Escorts Don't Care To Be Haggled With

And a couple of other recent discoveries.

1) Making trips for a random, silly reason feels excellent. You have a mission. Like an assassin. Except, you know, instead of killing somebody with your ninja skills, you bus on over to see your friend's play and go to Humble Bagel. Adventure and a sense of (mildly trivial) accomplishment? Win. Win.

2) Never let your third day of being awake coincide with tech rehearsal. Sound effects and lights will blast your britches, you will forget who is talking to you, and your to-do lists will become gibberish. The TD will get mad about something that will be simultaneously confusing and uncomfortably tragic. Your incessant blinking will make people uncomfortable. You will briefly forget how to tell time and it will make you cry. Publicly.

1) Farmers' markets own. Everything smells amazing, people-watching material is surprisingly abundant, there are so many colors, and you even want to eat the things you don't want to eat. Except that weird thing with the purple bit. That looked a little jenky.

3) Escorts of central Oregon don't like being asked unorthodox questions. The good people at Candies do not appreciate your curiosity (however genuine it may be) and they won't give your friend a birthday discount.

4) Playgrounds are still wonderful places and late-night park hopping is the best. It's a perfect kind of nostalgia. You get to frolic and swing and play tag and climb trees (all which, by the by, are way more difficult METAL in the dark) and the fact that you're having so much fun takes away that WHERE-HAS-MY-INNOCENCE-GONE edge. Because this isn't some past-you enjoying this. You're you. Current you. You, who pays rent, and votes and whose former classmates are having babies or whatever. You just won that round of tetherball. You are struggling to dismount from the tire swing. You are it. You don't have to relive your childhood or something, or go back anywhere. That stuff can belong here, too. Gotta dig on that coexistence.

That about sums up the last two weekends.

(I am Jess, waitress and lava monster. I pay taxes and I fucking love bagels and tetherball. Also, I really need to sleep.)

Out.

Cosmo Jarvis

You're welcome.

Three Statues of Liberty

All about inconsistently-timed posts.

I'm a big fan of my household. Yes, they are all horrifically early risers and have a weird habit putting oats in everything, but you gotta love being able to walk into your living room to find a Beethoven-fueled push-up contest or a huge sculpture made out of recyclables or the truly awful smell of homemade wine(?) gone awry.

We're a house of eclectic adventures and hippie-esque tendencies. And I dig it.

(Rundown of the roommates:

Tall Roommate: Jolly. Always has a huge grin on his face, plays the cello, loves his family, works for various state parks. Can see him as a park ranger some day, hiking around, teaching kids about leaves and critters.

Lady Roommate: This girl is burl. Climbs, skis, runs, rows, you name it. Wants to be some kind of outdoor guide, has an unfortunate taste for chick flicks, best planner of the group. Ladyfriend of Tall Roommate.

The Beard: Hippie-est. Art major, loves him a drum circle, fishes naked, puts seeds and spelt in places they do not belong. Like pancakes. Awesome at finding camping spots and edible plants.

New Roommate: Moved into the garage a week-ish ago. Knows a ton about music. Handstand wizard. Has a poncho with these freaky eyes on the back. Approved.)

Wandering to the point: I usually don't get to partake in the spontaneous road trips, as rehearsal/shows dominate weekends...and it has really been starting to rustle my jimmies.

Wandering, still: The other week, I had to go down to California for a funeral and ended up having to hitch most of the way back and, a couple weeks prior, I had this really odd conversation with a local homeless woman (that'll get articulated into a post soon). They got me thinking about connections and honesty and happenstance how much I thrive on random escapades. Made one of those say-yes-to-adventure-and-communication-and-stuff promises to myself. Like, I truly do love being almost too busy, but if I end up with too much of a routine, or situations where I need to filter what I'm feeling and thinking... Monster alert. Nobody likes to feel trapped.

I've been needing to just go with the whims. I need to share a little too much. I need to just...to.

The point: About 3 days after deciding I need more spontaneous gallivanting, Beard came up to me after my last class, en route to the laundromat, and was like "I'm going to Sacramento to visit my girlfriend. She wants to meet you and New Roommate and Basevi (indeed, his real name), you in?"

"Umm...F'sho'. When?"

"Couple hours."

"...I have rehearsal until 9:30."

"Then 9:30."

Damn, I like him.

And off we went! (Some words about the vehicle: The Beard drives a fantastically jenky van that he got (for free) a few years ago. It runs on sheer willpower and currently contains a drying...something from the ocean. Sponge? Kelp? At any rate, it smells like Grim Death lapped up the sea and then threw it back up... He attempts to cover this aroma with incense.) We drove for about 5 1/2 hours, listeing to 90's-tacular cd's and set up camp a little bit past Redding. Set off in the morning with Christian power pop a-blasting, were embarrassed by the aforementioned Christian power pop for the 20 minutes we had a hitch hiker, pulled over to steal some oranges, drove about an hour past our destination, and finally made it to Che Beard's Lady.

Holy crap. She is the nicest girl ever. We got there and she was like "I made you lunch and we have towels and deodorant for you guys! Hugs for all!" And her house is gorgeous. Also, she has this super ballsy hen that will come up to you, like a goddamn ninja, and take the top bread off of your sandwich. You win some, you lose some. We went hiking on these rad trails, and played with her dog, and then went to this really cute, kind of tacky little town called Nevada City.

On the way we:
-stole more oranges
-saw three men dressed as the Statue of Liberty, waving signs reminding us to pay our taxes
-got lost
-successfully Chinese fire drilled

Then, we went back to her house and ate stuff and hula hooped.

We left around noon-thirty on Easter, and actually got to, you know, see all the mountains and towns on the way back. It was cramped and gorgeous.

...I really, really like road trips. Even the mundane things turn into a sort of epic quest, you always meet someone new, and, best of all, even though you're in a metal box with wheels, you just feel so free.

So, if you're gettin' a little stir crazy, it might be time for you to speed along I5, eating contraband citrus and belting along to some Neil Young.

Or, you know, whatever floats your boat.