Wood Chip

Sundays are like the day your supposed to do something really awesome but most of the time your so burnt from the week it just seems like everything is a hassle.

This Sunday started out slow, with indecision on what to do from the boyfriend as per usual. Eventually he left to go work on some handy man gigs around town and I was left to my own devices.

I put on my favorite blue vynl record Pinback's Blue screen life and listen to some sunday morning tunes while I make my matte drink and down smoothie juices.

I end up moving a mountain of wood chips that have been sitting in front of my house for a month. I landscaped under our lone palm tree and around our drive through driveway. Things ended up looking much nicer when I was done.

Nothing much else of note happened on this day....the fog continues and the wood chips have made their way around the yard. 

Shop Girl Revisited

Friday Evening I received a call that my friend who owns a flower/gift shop in town needs someone to staff the store on Saturdays. I took the job, having been recently fired.

Saturday morning arrives and I am supposed to open the shop at 11am. I make my way to the store and open, its a relatively simple day. Filled with simple customers shopping for out of town gadgets and townies shopping for birthdays.

 I am visited by my boyfriend and our friend from the ridge, who both sit in a rope chair and ponder getting food and beverages at the local establishments.

I sell an unusual number of pitcher plants, and the day is done. 

Fired.

Thursday was a total loss, I cant even remember what I did but most likely some combination of working for the internet company we worked for and being at my studio trying to get the gift bags back together.

Friday however was a bit more interesting, Michael my boyfriend and I are fired from said internet company we previously worked for. Well kinda of fired, fired with a 1000 bonus and "keep all of the tools you have" statement...so loosely fired. In any event I am elated I never have to help another customer for Further Reach again.

I am working on finishing dresses for two girls who work at the coffee shop, I want to deliver them before 3pm.  I finish them both and we head to the coffee shop, talking about our recent firing and the strange terms.

I deliver my dresses to the coffee shop, and enjoy the usual flirty banter with the waitstaff. Everything is terrible there on this day however as the one odd woman out is working and she cant make sandwiches or matte lattes to save her life. I am adding honey and cinnamon to my latte over and over again to make it drinkable.

Lines in the sand

The morning breaks.

I am still under the giant sequoia tree and things are still and calm as a morning in the redwood forest always seems to be.

I awake and break camp, which basically just means I washed down with a baby wipe, combed my hair, brushed my teeth at the camp faucet and called it good.  The camp toilets had doors on the bathroom stalls that were oddly shaped and didnt allow you to actually open the door and get out. You had to wedge yourself beside the toilet to let the door open so you could escape. I found this frightening and didnt want to take any chances birdbathing in the sink in there.

I drank some smoothie and ate some yogurt and awaited 8am, which seemed a reasonable time to depart the campground back to Rays... to meet my work placement coordinator with a problem picking people up. Now I had been told that arriving early in the morning was essential remember. So I cruised back to Garberville figuring that I would be seeing her text any moment.  I decided to park behind the Rays this time as I exited the freeway and that same cop was yet again cruising around the main street.

I park, and watch a round bleach blonde 40 something standing over her pitbull that is shitting in the rays food mart poorly landscaped 2 ft area of planter.  She stares back and me and chews her lip, and flips her flip phone back and forth. She passes my car window dog shit bag in hand, as if to show me shes not leaving turds at Rays. A few minutes later I look up from South sea tales to see her running down the other side of the street with the pitbull, dog shit bag waggling bottle bleached pony tail whipping from side to side as she limp runs into her house with the blue tarp on the roof. Some invisible hurry she was in all of a sudden? Or perhaps this constitutes her daily excersice routine. I am left to wonder.  Still no sign of my employer, I send a text at 9:30am stating that I am hoping are paths cross shortly. I give her till 10am before I am leaving this dump and never looking back.

The round blonde remerges from the house, dodging toys and garbage on her front lawn she proceeds with the pitbull back to the Rays planter for round two of her dog shitting haplessly on things. Again she passes my window with the dog shit bag becoming ever more filled with her dogs droppings. I wonder exactly where the bag went when she went inside? Why would you not just get another bag?

10am rolls around and I cant wait for this lady any longer, I draw a line in the sand in my mind and fire up my jeep spin the wheel back towards the redwoods and my 3 hour drive home.  I stop by the side of the road somewhere between bendbow and westport park and walk over a tiny wooden bridge. Onto a fire road leading to no where. I walk and smoke a joint and think about my adventure into the woods. The wind picks up just as I notice a pile of bear scat and decide to turn around and head back to the car. I eat figgies and jammies and watch as the wind begins to blow tiny birch leaves into the air. All around me they twirl and twist to the ground in an endless cascade of beauty. I again think to myself "this wasnt so bad" and continue walking back to the car. A butterfly swoops over my shoulder and lands on a giant thistle that is seconds away from blooming. I stop and watch the butterfly on this amazing plant for quite some time. I am stoned and I need more cookies now, I make my way back to the car.

The rest of the drive was scenic and smooth, sailing back into Manchester around 1pm just in time to finish the laundry I had left the day before at the Mormons house and get a text from the garberville lady telling me she had just gotten down into service and was coming to Rays. I laugh and throw my phone back into the cup holder. No response needed, I think to myself. I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it even though you will never know. Who sits and waits for 16 hours for someone....

Just over the Hill

Tuesday arrives, slowly. Things take shape, a last minute cleaning request from one of my house cleaning clients puts things into warp speed. I now must pack and clean a house before I can get on the road.

This job has already told me to arrive early in the morning or I will not be able to work until the following day of my arrival as I will need to "placed" at one of her many properties.  She had also described her approach to taking care of her workers with this sentence "I come by every few days with water, but thats about it." So I knew the job was going to be strange before I ever started out. Now Im a day late already and trying to get on the road and I have to stop everything and go clean for my mormon clients with a stockpile of end of the world rations in their basement.

 I pack my car in a rush, snapping the sheets onto my peice of foam smashed into the back of my jeep which will serve as my bed. Piling my backpack of clothes and babywipes in on top of that. All the water I can obtain is bottled into various plastic jugs and put in the car and I leave out for the day.

I clean the house and wonder at how anyone could possibly smear so much black soot or whatever it is thats oozing all over the walls and doors around in one two day period.  I stare blankly at the "god is good" poster in the childs room and shut the door. The only thing interesting about these people is the end of the world rations in thier basement ordered direct from the Mormon run proccessing plant in Utah. For mormons by mormons, they are the FUBU of religions.

With the laundry finally finished spinning and the beds all perfectly made and every crumb vaccumed I am free to hit the open road finally around 3pm. Not to bad I think to myself I missed the morning "placement" anyway so Ill be hitting town around 6pm just in time for dinner and sleep. Start the day fresh ready to get placed.

I make the drive up the coast, hitting Ft. Bragg around 4pm. My favorite place to eat is closed, I look from one side of the small town street to the other. There's a sushi place on the other side of the street down the block, I dont mind eating there and they are relatively quick which meets my current criteria for places I will eat right now.  Sushi is closed. Next door is a hot dog shop, which is always open and always strangely empty. I decide to take my chances.  Oddly the hot dog shop serves wraps, and all kinds of other Mexican foods despite its sign and decorations. Two giggling Mexican guys make me a veggie wrap and I cant help but wonder if they arent giggling at me stoned out of my gourd as I make my way to the bathroom.

 The wrap turns out to be delicious, including croutons instead of tofu which I thought was clever of them. I stop at a coffee shop on my way back to the car to get a treat, a mocha. Raspberry of course. Back in the car I learn that I no longer enjoy raspberry mocha's as I once did as the taste of refined sugar after not eating it for weeks is actually not as awesome as you would think.  The drive winds along the ocean. Sea birds are flying around and a light fog has been enveloping the day so far. I hit a small town of Westport and cant help but starting to day dream about living in the now for sale Westport Mansion.

The road winds up into the mountains and I start my climb over the hill to 101 north, and Garberville. The trees get bigger and the sides of the roads become littered with "sasquatch sightings" signs and knick knack stores selling redwood burls, hanging baskets and tickets to the "drive through tree".  It is beautiful here, and my mood is high.  Coming out the other side of the forest I pass Davidson campground and think what a nice time it wouldve been to drive out here and camp for my birthday instead of getting so shit faced on tequila like I do every year. Alas some things have not changed.

 I reach Garberville, and the scenery has turned ugly. Garberville is a tiny town, just a drive through really at the base of the kings range foot hills. Inhabited by scraggly looking hippy types and the people who work for them. Weed rules the industries here and it is obvious. Trimigrints (people who come from out of town to trim weed) litter the streets, in cars, on foot with back-backs and dogs. People picking them up and meeting with other growers litter the parking lots staring at phones and sketchily looking around. The person I am working for has asked me to meet them at the Rays food market right on the main street in town. I park and text her to let her know I have finally arrived. She will be there in a minute, I go inside the store to procure groceries. I am followed by an older man covered in dirt smears and unruly hair that sniffs the air and announces "you sure do smell nice" to me.  I know I must make my time in town short. I quickly run through the grocery store dodging other trimmigrints like myself and locals getting booze trying desperately not to forget anything I may need during the next week or so.

I spot another guy staring at me and also looking for foods. He seems to be talking to a lady who sounds strikingly like the person I have been talking to on the phone. I swing around the corner of the deli and make eye contact. Smile and then proceed to finish my shopping. I return to my car, to find my phone ringing. I answer and find that my pick up has left the parking lot without me to take the other guy up to her place and she asks me to "sit tight" while she does this and she will be back for me.

I wait in my car, texting and surveying the scene in the Rays food parking lot. A black man across the street at the gas station is yelling at people to help him. Two police cars arrive on the scene to assist with whatever his issue is. I glance back at my clock, I arrived at 6 and its now 7.... The gas station issue is resolved and the police hang around their cars parked on the street across from Rays. I watch them over my phone as I text my boyfriend. The police cars disappear down the street, only to reappear quickly in the rays food store parking lot two parking spaces over from me.  The police get out of thier cars and hang out in the parking lot, loosely staring at me in my car and trying to get my attention, or possibly spook me into doing something dumb. I check the time again as the police cars leave the parking lot. 7:45. As 8 rolls around the police cars appear again in the parking lot and this time they park directly in front of my car. They joke and stand outside their cars...but clearly I am in the sights now. I avoid eye contact, and start looking for that campground I passed on google maps. The police go into Rays, aparently something warranting their attentions more than myself mustve been in there. I text my contact and tell her I cant stay at Rays anymore and Im going to camp. We decide she will text me in the morning and come get me to start work.

I drive the 9 minutes back to Davidson campground, the light is leaving the sky and I know I will have to do the self check in at a state park routine once I arrive, in the dark. Somehow I am not the only person checking into a mostly deserted campground on a tuesday night afterdark as I am followed by another car with two restless looking occupants trying to figure out the self check in.
I drop my cash into the envelope and proceed to pick my campsite in the dark. I cruise the campground looking for the authoritarian looking trailer that signifies the park rangers area, then strategically choose my site based on this trailer location.
I then gather wood as the sign says not to and make myself a small fire to heat up water for sleepy time tea. I am camped under a giant sequoia tree, or what I like to call an oracle tree. The firelight lights up the bottom 8 feet of the tree and I can just see the bottom branches dancing in and out of the firelight while I drink my tea and wonder what kind of animals target white jeep Cherokees in the forest for food. All in all the day is not to bad, I have groceries, I have my Jeep all decked out for camping anyway and Im sipping a nice cup of tea and looking forward to reading Jack Londons South Sea Tales and slipping off to sleep.

I crawl into my jeep to sleep, lock the doors and then promptly set off the car alarm by attempting to put my key in the ignition to turn on the music. The car alarm breaks the silence of the forest and I feel like a complete human idiot among magestic forest spirits.  I sleep the sleep of a single women in the forest curled up between my spare tire and the back wheel well. All is right with the world once more. 

A case of the Mondaze

I was supposed to leave for a trimming job in Garberville today, unfortunately due to the birthday party session that was unplanned I am once again back at my studio. In a twirling fervor to finish an alteration to a wedding dress.  Hemming the six layers of tulle and satin and funky smelling weirdness off of the internet this person has purchased. In all my time never was there a more terrible smelling dress than this one.  The bride to be was short, and wanted everything shortened for dancing, this was her second wedding gown by the way. This was her gown for the afterparty, her beach sand dwelling dancing in the air dress.

I finish just in time for the 6pm pick up, collect my cash out and head home to pack my car and get ready for tomorrows departure. I am looking forward to my trip to work and be away.

The 21st

Today was a bleak and stark day after my birthday celebration night.

Awaking half hungover and naked, wondering where my life went right after the fifth tequila shot. All day under a blanket watching suits and wishing I was viral enough to still be able to skip hangovers completely.

Wondering where that dj went and why the joints are all smoked to a nub. 

Another Trip Around the Sun

In an effort to study my own personal habits and basically out of morbid curiosity as to exactly how many events I forget or loose with time during a year. I have made a commitment for my birthday this year to write as many "daily journals as possible." With the intent of examining my life patterns a bit more closely this year.

Will it end up being fact, fiction or just plain shit? We shall soon find out, Im hoping for a loose braid of fact, fiction and mystery which seems to make up most of life thus far.

 My birthday August 20th 2016, on the eve of my 35th birthday this year, I found myself busying myself in my studio space just past the post office in Manchester. A small town by the sea, surrounded by cows and the dairy farmers who ranch them. My studio is a giant space of a building, 130 years old and once a dairy creamery. I have renovated it, to meet my specific needs including a 9ft x 6ft wheat paste art piece bolted to the wall. Complete with custom mass making capable sewing machines, hammock in the office lounge and as much weed and rolling papers as we can smoke.

 On this day I am trying to finish stamping my clothing companies logo onto 9 brown paper bags, that need to be shipped out to models I used at an event earlier in the month. Swag bags as they are called go a long way in acquiring free working talent for shows and I am no stranger to these bags and all their little nuances.  A friendly face appears in the doorway, and I know immediately all of my working potential for the day has disappeared and the party gods will not have me working on my birthday this year.

 We roll and smoke all the weed we can fit into an extra large paper immediately. Then proceed to get awkward high together and talk about nonsense. I can only get a reaction from him when I tell him I am planning on shredding the lengths of fire hose he has brought me into strips and making a "mesh dress" for my next show. His face holds a momentary light of interest...slipping quickly back into complete stoned bliss the next.  We mutually decide I am done "trying to do any of this silly shit today" and make our exit from my studio.

 I find my boyfriend, somewhere running from one job to another in town. We decide on something to eat and head to the store, a bottle of Melagro tequila makes it way into the basket. The birthday has begun.  Once back at the house, our friend has parked in the driveway and is sitting inside the car. Why people do this I will never understand, just go inside already.  We proceed to BBQ and take shots of tequila. I begin to feel the familiar itch of birthday creeping up my spine, induced by tequila. I have a fleeting thought of the m word. Moderation. I then realize moderation and I like so many birthdays before will not be seeing each other tonight and proceed to take giant shots from the bottle washed down with lime and salt.

 After yelling inside at each other for an hour all hopped up on booze and weed we decide to get the decks warmed up and play some records. I enthusiastically run upstairs with my bottle in hand and immediately eat shit to the floor when the rug slips on the wood flooring and literally disappears underneath me. Even a sober person would have to take a knee with this type bobbie trap laying around. I take the cue from the universe and stay down on the rug and begin sifting through records. My friend is a vynl freak and he thinks we cant tell, but I can tell. The quick once over of the vynl, the sideways glances at the labels the twisting of the knobs and fervent tongue swathing of the lips. All the signs of a dopamine fiend full throttle.

I have imposed my "one carpet two legs" rule on myself and refuse to do anything further from a standing position. I proceed to finish the bottle of Tequila, Dj on my knees and pick records for everyone and yell at them. I think at one point I just straight put the headphones on and gave up nodding my head into the abyss of sounds only I could hear.

Another Beach

I wandered down to the beach today to walk along the endless expanse of blue green waves and watch the whales surface. Hoping the roar of the rolling waves would help me sort the endless siege of thoughts raging in my mind.

I walked to the lighthouse down a deserted stretch of the Mendocino coast watching the beach houses become less and less overbearing on the cliffs above. I stumbled app-on a raft made of driftwood. Laying helplessly at the tide line. Mast, rudder, and steering apparatus included. Quite a feat of artistic and natural skills combined.

The driftwood boards lay across the rafts deck loosely and I sat on it to pass some time. It became so obvious to me as I sat there on this make shift raft staring into the chaos that is the ocean breaking on the shore. This craft would surely fall apart should the ocean reach its resting place here at the tide line on the beach.  All the artistic natural talent in the world couldn't save it from the waves it was meant to sail over, smashing it into a million pieces on it maiden voyage.

 So I sat there coincidentally, a wanderer lost in thoughts appon a faulty raft waiting to be washed to sea.  One giant metaphor for us and all of our securities. There are never any, its just how we perceive everything that keeps us clinging to our faulty delusional rafts until the tide finally washes us out to become one with the eternal endless abyss of life flowing by.