacked my two main black "dead hooker" duffle bags, removed some more clothes and repacked them...again. Around noon, I was on my way.</div>
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Before pulling out of my parents driveway, I wrote a note: "I'm going on an adventure. I will be back. I love you lots and lots" and stuck it to the fridge in the garage. (I wonder if they saw it.) After my meltdown, they both apparently decided I wasn't mentally prepared to go on the trip, my mother told me this morning before leaving for work. "When will I ever be?" I said, as she encouraged me to stay a few more days to get my mind together. Really, all I needed to get was my stuff together - after six months of preparation and packing, the last 3% was driving me mad. And the attitude of peoiple assuming t hat it was all fun and games was all the more frustrating. I need to be more willing to openingly ask for help. It just seems weird coming from someone willingly giving up their job and securities, but here I am.</div>
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I teared up pulling out of the driveway and got about 30 minutes down interstate before I had full blown tears running down my face: A silent sort of crying. I honestly don't k now what it was about. I rarely cry and my friends all know that if they see me crying something is really really wrong. (With the exception of ambulances. When I see all those humans in cars working together to get out of the way of someone in need it just gets me. ...Look we all have our things, okay?) Perhaps I was questioning my intentions and choices. Perhaps I was relieved to be on the way. Perhaps I was sad and scared to be going so far from everything I've ever known. But in just hours it passed. I was nearly through Ohio - a state I thought I was loathe the flat drive through - realizing I was enjoying the drive, even though my car was still doing that shaking thing I'd spent the past seven weeks trying to fix.</div>
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Usually I am done after three hours in the car, but after nearly six hours I arrived at my first destination in Indianapolis (to visit my sister and family) aware that I would have been totally content to have kept driving for hour. My sexy orthopedic pillow sat waiting on the porch. We immediately went to the little carnival across the street with her daughters and now, at 1am, everyone is in bed...and I no longer feel like I'm losing my grip. <em>Whew.</em></div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-43275746037450729822015-09-04T03:31:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:34:36.678-04:00Day 0: Checkered Flag at the Staging Area<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's 3am. The hum of the dryer with its click of plastic along its walls is the only sound I hear - a welcome relief from the panic in my head, although tiny piles of things still sit beside me. I thought when I decided to become a vagabond in search of a new place to call home, that pairing down to nothing would be easy. But I was really effing wrong. I would accurately explain this but I'm both too tired and I think any comparison would be next to impossible - perhaps it's as simple as: I thought it would be white and it's black as night.</div>
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Tonight after packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking, packing more times than I can count over the past three months, and looking at the last of the crap I had to organize and decide what comes with me but feeling overwhelmed and pressured to be on the road early (to get to my sister's tomorrow by lunch), I broke down. Perhaps it is because I'm sick of little piles of stuff. Or perhaps that it's because I haven't had a moment to just relax and breath in a month. Today I spent time at my grandparents pool - it was relaxing - but I came back to chaos. And panic. Curtains my mother made to black out my car for the nights I sleep in it didn't fit right or the velcro didn't stick and that took hours to work out - a complete solution still in limbo.</div>
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It doesn't help that a lot of people seem to think this entire experience leading up to this should be all fun. Quitting your job? Fun. Wrong: Terrifying. All of my senses of securities are gone. Going on what sounds like a long vacation? Fun. Wrong: SO MUCH PREPARATION. Like today I'm still buying shit - in addition to the stupid effing packing - sitting by he pool I bought a orthopedic coccyx pillow.</div>
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<em>How sexy is that?</em> This trip just sounds so appealing right now, doesn't it? You want to come with me now, don't you? Well tough, because I just (nearly) finished packing the car and there's not room for another human.</div>
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(Re-)Packing the car tonight took about nine hours. I took a short break and ate dinner, but only got through half of it before I began to go over all the stuff I had yet to do . My car was barely packed (although if you count the number of times I took bags in and out of the car to rearrange and repack a bag and then repack it in the car, etc. then it was packed 10 fold). I put my plate down, covered it and plastic wrap and headed back to my little piles of things or bags of little things I grouped (and then didn't group) just trying to get the hell out of DC (with my poor little hatchback weighed down and packed to the brim).</div>
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Think about it this way: You know how when you move, you get 90% of it done and that last 10% just never seems to get finished and it's frustrating as all get out. But you get it done and <em>whew,</em> wonderful and you didn't even lose your mind. I have done this multiple times in the past few months - in addition to an enormous amount of other preparations. And tonight, it finally got to me.</div>
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My mother came down to tell me she was going to bed. Feeling entirely overwhelmed, I was sitting in the middle of piles of stuff sorting through nail polish - I was trying to narrow it down to three. "Is that something you really need to be doing right now," she asked.</div>
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"This is all I can handle. I don't want to do this anymore." What's that saying? When you can't handle a minute, handle a second - or something. I was cautiously moving in seconds, which in terms of things, meant tiny bottles of paint. But soon after, I fell apart. It had been a long time coming through these last few weeks of preparation. Thankfully, my mom helped me go through a bag and that little bit of help got me back on track. Four hours later, I finished packing the car. (<i>How's sleep, World? I bet it feels good. I'm jealous!</i>)</div>
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And now I look at it and wonder: Did I pack too much?</div>
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Probably. And I'm nearly tempted to remove even more stuff. But I shit you not, I have packed and unpacked two 42" x 25"D bags over three times now and I'm going to burn it all if I do it again. Whatever is in the car is going. Because as I listen to the hum and clicks of the dryer at 3am, I know this is my last night in my "staging" area - AKA my parents' house. After tonight, there is no more "home." No bed of my own. My creature comforts or simple hums of appliances are no more. And it's pretty terrifying - but honestly, if it means no more packing and purchasing and huge lists of to-do's, let's get on with it.</div>
</div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-35362332065483197242015-08-27T18:13:00.001-04:002015-11-20T18:45:19.572-05:00Four Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Window tint and short term health insurance and packing - oh my!</i><br />
<br />
Had Dorothy chatted about more than three things, I probably would have added eating and garages and work. Everyone wants to take me out for meals this past week and say goodbye. It's nice, but I'm fairly certain I've gained about 10 pounds - although that will come in handy when I'm living off of eggs and quinoa - and avoided cutting more onions than a sous chef. (You know, tears? So far, I'm tear free.) On the frustrating side of things taking up time I don't have, the garage fucking up my car on repeat has been an infuriating journey. After trips and one to the dealership for diagnosis, I learned the idiots put my directional tires on the wrong sides of my car. <i>Pisshats.</i> It's still not fixed but I'm going to have the rear shocks changed in PA before I leave and my friend is going to pop in some new spark plugs so hopefully that makes my car/home a happier Betty. Because, as I have to continue to explain to them: This car is not just my car, it is going to be my <i>house</i>.<br />
<br />
The past two weeks have truly been a fucking whirlwind. Trying to get everything done - including trying to wrap up and prep to leave work without leaving behind an un-fillable dent - has been insane. In fact, tomorrow is my last day. Coincidentally, it is the same exact date as when I began my job 8 years ago. Kind of crazy to think about. And as much as I thought I had been properly prepared both at work and at home, I don't think anything can really lend enough time to this kind of event.<br />
<br />
It has been in this time that I have been called courageous more than I can count. And that I have realized the only difference between stupidity and courage is failure or success. I would be entirely full of self doubt if it weren't for the amazing people encouraging me along the way. I started this headstrong with an idea I thought was both brilliant and incredibly stupid and as the time to give up all senses of security neared and I began to question my decision, it was outside influences that pushed me into enough comfort to commit; to remind me why I thought to do this ridiculous thing in the first place.<br />
<br />
Anywho, other items filling my shrinking time have been a dentist appointment: my cavity conveniently fell out two weeks before I lose insurance. Signing up for a short term health care plan: <br />
Hopefully I never use it. Still going to yoga three times a week: Namaste, bitches. A dermatologist appointment: I don't want skin cancer, yo. Upgrading my AAA: I need those 100 miles of free towing. Tinting my car windows: We don't need people peeking into my house when I"m tryin to sleep n'shit (my mom's makin me Velco curtains too...sweet). I began to pack: My room now looks like a disaster area:<br />
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And I think I may actually be done buying shit. THANK THE LBJ. I never thought I'd say I didn't want to buy stuff, but I'm tired of researching and buying things for this trip. It's a lot of damn things too. Look!<br />
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I also practice packed my car and posted a photo. From this I learned that people were even more shocked than I was that things fit where they fit in my head - and even better than how they fit in my head. However, the real test comes in just 4 days, when I load it all in and say goodbye to DC.<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-28490222413728376272015-08-20T17:49:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:32:20.490-04:0012 Days & A Marked 20 Hours<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcD3DkAsWNP9Z_2CJrC7et_tqA99cXEyvJM2ELloijkS2IhlCwN4eTCDYcd1uFM4V6QQBQo78-B0scoJ4IaaGtFSUMeRmlXT1uipg4puw3lSNVE5LhXa3_loy5iazhoLgDu4RE52UhXS6n/s1600/5057046_1439854795.578_updates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcD3DkAsWNP9Z_2CJrC7et_tqA99cXEyvJM2ELloijkS2IhlCwN4eTCDYcd1uFM4V6QQBQo78-B0scoJ4IaaGtFSUMeRmlXT1uipg4puw3lSNVE5LhXa3_loy5iazhoLgDu4RE52UhXS6n/s320/5057046_1439854795.578_updates.jpg" width="320" /></a>Last week, a lot happened. For starters, I cut off all of my hair and donated it to Pantene Beautiful <br />
Lengths. Five damn years in the making! (I really meant to have more updates than that, but I did it and that's all that really matters, right?) Anyway, that's unrelated aside from it being my last big calendar goal before vagabonding and the fact that I'll save money on shampoo and maybe I can wash my hair in Wal-Mart sinks now (until someone calls security on me, <i>haha</i>).<br />
<br />
That same night Vanilla called me, after I hadn't seen him in a week, in part thanks to the butthole comment. I had been avoiding him and upset by my haircut (the photo is after the second cut to repair the tragedy it was at first; the guy got hella scissor happy), decided to pick up the phone and finally rip off the band-aid. At first I tried to ease into it with a "I just don't think we're compatible."<br />
<br />
About 30 minutes worth of him saying he hasn't been himself, blaming work and stress and "I thought we were over the whole butthole thing already" and "I can be better, let me prove myself to you" I was getting warn.<br />
<br />
"You are who you are and there's nothing wrong with that. You don't need to change yourself, you just need to find someone who is compatible with who you are." A valid point, I thought. He didn't think so and went on to tell me again he just worked to much and begged me to give him one more date to prove himself; that we just needed to do more fun things together like before. I prefaced my response by saying that you should be able to do nothing and still be happy to be with that person, but I would think about one more date. But let's be real: After the butthole comment, it was already done.<br />
<br />
He ignored everything I was saying rambled on about how he just wants to make me happy. How I bring him out of his shell and he wants more of that from me. I told him I don't want to do that for anybody; I don't want to hold someone else's workload and if there's something he feels he needs to change about himself, he needs to figure out how to do that alone. He told me how interesting I am. I replied, "You're not."<br />
<br />
I'm not sorry I said this but I'm sorry I had to say it. He wasn't listening and this came after he made the absurd request for me to name the thing I like about him least. After I scoffed, he said "Okay fine. Name the top three things you dislike about me most," as if my scoff was over the fact that I could just choose one, not that he has asked in the first place. What a weird fucking request. I finally got him off the phone by asking about this last relationship. When he told me it ended because he wanted it to and she didn't let him go easy, I asked him how he felt about that. He said "I wish she just would have respected what I wanted because it was really annoying." I simply replied with an emphatic <b><i>OH</i>.</b><br />
<br />
"Why did you say 'oh' like that?"<br />
<br />
"You told someone you dated that you didn't think you were compatible and you were upset because she didn't just respect your feelings and let you go?"<br />
<br />
"Oh," he said, deflated "I hear what you're saying." Shortly after, we got off the phone, but it certainly wasn't the last of him. Following the phone call and into the next day, he continued to text me, first with a random selfie and then about the date he wanted to have. Eventually I responded, "I told you I would *think* about it. And you're not giving me room to think." What I really needed him to do in this time was lay low and realize I wasn't any special and that perhaps I was right and it is time for him to move on and not beg for another chance without someone who already explained their lack of interest. We'll see how that goes, as he's currently taken direction and given me the break I had requested for over an hour - and again via text.<br />
<br />
On a better note, last week I was also gifted a DSLR to document my travels, which meant the world to me. I had been debating the cost since a lot of unexpected costs have arisen, with vaga preparation and car repairs (which, unfortunately means I am unable to meet my savings goal for the month - in fact, I end up in the negative). However, like magic, the camera I've been dreaming of for years appeared. (I have so many incoming pictures for you all now!!)<br />
<br />
Most notably, the day after my hair and Vanilla, I quit my job!<b> HUGE.</b> A lot of shit in 20 hours. And I can't explain the anxiety that rushed through me as I made that no-turning-back conversation go from practice in my head to 100% real. There is NO turning back now. And my workplace has been extremely supportive; curious and excited, even. So that was nice; both a stress and relief at once, as I come to terms with losing all sense of security.<br />
<br />
And this past weekend I entertained my 'farewell' party, prior to which, an *incredibly* generous gift was bestowed upon me. I was gifted an amazing amount from a dear friend. I was blown away; shaking, literally. In addition to other gifted cash, this brings my total up to: $2301.77 (as GoFundMe takes 7.9% plus 30 cents per each transaction). This money is so fucking important; without it I can do none of this. But, what continues to remain so surprising by setting up this account is that each gift feels like a nudge in the right direction: 100 people behind me cheering me on, wishing me the best and 'living through me'; "make me proud" said one fellow <a href="http://www.imgur.com/" target="_blank">Imgurian</a> (unrelated to GoFund) and I will try.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-41980100577815003692015-08-07T18:21:00.004-04:002015-08-24T11:23:34.811-04:00The Surest Way to Kill a Lady Boner<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Part of – the majority of – the curious case of Vanilla
Robbins is that for the past four months, half the time I want to throw him out
of a window and half the time I mostly enjoy is company – as banal as it may be.
I was hanging out with my best Asian and Ginger last weekend when Ginger
exclaimed, “I read your post and I’m so happy for you!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What?" I responded, fairly confused. I had no idea what she was talking about until she informed me about reading my latest blog. I tried
to paint a fair and even portrait of Vanilla Bean, but what she seemed to read
was that I was falling for him. Not the case. Although, to be fair, she may
have just been hopeful he would be another man to keep me here like the Turk, because when we went to the basement a bit later to check out my camping
supplies, she broke down realizing I was <i>actually</i> leaving this time. <i>Sorry Ging</i>, Vanilla Robbins will not be keeping me here because he mostly still
drives me nuts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Case and point: Friday. After a fairly obnoxious back and forth about dinner and the
fact that all I had to eat that day was grapes and that he picks the same fucking
three places to ask me out to dinner to, he suggests I pick somewhere. I said
mussels and gave three options (because I’m not paying, I don’t like to have
final say). After texting me, “You seem mad” and “I’ll eat dinner with you but
only if you’re pleasant,” we can say my hunger irritation hit a tip, but I keep my cool and he says he's on his way.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He comes over with a bottle of wine. <i>Points for him!</i> Only,
nope, no points. He refuses to open the wine before we go out. With all the
public transportation options, he wants to drive. I know what this means: this
means we’re going to dinner and coming straight back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hi. Hello? (Semi)Reformed party girl here. DO NOT send me out on
a weekend and not expect me to stay all night with vodka and dancing. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we returned from dinner – over which he complained for
an hour about losing the password to his external hard drive – he took off his
shoes and plopped down on my bed. “It’s 10:30p! Don’t you want to go shoot pool
or something?” I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“No, I’m old,” he responded, shifting his hands under his
head, which was now laying on my pillows. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well, I’m not,” I shot back, irritated at the drag down. “And
I don’t want to waste my life going to bed at 11pm on weekends!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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“Well,” he said in a baiting little huff, “I’m sorry that
you think spending time with me is a waste of your life.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“WHOA THERE, LADY BITS,” I exclaimed, agitated and wondering how
men can accuse women of such melodramatics when this shit exists, “Don’t put
words in my mouth!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I should also point out that he has begun to leave things
at my house. First, a contact case – because that doesn’t fit in his pocket?
And now, a travel bottle of saline – because I wear contacts and have plenty of
solution? Do people really do this: Leave a trail of their things to
try to establish – I don’t know, a territory? Don’t do this, people.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After taking a shower and going out for an hour for a boring dinner and directly returning home, I relented the fight and laid in bed. I put on a movie I’d already seen and poked around on my phone
a bit. That is, until he told me how rude it was. We weren’t talking. Or snogging.
We weren’t even touching. And yet, he had decided that the movie needed my undivided
attention. (Fast forward to Sunday and he’s on his computer while I’m at his
house, to which I point out it is the same thing he told me was “rude” two days
before.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Now, let’s wake up on Saturday, shall we? Okay.</i> 8am, which
if you know anything about me is a ridiculous hour for me to be awake at, but
considering I went to bed at fucking 11:30p, totally reasonable. Due to the fact
that he bitched about my TV being on when he was trying to sleep before, I got
up and left the room to watch TV while he was still in bed. I relocated to the living room with a cup of tea and
early morning television. An hour later he texts: “Where are you?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The living room.” So, naturally, he gets up and comes out
to the living room to say hello. <i>Haha! I’m just kidding, no no, he texted me:</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because I was done being in bed.” About 20 minutes later he
ambles out grumpy and grumbling. He asks (for the 9<sup>th</sup>) time if I wanted to drive three
hours to Busch Gardens that day, somehow expecting a different answer. When I
said no, he begrudgingly informs me he would be going and meeting up with
his brother and his brother’s kids there. Suddenly, it occurred to me that he
had been asking to go to Busch Gardens for weeks as a way to hoodwink me into
meeting his family. <i>NOOOO THANKS, TRICKY BITS!</i> A few minutes after that I get
ready for yoga; put on my shoes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you leaving?” he asks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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“WELL THANKS FOR TELLING ME! I NEED TO GET MY STUFF
TOGETHER!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“You know I go to yoga every Saturday at 10a. And you know
where the damn door is!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“That’s not the point,” he said, as the lady bits fell back out
of his boxers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh my god,” I responded to myself, but loud enough for him
to hear. “This is fucking ridiculous” I said as I slammed the door shut behind
me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fNAF-vuSrZF03ROl619rYzL6LkLWn1poRkCCQmClrYMgj0wS391frIJBrXVMCbV60qY9MI3P_RWLjvw88aP7Y4K4kDln9sJME1XW9Z7AZHpYPyo3uGne0XEnjn5QixnIY8y-mm1jeJeY/s1600/IMG_2351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fNAF-vuSrZF03ROl619rYzL6LkLWn1poRkCCQmClrYMgj0wS391frIJBrXVMCbV60qY9MI3P_RWLjvw88aP7Y4K4kDln9sJME1XW9Z7AZHpYPyo3uGne0XEnjn5QixnIY8y-mm1jeJeY/s320/IMG_2351.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginger was there when these came though;<br />
she thought it hilarious enough to screenshot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While in yoga, he texted me to ask if I wanted to do
something, because the traffic was too bad for Busch Gardens. This ‘relationship’
was getting seriously bi-polar, even for me. As a break from Vanilla, I met up
with the Turk on Saturday night after he texted me for the third Saturday in a
row (and I had spent the day drinking with Ginger and the Asian so maybe it
seemed like a good idea). Out of curiosity and fodder, a friend and I went to
meet up with him. I don’t know what I expected, but it was incredibly blah –
and his hair looked terrible. His friend
was a dick and they left in the two seater they had, while the Turk, mildly
torn at my solidarity (since my friend had stayed behind because she also disliked the Turk’s
friend) gave me 38 dollars for a cab. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>For the record, I came back with 10 more
dollars than I left with that night. Go me!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my way home, Vanilla texted that he was at my favorite bar,
and not to waste and outfit (<i>see: recovering party girl above</i>), I went there, demanding a bourbon ice be waiting. I
ended up back at Vanilla’s house, but needed to get back in the morning. After a
quick hook and sporting some free shades, a black mini skirt, a large man's shirt turned inside out, and heels in hand, I walked back into my house at Sunday AM, greeting my friend from the night before who was in my bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later in the day, with nothing better to do, I headed back
to his place. Laying on the couch, I was feeling a certain kind of way; asked
if he wanted to make out. (<i>Hello. Dudes. ALWAYS SAY YES.</i>) He said no. So I
took a nap. We woke up and went to dinner. Just after dinner was finished, he
said, “I have to go to the bathroom again.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stop announcing it!” I pleaded. Then I sat there for 15
minutes while he pooped and I stared, embarrassed at a paid check,
contemplating leaving. This damn kid was seriously ALWAYS pooping and has
absolutely no poop etiquette: any single will tell you, you wait to
poop; hide it. It’s common damn courtesy. <i>No romantic interest finds poop
appealing, mk. </i>So, I was going to head home after that, but he offered a back
massage, which I’m never against (or so I thought). We went up to his place and I sat on the couch.
Moments later he said the most unattractive thing a man has ever said to me: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My butthole hurts,” he announced without prompt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Why would you tell me that?!" I questioned in mild horror. I'm usually all about overshare but this crossed a line I didn't even know I had. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It hurts because I pooped four times today.” And then he opened
his legs and patted the couch before him like this was a good
introduction to back massages and foreplay. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I don’t want you to touch me now! Why would you tell me
that?!” I replied as I pulled a blanket tight around me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because I pooped four times today,” he said as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.” I protested.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An hour later I left, still horrified, and as he tried to
kiss me goodbye, I couldn't.“I can’t kiss you; all I can think about is your butthole now.”
I opened the door as he tried to figure out if I was serious and continued with, “Just
so you know, the surest way to kill a lady boner is to talk about your
asshole. Byyyyeee.” As I walked out and down the hall, hoping desperately now to not go back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-3553172969697556972015-07-31T15:40:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:31:23.484-04:0030 Days.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I did end up signing up for a <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/xsdkud5" target="_blank">gofundme </a>account, <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/06/worry-is-contagious.html" target="_blank">per the suggestion of my friend</a>, which if there are any stranger readers out there, please feel more than free to contribute. i offer my gratitude in the form of virtual hugs. This is how I feel today, a FB update to my page-o-begging: </span><br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I'm homeless in 30 days. Holy balls! I'm not going to lie and say I'm not anxious or apprehensive. I am. So far I have saved enough to cover 1.5 months of vagabonding. But I wouldn't be able to say that without the help of my amazing friends and family (and friends and family of friends) who have donated thus far. I honestly can't thank them enough. More than the money, it serves as an uplifting feeling of support (a virtual hug or high five, if you will) every time I get an </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">email saying I got a new donation (no matter the denomination). Each time, a little stupid smile spreads across my face and my heart warms. That people believe in what I'm doing (or appreciate the notion) enough to take the time (and cash) to donate, means more than I can express. It helps me believe I can (and should) do this on the nights I lie in bed now, completely exhausted and enjoying all of my creature comforts, wondering if this trip is the right choice. Knowing that in days, soon nearing the single digits, I will be voluntarily giving up my comforts, home, and the security of a job in order to search for something I won't know until I find it. Thank you past (and hopefully future) supporters. THANK YOU so much.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></i>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The past few weeks packages of random items have been arriving to my house. (Don't judge the pink knife; it was $5 cheaper okay?) Deliveries including a case of butane - that's a normal, every day delivery, right? I took my last trip to my parents house with bins last weekend, filling as many nooks and crannies of my car as I could because I knew whatever doesn't fit next time with all my camp gear and life-out-of-a-car, was going in the garbage. And my nerves begin to rattle as I can no longer say "in a few months" or "next month". Tomorrow it is "this month." This month is the month where <b><i>everything </i></b>changes. Hold on to your mother fucking boots, self.</span><br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-68716756796229206902015-07-23T14:15:00.002-04:002015-07-24T13:22:25.212-04:00The Curious Case of Vanilla Robbins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Post that ghosting dipshit, <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/05/walter.html" target="_blank">Walter</a>, I returned to Tinder in late-March. </span><a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/01/on-dating-single-parent.html" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" target="_blank">The Single Dad</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> was making his last pleas. I saw him so often that last we saw each other was the last week of February and last we spoke was just after I returned from Cozumel the end of April in a conversation that ended like this: </span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<i>Him: I really want to see you. You should skip yoga on Thursday so I can come over.<br />Me: Oh really? You should get a sitter on a day I don't have yoga.<br />Him: Yea, I can probably switch a day with his mom.<br />Me: Yea. Do that. </i></blockquote>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
I was very heart broken about our end and before the last lack of hurrah [<i>sarcasm</i>], I had been swiping on Tinder looking for a new hook-up/meal; nothing serious having just sworn off men thanks to Walter. (Now, here you have the choice to either judge me for saying it's nice a man pays for food or applaud me for being honest about it. Your choice.) A Tim Robbins-looking man I gave a courtesy swipe to - it's a rule of have to not swipe a man with a tribal tattoo or with a picture of a car and he had a photo with a car - messaged me. A few benign messages passed, including him talking about lifting. <i>Sweet bro!</i> My eye rolls were nearly audible. He asked for my number, then asked me out.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
We met once before I went to Mexico. After putting off meeting a couple of times, one Sunday, mid-April, I woke up hungover and probably half drunk, rolled over to my phone and decided that would be a good day to finally go out with him after he asked for a couple of weeks. Exhausted, I said coffee would be good. I thought the date was going horribly - as I was dressed wretched and he wasn't saying much of anything - until he asked if I wanted to grab food. <i>Of course</i> I wanted food.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
Now, I was fairly certain of my plan to leave the area by then and was not looking for anything involved thanks to my <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/05/walter.html" target="_blank">paradigm shift</a>, and thus made little effort to sugar coat anything. Perhaps it was an experiment, perhaps I wanted to make sure this didn't go far so I could keep focus on me, so when he asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I was bluntly honest: <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/01/the-ambitionless-talentless-happy.html" target="_blank">"happy and a mother."</a> Still thinking men in their 30s are like they are in their 20's, I expected him to recoil. Instead, his eyes lit up and he asked how many kids. <i>Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck</i>. I think he named our children right then and there. </div>
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Fast forward to Mother's Day. (The day I learned the most interesting fact about him, which tells you how interesting he is: His mother was featured on an episode of <i>Hoarders</i>. Although, to be fair, that's pretty interesting.) Neither of us live near our mothers, so he asked if I wanted to go to dinner. And yes, I do, because I'm as poor as a South American banana farmer and trying desperately to <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/06/sixty-nine-days.html" target="_blank">save to become homeless.</a> As we sit down to dinner, he says, "Happy Mother's Day."</div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
I can't even imagine what kind of facial contortions I made, but he quickly added, "Like negative four years, right?" Apparently, I had been more honest than I recalled and said I wanted to have kids in four years when that conversation was happening on our first date. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
"Uhhhh," I grunted and paused, "more like seven," I lied, trying to get him to not see me as the mother of his children, then changed the subject (which lead to learning his most interesting fact). This wasn't the only time something like this happened. The following week, he put on a baseball cap and - slightly graying - I told him he looked like a middle-aged father of four. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
"I'm practicing," he quipped without laughing. <i>Oh man.</i> This was new territory for me and a fucked-up double standard that a man decides he's ready for a marriage and a family and he's 'mature', a woman: desperate. But I digress.</div>
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Immediately into us "dating," he started to invite himself to sleep over, even though I gave no indication that was okay aside from him sleeping on my couch on our second date because we went hiking for four hours and then he had claimed he had too many margaritas during a post-hike dinner to drive. The following day over lunch he deemed that "officially his longest date ever." <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/12/better-men.html" target="_blank">(I must have a knack for this or something.)</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/1164627/size/tl-horizontal_main/from-gushers-to-spaghettios-do-our-favorite-childhood-foods-still-taste-good" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/1164627/size/tl-horizontal_main/from-gushers-to-spaghettios-do-our-favorite-childhood-foods-still-taste-good" height="217" width="320" /></a>A week or two later, he invited himself over for a movie and pizza after he called and I said I was at Redbox renting a movie. My response? "You can come over, but only if you leave when the movie is over." He agreed. Before he came over, he asked if I wanted to get pizza. "That's fine," I responded, assuming as an offer, he was paying and put my frozen Ellios back in the freezer. When he got there, he asked me to order it. (I need to be in this to save money, not spend it. I am not in a financial position to be my normal sort of kind.) So to make a point and encourage deattachement, I responded, "No. I'm not going to do that. I'm in a really selfish place and I don't like to do anything that doesn't serve me" as popped my Ellios in the oven, offering him one.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<br />
My freezer pizza not enough for his refined palette, he responded, totally coolly, "Okay, mind if I order it?" </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<i>WHAT?! WHO IS OKAY WITH SOMEONE SPEAKING (TO THEM) LIKE THAT?!?! Well shit. </i></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
A couple of weeks later I let him sleep over again, but this time I had a caveat: "You have to keep your shirt on." The first few times he invited himself into my bed, he stripped down to nothing but boxers. His forwardness had forwardness, particularly for a guy that hadn't even gotten to second base yet. 'What a bro,' I thought, 'Presumptuous as his saucy texts of words he'd never say to me in person.' (Those stopped once I call him out on it.)</div>
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His immediate response to the shirt caveat was, "Are you serious?" I was, I am. No one likes to sleep with their face in the crook of armpit hair - and he was really into cuddling. This conversation about him sleeping in a shirt went on for a good 40 minutes, about 64 <i>are you serious</i>'s, and seven <i>I'm leaving</i> threats. It ended when I came back from brushing my teeth and he was laying on my bed in just boxers, smiling at me like the Cheshire Cat.</div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
"I think its time for you to leave," I said tersely, yet surprisingly calm - considering I was, at this point, incredibly livid. To answer yet another <i>are you serious</i>, I reiterated all of my previous arguments: "You are at my house and not respecting my wishes. This is my bed and I want you to wear a shirt because it makes me comfortable. I don't have to give you a reason. My asking should be reason enough. This is incredibly disrespectful." </div>
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In a huff, he put all his clothes back on to leave, waited for me to stop him, and when I didn't, he removed everything but his shirt and boxers, plopped down on the bed and grumbled: "I'm too tired to drive home." Ten minutes later, he rolled over and complained that I wasn't affectionate enough. This man was proving to be incredibly high maintenance. The next time he slept over, he kept on his shirt, but after texting an apology the following day for something benign I did (but felt I should take ownership of), he (for the second time) took at as an invitation to air his grievances against me. He complained that I slept with the television on (which I do for anxiety) and the contrast didn't work for him and I should turn the television off or try sleeping with the light on if the television is on because that's how he sleeps. </div>
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"I sleep with the lights off, thank you," as I made note to never apologize again.<br />
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"Also, I really don't like sleeping in a shirt." <i>Yep, definitely done apologizing ever.</i></div>
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<a href="http://38.media.tumblr.com/02f5e9f561f0a5156ac8ddc59c4f9c97/tumblr_n8zjv9E6Zt1s2wio8o7_r1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://38.media.tumblr.com/02f5e9f561f0a5156ac8ddc59c4f9c97/tumblr_n8zjv9E6Zt1s2wio8o7_r1_500.gif" height="174" width="320" /></a>My patience was wearing a bit thin as weeks went by. He'd ask me to hang out, I'd say okay. Or maybe I wouldn't and then he'd offer to buy food. <i>Clever girl; he knew where to hit me.</i> He was boring, but well enough. "Maybe he'll grow on you," my mom said in May when I told her about him. By June, to my surprise, she was becoming kind of right. He was milk toast and vanilla, but he was coming around to understanding he had to adapt to a partner, not change them. And I began to see that he wasn't a 'bro' like he tried to portray; he meant well. And he was putting up with my antics - whatever they were (still trying to make sure he got out of this unattached and unscathed). Still, I wasn't comfortable telling him I was leaving; it hardly seemed worth it to tell him. I was still had moments of <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/06/worry-is-contagious.html" target="_blank">wavering</a>, plus, I didn't want another aggressive reaction like<a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/08/the-turk.html" target="_blank"> The Turk and his '<i>I'll make you fall in love with me so you can't leave approach</i></a>' after I warned him last fall. All Robbins knew was that I was going on a camping trip of some sort, still skirting around his other inquiries.</div>
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I figured, I still had months to go so I had time for him to organically drift away before I left. I mean, nothing on Tinder lasts longer than three months anyway, right? Six months, tops. Then we hit July. He asked if I wanted to go with him on his family vacation to Nag's Head in September. <i>1. Family vacation?! and 2. September!! That's months away!</i> Around that same time, he was at my house before we were heading somewhere and got a call from a friend to which he replied, "She's like three feet from me."<i> Fuckity fuck, he's talking to his friends enough about me that they're asking where I am. </i>That's when it got real.</div>
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Suddenly, I realized I was in trouble. What was supposed to be a summer Tinder fling for food and company (and a rooftop pool), turned into a man who tells his friends about me, wants me to not only meet his family, but go on vacation with them. And even more startling was the discovery that I really cared about hurting his feelings, as that was never my intention. I never thought it would get this far.</div>
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Sure, he's Vanilla, but he is nice. He is as exciting as his condo refinance being his animated topic of choice for weeks, but stable and structured. He was frustratingly set in his ways, but learned to be willing to adjust to meet my demanding comfort. (A helpful tip he can take to his next relationship.) Through this, he has made me understand that whole comfortable life thing. I get the appeal now of marrying for children and contentment: He would offer me the attention I crave, provide for the children I want, and give structure to my flailing limbs of a life I lead. But while there would be provision, there would not be passion, nor adventure. And that is not the kind of life I envision for myself right now; perhaps in five years, that would be more than appealing.</div>
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But for now, as time winds closer to September, I'm wracking my brain. I'm trying to figure out a good way to let down a man who is so infatuated that all of my tactics for not letting him get attached, where turned into endearing little quirks. A guy that grew on me a little more than I thought he would and, while he still drives me nuts sometimes, is an incredibly good sport about absorbing my wisecracks and putting up with my shit.</div>
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None of this is what I expected. It leaves me speechless to his spellbound. I'm out of tactics; frozen in half-truths and the potential to hurt someone. I'm unsure how to traverse the course from here, but I hope it turns out okay. It is a curious case indeed.</div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-78952733615723345112015-07-21T16:58:00.000-04:002015-07-24T13:19:18.216-04:00I lied.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Correction: </i>I<a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/06/doughnuts-and-pride.html" target="_blank"> spoke too soon.</a> I apparently underestimated even my own draw.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eop-E_budLtiOwzopsTKpqME_U_vGEcUwAgomYC9Xd193AsCpdZQPFrAloeB1BitnmuGDb5ZW4jAJjGnGjeRPXFkw0y4-ROIA4EFgxVYBFN827EvrHisecw3Osf22umTam0A5yWvSeoK/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eop-E_budLtiOwzopsTKpqME_U_vGEcUwAgomYC9Xd193AsCpdZQPFrAloeB1BitnmuGDb5ZW4jAJjGnGjeRPXFkw0y4-ROIA4EFgxVYBFN827EvrHisecw3Osf22umTam0A5yWvSeoK/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="187" /></a></div>
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He's like a cute, little, red-bearded boomerang gnome. The strangest (most amusing) part about this is definitely that he was so very adamant about, <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/12/what-it-looks-like-to-argue-with-absent.html" target="_blank">"I never go back,"</a> last September, when he asked how I was in a break up and I responded with: Kind of like this, but any man who has ever stopped dating me has always come back. And yet, here we are almost a year - <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/06/doughnuts-and-pride.html" target="_blank">and some imaginary friends</a> - later.<br />
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Apparently, I like to very passively prove people wrong, as I have yet to initiate a conversation with him, but here we are again. And why haven't I just told him to piss off? You know this is just good of blogger fodder.</div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-78915085108611683442015-07-13T19:02:00.000-04:002015-10-19T13:22:35.843-04:0050 days: Somewhere, Nowhere, Anywhere<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZJgEecrd0I877k845r5JkjEcVRwPUROoxkRpL1pxUpZwcezrqxt4hXMp5lBVlyXYjBT61AaSv7ga1_IuPMykgiTAoi1Pg1wglUqjqsABdAEA1nAPEgujOW6hTxhHZ5ZVABDlKeTZxYTq/s1600/bins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZJgEecrd0I877k845r5JkjEcVRwPUROoxkRpL1pxUpZwcezrqxt4hXMp5lBVlyXYjBT61AaSv7ga1_IuPMykgiTAoi1Pg1wglUqjqsABdAEA1nAPEgujOW6hTxhHZ5ZVABDlKeTZxYTq/s320/bins.jpg" width="320" /></a>I went home to Pennsylvania for the Fourth of July. I needed to see my sister and her babes before I left for my trip. It was the first of a series of taking bins back to my parents house to store in their shed out back. To my surprise, my step-dad nixed that idea (citing that it was moldy and everything would be ruined) and I was upgraded to a corner in the garage. (<i>Score!</i>) After my mom and I cleaned out 'my' corner, we unloaded the bins I was able to haul up.<br />
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(I have since made a second trip with bins, this past weekend, to my aunt's house near me here in Virgina where my parents will take them back to Pennsylvania this weekend. They are coming down for a visit, which unfortunately, I will miss, as I'll be in Boston for the baby shower of my Seattle Senorita. Next weekend I'll drop off another load of bins when I'm back to PA for my other sister and her children. (I'm trying to make the biggest effort possible to see everyone before I leave because chances are I won't be home for Christmas. One sister is in Indiana, the other in Tennessee, so it's hard for everyone to get together.) The last trip of bins will be with me during the last week of August, when I visit for a few days before taking off; hopefully I'll have enough room. I'm really hoping this bin thing goes as planned. But I digress... back to the point...)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmr12HxWhJrXSgICEu-1eY3aBaCtI3dHOgvjhNJMBIj0ejBSTYcBRJyuwQ55zYnWR79ixw1UA75i0Fjx1FkAtDXIZvoWyTprO7F91-4LGR8B019ripq5GtueqQ443FtGP5CI501op8CHoS/s1600/poolbabes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmr12HxWhJrXSgICEu-1eY3aBaCtI3dHOgvjhNJMBIj0ejBSTYcBRJyuwQ55zYnWR79ixw1UA75i0Fjx1FkAtDXIZvoWyTprO7F91-4LGR8B019ripq5GtueqQ443FtGP5CI501op8CHoS/s320/poolbabes.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously going to miss the babes.</td></tr>
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On the Fourth, we headed over to my grandparents' for pool, BBQ, and babes. Soon, I learned, that my mom (who tends to spill about everything) hadn't told my grandparents about my plans to travel. My grandfather, 83 and spritely, asked if I was married yet. I told him that was going to be a little tricky considering I am about to be nomadic fo ra number of months. Confused, I offered explanation, which was immediately met with an surprising amount of agitation. He told me: <i>1. it's not safe! 2. what about money?! my job?! NO JOB LINED UP?!?! WHAT?! 3. it's dangerous! 4. "95% of people die five miles from where they were born!" 5. "you life follows you, you know? you can't run away from your problems. just because you change you location, doesn't mean anything else changes." </i><br />
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"Grandpap, I know. I'm not running away from anything," I responded when he paused to take a breath. "I just want someplace new. I'm perfectly happy in my life, I'm just tired of DC." He repeated that 95% of people die close to home; that no place is going to be better than where I'm from; where family is located. "Perhaps," I said, "but I want to be able to find that out. I'm not saying I'll never come back, all I'm saying is that I want to see all of my options first. I want to be educated on the choices I'm making. I want an adventure before I'm too old to have one." What I meant by that was better explained moments later when my grandmother rejoined the group and inquired as to why grandpap was in such a huff. I told her my plan and added, "In five years, I'll might be married with kids and I won't ever the opportunity to do this again."<br />
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Expecting a response similar to my grandfather's from her, she calmly sipped her Coke, thought about it for a moment and instead said, "You're right. This is the only time you can do this. You'll have too many responsibilities later. You have to do it now or never." She had kids in her early twenties: five total over a decade. The idea of me doing this just seemed to click with her. And I appreciated that. My grandfather, not so much, but later that night, I understood why:<br />
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My mother explained that as people (specifically men) get older, they want their families around. They realize how important family is and don't want them too far away. His mild outburst of emotion was just his version of a bit of sadness. And probably worry. And I feel bad I'm causing people to have these negative emotions or feelings of worry. But I'm not running away from my family; nor am I running away from my life or any sort of problems. I like to think I'm running towards something - I just don't know what that something is yet...or where.<br />
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I left that Tuesday morning to head back to DC. My step-dad and I didn't have a chance to have the chat he wanted (we'll have to cover that next weekend), which he mentioned mid-goodbye hug, "I still want to talk to you about your trip to...," he paused to find the word.<br />
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"Somewhere," I said, still embracing, finishing his thought.<br />
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"Nowhere," he responded.<br />
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"Anywhere," I said, as we let go.<br />
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-9942801462801524032015-06-23T18:20:00.002-04:002015-10-19T13:21:17.042-04:00Sixty-Nine Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />In case you missed it, s<span style="color: #222222;">tarting in September, I plan to stop working (<i>eek!</i>), store my belongings in a shed, and travel around the country for (at least) three months, searching for a new place to call home. </span>For years I have wanted to move. For various reasons, including failed attempts at love, trying to save money for moving costs, and not knowing where to go, I remained in DC. But I no longer wish to have my life <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222;">- my career, my love life (or lack there of), my place in the world</span> - on hold because 'I want to go,'<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222;"> </span>and so my solution is to vagabond.<br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">The loose plan is the drive around the country, the first six weeks for mostly joy and then with purpose: When I find a city that I feel I might be keen on, I'll spend a few days in the city applying for jobs and checking out more of the sites and city vibes. </span><span style="color: #222222;">I will live mostly out of a tent and sometimes sleep in the trunk of my little hatchback in Wal-Mart parking lots that allow overnight parking for RVs (there's an app for that...seriously) - couch surfing when the opportunity presents. I will attempt to live as cheaply as possible, subsisting mostly eggs and noodles and the kindness of strangers, as even homelessness proves to be expensive.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I was chatting about my plan with a friend at a wedding a few weeks back. While we waited for the ceremony to start, she tried to reason with my stubborn heels </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">to start a gofundme</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, softening my <i>I-am-an-island</i> sense of conviction with: </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"We spend over a decade of our lives celebrating other people's life choices with weddings and babies and all those things, but how often do we celebrate a person choosing to chase their dream?" </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I paused to think. I mean, she had a point. And I'm in no position to turn down help. However, weeks later, despite her words and my blurb written and ready to post, I'm still trying to convince myself it's okay to press that "submit" button and ask for help with something I'm <i>choosing</i> to do...Or is it a choice?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">This past Sunday, I called my step-father </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">(of 29 years)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> to wish him a happy father's day. Surprisingly, both my parents are incredibly</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> supportive. My mother, only worried for my safety and my step-father - I found out on Sunday - the same. He said he wanted to talk to me about my plan and I wondered aloud if he was going to try to talk me out of it: "I'm scared enough as it is," I said. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> "Certainly not," he responded, after reminding me that the front lines of war taught him that being scared is pointless, then continued, "I hitchhiked around the country when I got back from Vietnam for three months. I felt it was something I just felt I had to do. If this is something you feel you have to do, I support that. I just want you to be safe."</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>::brake noises:: </i></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">MY STEP DAD HITCHHIKED AROUND AMERICA WITH ONLY $300, A BAG OF CLOTHES, AND A GUITAR FOR THREE MONTHS AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I'M HEARING ABOUT IT?! HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A TENT?! AND HE CAME BACK WITH $250??<b> I have so many questions! </b></span></span><br />
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After we hung up, I began to wonder, was he right? Was I like him in that this is something I feel I have to do verses simply a choice? The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. </div>
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Ever since high school, I have dreamed of being a vagabond. While I realize this certainly isn't a dream for everyone, there was a bit of wanderlust that always existed. I ignored it in order to go to school and get a job like I thought I was 'supposed to do,' with plans to marry at 25 like I thought I was also 'supposed to do'. Then, at 25, I left my boyfriend of five years. But after graduating with two degrees and a Scrooge McDuck pile of debt, I thought it impossible to become a vagabond and still be able to meet my financial obligations (even after working for eight years). At 28, I began to develop a desire to leave DC: DC is nice and it was fun, but it's not full of what I would call 'my people' - whoever they are. Attempts to fall in love and save money in order to move (ironically), repeatedly thwarted my attempts to move, followed by an inability to figure out where should be my new home. And thus, came my solution to vagabond to find a home and fulfill a decade old dream.</div>
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I realize, however, that this is going to be difficult. I am equal parts scared and excited. Some days more scared than excited. And I realize that to some people, this may come off to some as "incredibly stupid" or "financially irresponsible," but I have tried to plan as best I can, and save as much as possible, and hope everything works out, and tell myself this is an okay thing to do at 31, because, while society urges this is the age to get married and pop out babies, I think that no matter what else happens in life, that it is important we find our happiness - whatever that means. Because happiness is contagious; no (wo)man is an island. And sometimes in life you have to do certain 'stupid', scary, faith-driven things so you don't ever have to say 'I wish I would have.' </div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-87346767459128490482015-06-05T16:37:00.003-04:002015-06-09T13:23:51.988-04:00Doughnuts and Pride<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Today is National Doughnut Day. Heading down the stairwell to walk to Dunkin Donuts for my free fried dough, I run into a wave of nostalgia; it hits my face and darts up my nose. Someone must have just walked down the stairs, leaving a trail of Turk-like cologne, because just then I didn't even realize that the Turk had a smell - or that I remembered it. Comfort and panic and surprise it all at once. The mind is quite a curious place. </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/12/better-men.html" target="_blank">The last update</a> left the Turk wishing me a Merry Christmas before he left for Turkey again, but that wasn't the end. The random and sporadic texts began again when her returned from Turkey again in January. "Hellooo," he wrote. "Happy new year," he typed to me 17 days past the new year, which led to very short and general conversation of <i>how are you's</i>, like strangers in an elevator. A few days later, I texted him to ask if he could recommend a place in Istanbul, as my cousin and I were discussing a trip. (We eventually settled on Cozumel.)</div>
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On January 28, he texted because he was driving by my place for work and was "going to stop by for lunch :)." That Saturday night, he texted that he was at the nightclub where we met "if you're around." I declined, saying I had just got home (and I was tired and not interested in a booty call, having been presently satiated by the single dad). A week into February, he called me as I was <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2015/02/40-thousand-feet-heading-west.html" target="_blank">boarding my plane to Arizona</a> to tell me about the information he got for us concerning our possible trip to Istanbul. I told him I couldn't talk; would call him the following week. I texted and he called after work; a short call that was only semi-useful in terms of our trip: He said he would send a link to his friend's hotel. </div>
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Two days after that, "Happy Valentines" popped up onto my phone. <i>Although, come to think of it, he might be the only man who wished me one.</i> I asked for the link the next day and he finally sent it a week later. That's the last we spoke until the end of March. Under the guise of checking on if we were going to Istanbul and did I check out the link, he started texting. He asked what I was doing that Saturday and that he was going out with his friends and "maybe we run into each other." I told him probably not, as I had no plans to go out, still recovering from my weekend before in Boston. </div>
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Turns out, however, that I did go out. An out of town girlfriend was in DC, so I passed it on to him thinking, "If they get bottle service, we can wriggle into it too." Only my attempts at being delightfully coy were met with an opposition, as when I asked where he and his friends were going, all he did was ask where I was going. I gave up on trying to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Remora" target="_blank">remora</a> onto their bottle service and my friends and I picked a spot to eat and drink. </div>
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At 10p, the Turk texts to ask when we were going, to which I responded that we were already there. I asked - mildly miffed I was going to have to metro home, "Not going out, I take it?" </div>
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"I do wanna go out though. Just took a shower; got dressed up." </div>
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"Where you going?" I asked. </div>
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"I don't know. If I go out, I"ll probably come to where you are." <i>Perfect: Free ride home.</i> Just after midnight, he shows up. My friends, having encouraged tequila into me before leaving the house, and I were already quite drunk. I saw The Turk walk up the steps and it was like breathing a breath of stale air. <i>Ah. Yes, he does have a smell. I smelled him.</i> It was reminiscent of desire and heartache. We hugged and went off to a less crowded area of the bar where my friends were flopping around like drunken fishes for a few minutes before they left and - I would later learn via Tinder message - a Tinder match, whom I had just accepted a date from, watched me flirt with the Turk. (We never went out, though he still tried.)</div>
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About an hour later, my friends were gone and I was finished with my vodka tonic and needed to go home. He offered to drive me. Directly out front of the bar was a baby blue WV Jetta, a far cry from his black Mercedes E63 AMG. "Who's car is this?" I inquired. </div>
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"It's my friend's."</div>
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"Oh right," I said, suddenly remembering he said that he was out with them. "Where are they?"</div>
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"They're at another bar around the corner. I have to pick him and his girlfriend up at 2am."</div>
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"It's 1am now. How are you going to be back in time?" I wondered aloud.</div>
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"It's fine. I drop you off and come back," he said, confidently, as he shifted from reverse to first gear. Even drunk, I began to suspect something was amiss. The VW was new and I had only seen him out with one other friend, whose car he drove. The one who sat on the couch, drinking coffee <a href="http://www.cellardoornotes.com/2014/11/a-large-part-of-human-condition.html" target="_blank">last time we hooked up in October</a>.<br />
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Back at my house, he ended up in my bed - both of us lying atop the comforter shoulder to shoulder. We chatted a bit and I cornered him into admitting that the car he was driving wasn't his friend's car (it being well past 2am, at this point,when he said he had to pick them up). Finally he confessed, "It's my car, but I still have my Mercedes at home. I can show you!"</div>
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"That's not necessary," I said through a muffled chuckle and already positioned to move onto my next mission: Getting him to admit that there were no friends out that night; that he made them up to have an excuse to see me. He, reluctantly, eventually admitted to that too. And then we hooked up, which didn't do much of anything for me and my tequila haze. It was quick and emotionless - I imagine he was frustrated with me, having used my brain and calling him out.</div>
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I woke up the next morning with that realization that that would, indeed, be the last time I would see the Turk. Because back in September when things were at the pinnacle of falling apart he posed the question: "What are you like in a break-up?"</div>
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"I don't know," I confessed after a contemplating pause, "Sort of like this...but every man that has ever broken up, always came back."</div>
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"I don't go back," he said, sternly. But he did come back. He wanted to spend time with me, without admitting that he wanted to spend time with me. Without admitting he missed any part of me - emotional or physical. He tiptoed around me, so completely unlike the confident Turkish King who swept me away, left me with no choice, and cast me aside all so easily and in such a short amount of time some months before. He had the power then; his pride still in tact, he vulnerabilities complete shielded, and his fear of rejection completely not necessitated. But calling him out on his bullshit opened a wound to all of the things he keeps closed from the world; his whole facade was blown.<br />
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And I realized that morning that stinging the pride of a man who defines himself by it, meant he would cut off himself off from that sting forever. And I didn't really mind - and almost sort of forgot - until a scent in the stairwell on the way to a free doughnut triggered my memory. And so that's the ridiculous (and sort of hilarious and even a bit sad) finale to the saga of The Turk. </div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-12997222032976882212015-06-01T18:42:00.004-04:002015-10-19T13:17:57.041-04:00Worry is Contagious<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Over the past couple of days, I have been reconsidering my timeline - <i>again</i>. This happened after, at a friend's wedding this weekend, I was discussing my plan with a few people and they seemed incredibly concerned about my financial situation. Which got me panicked about it. One friend suggested that I set up a donation page, which I immediately shot down. Something about asking people for money when you are voluntarily becoming jobless and homeless, seems strange - and maybe a bit rude. But she made a good point that she wants to help her friends chase their dreams, if that's what she can do to support me in finding my best self and making me happy, then its just as good - better, even - then the money we throw at our friends at this stage in our lives for their decisions to get married or have babies. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Point (to): Red.</span><br />
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I am now slowly warming up to the idea of setting up a donation page. Passively, at best. Where my friends (and family) who love and support me can do their best to ease their minds about my impending homelessness and ballsy-as-shit (or stupid, TBD) decision to quit everything and leave all comforts behind to find my place in this world. That's right, I'm self-proclaiming it is ballsy as shit, because the more they talk about the realities of it the more my mind panics and I go <i>OH GOD WHAT AM I ABOUT TO DO? And maybe I should stay just one more year?!</i> In a year, I could pay off credit cards and have a better nest to fall back on, should I not be able to find a new city and a new job in time (before my (in process) savings runs out). I'm saving as hard as I can right now, but just a few extra months at work and a couple more commission checks would make a huge difference. If I postponed, it would be the more responsible thing to do (in a fairly irresponsible situation). It would ease their worries about my well-being - which, until then, I didn't even realize was a thing. And ease my mind, which is growing with steady concern directly paralleling the voiced concerns of others.</div>
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<i>Maybe if I just stay and extra seven months...</i> I contemplate.</div>
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But I sat at work today, staring at my computer, aware that, as it is the first day of June, I have officially three months until I am homeless - should I choose to be. And even then, it seems too far away. Next spring would be better, I think to myself; heading into the warmth, versus leaving this fall, heading into the cold. But I think about the prospect of another snowy winter, stuck at the same job, in the same house, doing the same old thing and I can't imagine the toll that would take on me. I think it might swollow me whole. And from that, I realized that I'm certain of it now: it is time to go - ready or not, financially under-prepared or not. I'm going to do my damnest to make this work, because I have to make it work. It feels like now or never - and never isn't an option because I take a long time to make a decision, but once it is made, I rarely go back: I believe my decision has been cemented in the form of progression. I have to fucking do this, ready or not - all I can give it is all that I have and hope for the best.<br />
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I have to try. Worry or not. The time is now<span style="font-size: x-small;">. </span></div>
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Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8328060099258094345.post-45147984387058098252015-05-15T20:07:00.000-04:002015-07-23T17:29:15.421-04:00108 Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><b>I have no idea what I'm doing!</b></i><br />
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These words, the idea; it keeps ringing through my head, particularly today. Earlier today, I went and purchased my <a href="http://www.rei.com/product/868733/alps-mountaineering-meramac-2-tent-special-buy" target="_blank">new home</a> for a solid deal of 42 dollars. And a brand new bed (read: self-inflating sleeping pad) - also on sale. <i>Thanks REI Anniversary sale!</i> My Amazon wish list continues to grow as well, as I tag things I think of in the moment that maybe I'll need for this adventure. (Stun gun included.) I also began to look up some camp sites (after reviewing my finances) and realized camp sites are more expensive than I thought. I may be squatting in more Wal-Mart parking lots than originally anticipated. $28 for one night of tenting at a KOA? I'm going to need to take a really, really long flip-flop laden shower and befriend a BBQing old couple to justify that cost.<br />
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I also figured out that my Mazda3 (manual) hatchback will probably suck in around $200 worth of gas per week if I keep moving. <i>Sorry, Earth.</i> And then there's food; food should be interesting to come by, but I found a sturdy, cheap <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Coghlans-9957-Folding-Stove/dp/B0007L8108/ref=pd_sim_468_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=1YYYH1ZTSCNCVQF25AQ9" target="_blank">sterno stove</a>, so at least there's that. (I'm sensing a lot of fried eggs in my future.) But what happens when I run out of eggs in the middle of South Dakota? Can I use Tinder in a pinch? I'm picturing my Craig's List Ad/Tinder Profile already:<br />
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<b>Rolling Stone Seeks Evening Companion and Free Hamburger (mainly just the burger)</b></div>
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Seems legit. Anyway, the preparations have now begun outside of just my head and simply researching. I have 108 days left before I become voluntarily homeless, traveling the country and living out of my car. Just over 15 weeks - that's it: Three months and two weeks. This is happening. It's happening, it's happening. And now I have my vaga-house and my vaga-bed. </div>
Hatching Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06389394326784936159noreply@blogger.com2