Day 2: Ends in Flagstaff

*Having trouble with formatting and I’m too tired to care anymore. I’m sure anyone reading this can figure out what caption goes with what picture. Mad at you, WordPress*

This day took 8 years. Fark.

Oklahoma:

Left around 10:30. I have no memory of the rest of Oklahoma so I guess nothing happened. Except! I forgot about those super-ass scary wind turbines! For real, they scare me. Not a joke. I am so uncomfortable around them. Too big. Too close to the road. Too mechanical. And it doesn’t matter if it’s turning or not moving at all. Both are bad and wrong. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Texas:

Is hot as something. Saw some long horn cows. And a whole bunch of donkeys. Do with that what you want. All I remember is that it was hot. Stopped in Groom and had a nice chat with the store lady. Mostly good drivers on the road. I appreciate that. Took these pictures in Texas:

AAARRRAHHH!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Honestly, people. Do not pass on the right. Doesn’t matter if its a semi or a sedan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MC 900 ft Jesus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Mexico:

Really, today was super boring. Nothing happened. I’m dying to remember anything noteworthy. At one point, because I wasn’t paying attention, I drove for about 5 miles doing 80 mph in 4th gear. Only noticed because Dixon rested his mandible bone on the stickshift and I thought “aw, he hasn’t done that before…SHIT!”

There was a fly in the truck all damn day. Which made think of my mom’s house and how you could tell the seasons by what bug was all over the place. Spring brought all the lady bugs that wintered over inside back out. Then, the wasps came. Followed by the jumping spiders. I figured out this was the super freaky spider that caught the fly. They don’t use webs, they just snatch shit to eat. And if you stick your big face too close to them, they sure as shit will jump right at it. After them, the lighting bugs. They thinned out and then it was the 500 billion cicadas that would not SHUT UP. They sort of quieted down, sort of, and right when I left it was horse fly time of year. Horse flies are the grossest nastiest gross bugs ever. Fully supporting the fact that nature is disgusting. They walk on poo and dead things and have maggots for babies. This little fly in the truck with me kept making me think of this. And the little maggot baby having poo cadaver walker kept landing on my hairy man legs tickling me. Dixon kept trying to eat it. And speaking of, Dixon stopped loving me today. He is totally over this trip. Pouty mad dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think this is New Mexico. Honestly, everything looked the same and there was nothing to look at.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hit Albuquerque around 5:30. I usually try to stay within 5 miles of the speed limit in a big city and then see how the locals drive. In Oklahoma, they drive the speed limit. In Texas, they speed a little. In Albuquerque, they all have death wishes. It was after work drive traffic and folks were going 20 miles over the speed limit of 65. Semi trucks, too. Cutting each other off. I saw someone whizz into basically no space and clip someone. I heard it. I saw the car jerk. Clipping car zooms off across 3 lanes and clipped car follows. I was happy because 2 minutes earlier clipped car cut me off by doing the same move. So, I flash my brights at them since I almost rammed into the back of her. She responded by slowing down to 50 mph and flipping me off. And then she was clipped. Have a good day!

After her, I was in the left lane trying to use it for its purpose, to pass. And I noticed that everyone was passing because I was behind a slow person. This is really 3 offenses: going slow, hanging out in the left lane, and going slow in the left lane. I couldn’t believe I get stuck behind the one person in the city who drives like a dumbass. And then. I saw his plates. HE WAS FROM MISSSOURI!!!! AAHROGHGKDFJADHFKGHJDFD#!KFEHRJHFD!!!!

As far as I could tell, Albuquerque is a lawless city full of really mad people. Dixon hates Albuquerque. It was stop and go traffic for a bit and he was lying down with his head next to the stickshift. Every time I changed gears, I punched him in the face.

Saw my first mountain like thing:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gallup seemed nice. Can’t see it, write it, or say it without doing so like I’m singing Route 66. Not sure putting the giant kid’s soccer complex right next to the sewage treatment plant is the best idea, but I’m sure there was a reason.

Arizona:

It’s pretty. Saw the sun set. That’s my antenna in the middle of it.

Now, I’m in Flagstaff. Talked to my mom. Jerry stole the letter I mailed myself. It was there when she left so she left all the mail in the box and when she came back, he was working at his stupid barn and all the rest of the mail was still there, but the letter was gone. Even though I wanted him to steal it, I cannot believe he is such a hateful pile of shit to steal my mail again! I hope it pissed him off and scared him.

I’m in Motel 6 again. Only, it’s some kind of hip Motel 6. The floors are not carpet but laminate made to look like zebra wood. I know this because I love me some HGTV. And there is a bowl sink and black granite in the bathroom But no tub. One of those shower phone booth thingies.

Tomorrow, California! I should get to Oakland around 7-8 pm. But before that I get to cruise through Bakersfield. The jewel of the state. I have to pass through a million wind turbines again. And that freaky airplane graveyard in the middle of the desert. I will try and stop and take a picture. Of the graveyard, not the million wind turbines. I will actually close my eyes and make Dixon steer past those.

I’m starving to death but do not want to get in my truck so I will eat little Nutter Butters and hope that works. I think that’s it for today.

Day 2: Morning

I woke up singing Don’t cry for me, Oklahoma. The truth is I’m going to leave you.

Also, woke up thinking about poopy underpants in the trash can! Why??? If I had pooped in my underpants, and had decided to leave them behind, I would have wrapped them in a beehive of toilet paper and thrown them away. It’s not just that I wouldn’t want anyone walking in at the moment I was throwing them away and then knowing what I had done. It’s also that I wouldn’t want anyone to have to look at them! I went into the store after I had seen them and had a conversation with the Highway Patrolman and the two cashiers but all I could think about was those underpants. I did stop long enough to notice that the cop’s uniform was 4 sizes too small. His pants stopped at the top of his ankles and his sleeves were like sleevelets on a woman’s shirt. And I noticed how nice the older man cashier was. And I thought, after the lady cashier called me ‘hon’ that only ladies can call people that and how do I feel about that. Then, it was the other thing back in my mind. I texted Rae and asked if he wanted a picture and he declined. So, if you’re having trouble visualizing this and wish you had an actual photo to see, blame Rae. Rae from Oakland. Short, blond kid. Good with tools. Likes packaged meats from connivence stores.

Also woke up thinking I was too harsh on Missouri. Will I one day regret not stopping at the VACCUM CLEANER MUSEUM? And they have a town called Dixon. And I saw some llamas. I was thinking maybe, Missouri was okay. Until I remembered all the signs I saw for the Precious Moments Museum. Not only that, but it is billed as the World’s Largest Precious Moments Museum. Indicating that there is more than one Precious Moments Museum in the world. How many is too many? It’s a very small number. But wait, there’s more. Apparently, there is also the Precious Moments Chapel. This is either a Precious Moments sized chapel full of the encephalitis-headed figurines, or it’s a human-sized chapel full of giant, human-sized Precious Moments ceramic statues!!! Stop it, Missouri!

Haven’t checked out yet. Went downstairs to get some burnt coffee and pre-wrapped muffins. But they don’t HAVE ANY!  I paid $75 to sleep in an ashtray and you can’t give me shitty coffee and muffins made of preservatives? WTF, Motel 6? Also, I thought I would open the window to try and air out the smokey smell. The windows don’t open. I’m on the second floor, not the 102 floor. Isn’t this a fire issue or something?

Today’s first picture is of the bathtub. It’s pyramid shaped and I’m not sure why there’s a tiny seat that would be to the side of the shower water stream. There’s a higher ledge but it was too small for even the soap. Odd little thing.

Dixon is very unhappy with all this. Poor little man. Off to Flagstaff. I will pass through Amarillo in a few hours. It’s 102 degrees there. Yikes.

Return home: day 1

God hates Oklahoma. Maybe Missouri, too.

I left this morning. As I was finishing up loading the truck, mom looked at the weather and said “it looks like it’s going to rain in Missouri and Oklahoma.” What she meant was “it looks like you might die today.” I have been in some fucked up weather. And I have been afraid before. This was Top 5 fucked up weather and fear. But it started out so pretty.

Nothing happened before I hit St. Louis. And once I did hit St. Louis, where it was lovely out, I remember that I hate it there. I hate St. Louis. Basically, all of Missouri. Maybe it’s being from Kansas. I don’t know. But I hate it. St. Louis could be blown off the map and I wouldn’t care enough to yawn. Roads made of swiss cheese designed by a correspondence school drop outs. (And seriously, everyone but the Tea Party can see that our infrastructure is all crumbly and icky. PLEASE, can we take the loans and put folks to work and fix some shit?) Good to know the old joke Missouri, the Show Me How to Drive State still applies. I am judging you St. Louis. Harshly. Because every time I have to drive through you I get so mad I could slap a baby.

Passed through and hit the wrath of God. Rain so hard I couldn’t see. Clear to the left of me. Clear to the right of me. Hell’s foul and dark heart in front of me. Awful. It cleared up around the Oklahoma border which was great because I got to see the factory or shipping building or whatever it was by the side of the highway. A big company building. And it had it’s name or initials on the side of the big building in huge red light up letters. FAG. I almost crashed. Into the semi in front of me with the plate 249 GAY. And then I came across a field that was in flames. What am I supposed to do with all that?

Oklahoma. Not OK. Rain. I can’t find enough words. So scary! Caravans of cars all going 10 mph with our blinkers on so the person behind us can see where to drive. At one point I thought “what a pretty sunset at least” Until I realized that was south, not west. It was the sky reflecting some huge fire.

Now I’m in El Reno. In a smoking room. Boo. But, one day down, two to go. Weeeeee!!!!!

OOH! I forgot. I stopped somewhere in Oklahoma and gassed up and went pee. Inside the men’s room trash can was an adult pair of tighty whities. Put there because the owner had pooped in his pants!!!! Cover that with some paper towels or something. Sorry you pooped in your pants.

This pictures below are all I took today. The one of the men’s room: that isn’t my finger. That was some box that blew by me because of the hurricane I was in.

And so it ends

I leave in the morning. It feels unreal and strange. I’ve been here so long that this became the normal, and now that is changing. I watched a lot of shows about prison and upon release, some of them said they were nervous about leaving because they had grown so used to living in prison. Without the riots and the violence and the drugs, that’s what I feel like. Last month, I was in Louisville for the afternoon and I felt overwhelmed. There were cars and people and buildings and more people. They were talking on the phone and shopping and walking. I felt overwhelmed. I’ve been alone for 11 months. Isolated and alone and now I have to go back to living. Weeks went by without seeing anyone but my mom. I didn’t talk to anyone or see anyone. I’m a little nervous right now. But excited. So, I leave in the morning.

Unemployment: 15 months / Isolation: 11 months / Credit: ruined / Hair on my head: completely gone. But I’m alive.

Last story from Milltown.

Jerry steals the mail. He steals every item that comes for me unless I check the mail before him. This is obvious since I see him go through the mail in the box every day and people who mailed me things tell me they did, but shockingly, I don’t receive it. It’s so weird how that wasn’t a problem before he moved out and the divorce was started. Hmmm….

Last week, he really showed that he is either drunk, emotionally disturbed, or dumber than a bag of dog shit. Tina mailed me my updated car insurance forms and threw in a letter from WSECU who finance my truck loan. A terrible side effect of unemployment is that I couldn’t make my payments and was behind. This letter, I later learned, was sort of the angry “Hey, make your payments or bad things will happen” letter. Never received the mail from Tina. But last Thursday, I get a call from WSECU (who I’m squared away with now) saying they received an anonymous letter addressed specifically to the address and mail stop that the angry letter was from. It listed my San Jose address as the return but with no name. Yet, it was stamped out of Louisville. Ain’t that something? Inside was a typed letter referencing my account exactly as it was listed on the angry letter. It said “The truck can be picked up at the mother’s house at address blah blah blah and is parked in the attached garage.” He stole my mail, opened my mail, and spent the weekend deciding that sending this letter was a good idea. Every other weird-ass thing he’s done I could always think that maybe he thought he was looking out for himself and protecting his interest. But this? This was done just to be mean and evil. I have nothing to do with his divorce. He did this just to hurt me. That is a terrible feeling. What a shitty human being. I contacted the US Post Inspectors and filed a complaint. So gross.

I relate this story because I want anyone who reads this to know that Jerry Byerly is, in my opinion, a bad person. Also, there is nothing here, besides my mother, that I will miss. Except this: I mailed myself a letter addressed to this address from San Jose. He will open it, of course, because he steals all my mail. He will open it thinking that maybe he’ll find something to use against me or just be able to keep something I want from me. Inside he will find a letter that says “Dear Jerry, Stop stealing mail. It’s a federal offense.” I will miss seeing him sit in his stupid truck in front of his stupid barn and read that. I will not miss it here. I am a sentimental person. But I will not miss anything about this place and this experience.

Take me to the station

Put me on a train

I’ve got no expectations

To pass through here again.

I’m leaving in the morning. I have wanted this every day for 11 months and now it’s happening. March was the worst month. Thought I was going insane. Panic attacks and anxiety attacks and insomnia. But I’m leaving now. And while I won’t be staying in CA, the one place I would want to go if I couldn’t would be Seattle. Thought I would be in the public sector but this is way better. It is still a job where I will get to help people, only they haven’t run out of money to run the joint! Screw you government! And I’m humongous fans of the women who run the show. And it is good and and I am very happy about it. Very very happy.

Truck is packed. I’m leaving in the morning. Three day drive through the southwest, up from Bakersfield to Oakland and San Jose. Seattle by Friday night.

I’m leaving. I’m leaving. I’m leaving. I’m really leaving. Books, Facebook, Giants winning the World Series, Sunday SVU marathons, God, my mom, and friends/family got me through this. Not in that order. I missed Elaine/Asher wedding, SJSU graduation for my friends, Alexis/Michael wedding, high school reunion, Tina/Tanya ceremony, and Nate’s memorial because I was here. I missed my friends. But, now I’m leaving. I’m so scared something is going to happen and it won’t be true. Eleven hours to go.

I’m leaving in the morning. I’m on my way back home. So long, I’m going home. I’m going home. Thank you, God. I’m going home.

Dear Senator McCain

First, let me thank you for your lifelong service to our country. Your sacrifices made during the Viet Nam War can never be repaid. For your time in uniform and your time in Congress, it is without hesitation that I recognize and enthusiastically applaud you.

You and I learned what it means to be responsible, to lead, and the importance of putting the needs of the crew above our own individual needs from our time in uniform. We were Sailors. During your second campaign for President, in a televised debate with then Senator Barack Obama, you said everything you learned about leadership you learned from a Navy Chief Petty Officer. I knew exactly what you meant.  While you were an Aviation officer during wartime and I was a surface enlisted Radioman in the Clinton years, I always felt I understood and appreciated your genuine care for American service members. I knew you knew what that experience was like and the sacrifice and dedication required of those who freely chose to serve. I acknowledge that I have been out of uniform for 11 years, that my 2 enlistments were a long time ago in terms of measuring changes in policy and attitudes. I acknowledge that it is your job to stay in touch with American Armed Forces and you sit as a ranking member of that Committee in the Senate. Yet, with all that on the table, I am still absolutely confident in saying you are absolutely wrong on what is best for our military regarding the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Pursue policy. You are wrong.

You worry that changing policy during wartime will lead to more deaths since our warriors will be distracted by the policy change. Your stance is “if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” You have offered to support visiting a policy change in the future, when we are no longer at war. Excuse my sarcasm, Senator but how progressive of you to support a policy change. In the future. Sometime later. Whenever. How easily you could continue to put off any work toward a change. You could always find another reason why even then, whenever that when is, that ending the policy would be wrong.

The main point you offer to keep the policy, and actually let’s not pretty it up by calling it a ‘policy’, it’s a ban that you state is necessary because it would disrupt the service of our military. Lifting this ban would force those who don’t support the homosexual lifestyle to accept working in close, even combat close quarters with out gay, lesbian and bisexual troops. This, you argue, would compromise our ability to remain the finest fighting force on the globe. I’ve never been in a combat zone. I’ve never been forward deployed. I always joke that I served under President Clinton and I didn’t really have that much to do in my eight years. But, I do know what it is like to serve. And I testify to you that lifting this ban will cause some bumps in the road while the branches adjust. The same bumps that occurred when we desegregated the military. The same bumps that happened when women were allowed to serve in greater capacities. These bumps will be caused by a few personnel who can’t follow rules and act out. This will be dealt with and our military will continue to be the best.

You do know, don’t you Senator, that there are already gay men and lesbians serving? You do know that in addition to the thousand details they must deal with everyday to defend our nation they must also be ever vigilant to keep their secret? To remember the details of the lies they must tell every day? To also find some way to handle the isolation of not being able to talk about their loved one back home? To deploy, serve and possibly die for their country and their partner not know?  They’re already there in very great numbers. If every LGBT service member got up and walked off the job, our military couldn’t defend a corn field. The studies show that their being out about their identity will not compromise our ability to carry out our military missions. The reports show that the majority of those serving support lifting the ban. Yet, you want gay men and lesbians to compromise themselves so the bigots in their unit feel more comfortable. You want gay and lesbian service members to serve without honor. How dare you, Senator, think that your honor is better than mine.

I fully understand the need of the Navy being greater than the need of the Sailor. Part of what I loved so much about being a Sailor was the privilege of being a part of something so much bigger than me, something so important. But, I promise you my identity at the time did not ever cause me to be capable of less. The only issues I faced regarding my identity was the gay-bashing that went unpunished, the medals I was passed over for, and the harassment I endured. You may use those experiences to support your belief that the ban is necessary, evidence that my identity was a disruption to unit cohesion. That, however, would be a convenient and lazy conclusion for you. More accurately, we should question how much different and better would my volunteer time in uniform had been if I had been allowed to serve openly, with the ability to report harassment. During my first year in the Navy, another Radioman was murdered by his own shipmates while deployed on the USS Belleau Wood. While on shore leave in Japan, Allen Schindler was so brutally beaten that his dental records were the only way to identify his remains. Two other Sailors from the Belleau Wood murdered him for being gay. Your justification for keeping the ban would place the blame for this on Allen Schindler. I know that you would never justify such an crime, but when you state that we will “disrupt unit cohesion” you are in essence blaming us for anything negative that comes from our being there. The fact is, however, that if the Commander in Chief and the Admirals and Generals issue an order, that order must be followed, including the order to allow gay, lesbian and bisexual individuals to serve openly. This isn’t about some social experiment, it isn’t about compromising American values, it isn’t about caving to a liberal agenda. This is about facts. Gay and lesbians are already serving. The DoD report indicates no findings that lifting the ban will compromise our military ability. The majority is in favor of lifting the ban. Those are facts.

Finally Senator McCain, I think you are out of touch with this generation, including those in our military. It happens to each generation eventually. At 38 years old, I am sometimes baffled by 18 year olds and their values and ideas. And now, you just come across as a toadie for the extreme Republican base, a group of people that I think everyone (including them) would agree are bigots. Use whatever word you like, the Party base is intolerant. And you are becoming the poster face for the extreme right. Your maverick has turned into something else. Is that the legacy you want to cement? Do what’s right, Senator and support the change. Stand up for ALL of those in uniform. When the ban is finally lifted sometime in the next year, when the thousands of already serving gay and lesbians are allowed to be truly honest, be proud of them as well. When every American who wants to serve is allowed to, be their voice. Fight for all Sailors, Marines, Airmen, and Soldiers. The Navy motto is Honor, Courage and Commitment. Let any who can and are willing live by that code of conduct. Honor their service, honor their sacrifices, honor their courage and commitment.

Dec 15

Mom and Jerry left this morning for Washington. I’ll be alone here for 2 weeks.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

11th Hour Rug Pull

Thank you, SJSU HR for being the Lucy to my Charlie Brown.

A few weeks ago I was contacted about an amazing job offer at SJSU. I was very excited and wanted this job. A lot. Everything was going along and it all looked good. Good enough that I started talking to Rae about housing. We had a plan and it was going to be great. I was going to live in the East Bay and have this fantastic job. And then, no, I wasn’t going to have this fantastic job. Somebody in HR decided that I wasn’t qualified because I don’t have 2 years of experience working in higher education.  I’m devastated. Lesson to be learned: don’t actually hope for the best situation where you get what you want. It just keeps not happening.

Back to the beginning. I don’t think I can come back to California. The only place that ever felt like home to me. I liked living in the PNW but always missed CA when I was there. But it doesn’t seem like it’s meant to be. Not that it seems like it’s meant to be in PNW either but it’s cheaper there and that is significant.

So, me and my 2 useless degrees are looking for work. I’ve given up on hoping for a job I don’t hate. I’ve given up on hoping for a job that pays enough to enjoy life. I’ve given up on hoping for a job in a place I like living near people I like. I’m just hoping for a job that allows me to pay my bills, keep my dog and eat. Anyone know of one of those, I’m here.

My Guts

How could this stupid situation get worse? It could make me sick! Yeah! Had to go to the free clinic today. Jerry’s niece is a Nurse Practitioner there. She is the oddball of the family: educated, nice, doesn’t like this area. When we were leaving I mentioned again that I know this is all stress related and my mom said something about me not getting along with Jerry and she said “You don’t have to tell me about it. They’re my family but I try to keep a lot of distance between us.” Hee hee. If she was uncomfortable about me being trans, she didn’t let on.

Anyway, my guts are kicking my ass. I’m now on digestive enzymes I bought at a drug store and 2 Rx’s she gave me. One is for treating ulcers. The other is for pain relief. Both say they will make me drowsy and hallucinate. I’m not really sure that’s a bad thing. And I’m more than willing to trip balls if it stops this nonsense.

I thought it might be that everything here is deep fried, but even bread and crackers make me want to die. But I do mean everything is fried. We were at some dinner…okay, we were at T-Mart. It’s like a little grocery store/grill/hunting people paperwork station. It’s only 10 minutes from the house. Mom and I are there and I’m enjoying (momentarily) my deep fried chicken sandwich and my deep fried mushrooms and I look over at mom’s (paper) plate and see these brown globs. They were deep fried corn. They take cream of corn and roll it in batter and deep fry it. Mom says “I like to pretend it’s a vegetable.”

Also strange is that chili here has pasta in it. No matter where you order it. The first time I saw it they added elbow macaroni and once I saw my mom eat chili that had spaghetti noodles in it. Why?

I imagined being here would mean I would eat really well. But my diet is scarily lacking in green things. No one cooks very often so we eat out a lot. I have to ask for vegetables to be added all the time.

Jerry has “cooked” a few times since I’ve been here. Here’s what he has made:

Scalding hot, dried out pot roast.

Scalding hot beans and ham and potatoes. 4 times he has made this.

Scalding hot beans and something else.

Scalding hot beans.

See a pattern? Apparently he can only cook on High. And apparently he can only eat beans. I really need to get away from him. His favorite phrases are ‘fuck you’, ‘kiss my ass’, ‘what is your fucking problem?’, ‘what the fuck do you want?’ ‘jackass’ ‘goddam whatever’. He is saying these things to his wife, to the dog, to whatever he sees in front of him. Not long after I arrived, before I started completely avoiding him, we were all in the kitchen and he was complaining about the internet service provider outsourcing their call center to India. I understand having a hearing problem and not understanding an unfamiliar accent over the phone. I get that. But he starts in on how the women are really brash and yell when he says he can’t understand them. I mention that Indian culture differs from western culture. It has been explained to me by people from India that women there are what westerners would consider outspoken or confident. And he says “Oh, so they’re bitches.” Great. But mom says “wait a minute, just because a women isn’t docile or quiet she’s a bitch?” And his response is “what’s your fucking problem?” Aaahhrrrh!! I was in the Navy, I talk like a Sailor. I’m not a delicate flower but his language is violent. And sexist. And racist. And homophobic. I’m going to try and make this the last time I talk about him. I needed to rant and I feel better.

Except in my guts. I sure hope I hallucinate.

 

Insurance Spokepersons

For my friends who don’t watch t.v.:

This is the worst haircut on television.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here he is wearing his serious actor headshot face and a more acceptable hair style.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not a bad looking guy, normally.

 

 

 

 

Flo!

 

This and that and whatnot

Got a text message from Leslie telling me to update here as she needs some new reading material. Some could look on that as an indication of Leslie’s empty life, however, I’m fairly familiar with her life and it appears full and rich and she is an extremely well-read individual. Let’s choose instead to look upon that prompting as an indication of my divinely-inspired gift to brighten the days of children and intellects alike. Unfortunately, I haven’t updated in a while for very real reasons (I have nothing to say). I put that in parentheses because it’s like a literary secret. Use parentheses to indicate to your reader that there is another meaning, like (I’m not sure ‘literary’ is the word I really meant to use). In the case of the former, it’s true. And it’s a secret because it’s true not just for the here and now, but pretty much any day in my life. So, the following is a collection of musings. Or rantings. Which apparently isn’t a real word because it has a red underline there.

Hunting season has begun. More accurately, rifle hunting season has begun. Bow hunting was last month. Now all the cool kids are shooting. I hear gun blasts every so often from far away. And when I go to the T-Mart down the road I see huge pick-up trucks pull in with antlers sticking out of the bed. Inside, hunter people are doing some sort of paperwork for some reason. Last night, there was a guy and his little girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old all dressed up in her huntin’ gear. I’m not anti-hunting. I eat meat and I’m pretty sure someone had to kill the animal to make it meat. I don’t think it’s a very good idea to have a company where you only sell meat from animals that died of natural causes. And I’ve directly contributed to the death’s of animals when I was an Animal Control Officer. If I can pump a cat full of phenobarbital then Billy John and his little girl Sarah Jean can pump Bambi’s mom full of bullets. (I apologize for being classist in using names that infer I believe these good people around here to be hillbilly’s. Sorry Dr. Bakhru.)

No, it’s not hunting that freaks me out. I couldn’t do it but it’s good that others can. These are some poor people around here and these families live off what they kill. It is weird to see antlers sticking out of the trucks at T-Mart. I also saw some Amish folks pull up in their horse and buggy. So much going on at T-Mart. Anyway, it’s the little kid along with dad that seemed weird. I’m pretty sure that sometimes hunters accidently (I assume) shoot other hunters. Or sometimes hunters stumble upon woodland creatures that didn’t want to be stumbled upon. Maybe I’m just a city kid and know nothing. Highly likely.

Related to this, I saw a bumper sticker on a humongous pick-up truck driven by a lady with really big hair that said “Kids that fish, trap and hunt don’t deal, steal or murder.” Wow. Problematic for so many reasons. Most importantly, it’s just blatantly not true. What disturbed me the most is the inference it intended paraded a complete lack of understanding of class and geographical divisions within the United States. The snobbery of a hillbilly uppityness made me laugh. Man, I am being an elitist prig. Sorry.

Had a dream that I was married to Mani and we were shopping in JCPenney and I saw my reflection in a mirror and I had a full head of totally white hair. I was really happy to have that full head of hair. Later, I realized that I was married to Mani and was surprised. Dream me couldn’t recall the wedding or the dating or the anything. Mani, I’m not sure what this means but you were really nice to me in the dream. Not to intimate that you are mean to me in real life. You’re an angel. Just not sure what that dream was all about.

I started watching t.v. again. This is what I’ve discovered:

The State Farm guy has the worst hair on television. Ever. I’m not real sure how he is allowed to be on t.v. I can’t hear any words he says because I’m so confused by his haircut. I just noticed last time that he has dimples. Good for him but that hair. It’s not just that it is some kind of in-between length that looks like he’s growing it out. It sort of looks like the in-between length of a sixth-grader. Never an attractive age. And it’s not just that it’s parted down the middle. I think it’s all of that plus it’s REALLY POOFY. Really poofy parted down the middle awkward length haircut. On t.v. Where pretty people are supposed to live. And how many eyeballs looked at his head and said “Yep, that’s what we were going for”???? The guy himself, the stylist, the director, the producers, the ad agency and the client, State Farm. All looked at his tragic sixth-grader haircut and pushed the green light. I hate those commercials because of his hair. They’re not Totino’s Pizza Rolls bad, but they’re not good.

I’m still hot for Flo, the Progressive Insurance lady. My current, could change next week, Top 5 pretty ladies I want to make-out with (not in any order. This isn’t a secret like the first parenthetical thought. Don’t be confused.)

1. Flo

2.  Kat Von D

3. Scarlett Johansson

4. 1970′s Carrie Fisher (I saw something about The Empire Strikes Back. She was hot! Also, not a secret)

5. 1990′s Gwen Stefani

Heard Dolly’s version of “I Will Always Love You” the other day. That is a damn heartbreaking song. Top 5 of those in no order:

1. Dolly’s song

2. Last Goodbye – Jeff Buckley (Still can’t bring myself to listen to it. Damn, M.)

3. The Last Day of Our Acquaintance- Sinead O’Conner (Who apparently has gone totally cuckoo.)

4. I Can’t Make You Love Me – Bonnie Raitt ( I know it doesn’t hold up well, those electric piano’s sound dated but it’s still a pretty sad song)

5. I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry – Hank Williams

Jerry asked me to help him stack wood. This took 3 hours and I was effed up for the next 6 days. He asked me to help again but I said I had to run errands. I’m not lazy, I don’t mind helping. But I don’t want to help him. ‘Cause let me get this straight. I’m not good enough to treat with respect but I’m good enough to help you haul wood? Got it. Mom says he’s trying and I should calm down but he’s never apologized for the things he said about me and mom tells me when I’m not around he overemphasizes my birth name and female pronouns. So greatty great great that he’s decent to my face but I don’t want to be around someone who thinks the shit he thinks about me. I try to avoid him at all costs. And I’m fine if he is trying the same. It’s okay if two people don’t like each other.

Speaking of mom, let me end by saying she has been great. It’s been very fun hanging out with her and she is very encouraging and generous. I love my mom.

I think that’s all I got. Still no job and that is sad and some other personal life stuff that makes me sad. I’m very stressed out and it’s affecting me physically. I’m scared to eat food because when I do I don’t digest well and feel very very sick. Want to cry feel sick. Awesome.

Just let me mention again that I’m sorry I don’t respond to texts and emails. It’s hard here and I’m trying to stay afloat. I hope everyone understands. I will update with some pics of Crawford County as soon as I get around to uploading them off my camera. Try not to forget your lives while you wait for this exciting update.