Steve-o left today. Back to California for the next month or so. He did not say goodbye. After work, I stole his bike again to celebrate my new freedom. I didn't get a mile before he called yelling at me. How did he know?
I think Jami is a Narc.
Properly chastised, I returned home to the ranch where I lay out in the meadow to watch the clouds. They were of the small and puffy variety. Naturally I fell asleep, and naturally the clouds immediately concentrated on my area, turned pitch black and dumped rain on me. It rained in the desert.
Not to be discouraged, I dried off and waited for the weather to turn. While waiting for the rain to stop, I got a call about a job I had applied for giving rock climbing lessons. I can't imagine I'd make any money, but that could be fun. I shall think on it.
After the sun came back, I wandered outside to befriend the horses. I had no melon or apples, true delicacies in the horse world, but I offered them a banana. They refused. I insisted. They snorted their displeasure. I farted in their faces. They took offense. They stampeded. I ran away. Stupid snooty horses.
Since Jami is at work tonight, and its too wet to do the poker run with the MOB boys I will spend the rest of my evening writing my nerd novel. I fear soon I will have less of an opportunity, on account of my imminent employment. It's for the best, I have been reduced to returning beer bottles for pocket change.
So, so hungry.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Day 7and 8: Ohh yah bro.
Sunday, September 28. I hid in my fortress of solitude all day. I wrote nerd novel. I went insane.
Question. Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
Monday, September 29. This was a good day. I got invited to an interview for a job running the cafe at a local country club. This gives me an opportunity to meet my sugar momma. I've decided I can be a trophy husband to some rich old bitty for a few years. I'm not proud.
I also fixed the brakes on the truck. It is now obedient. To celebrate, I went to good old Reede Pub to have a few drinks. I got a young lady's phone number. We scheduled a date. She has a roomate. From Germany. Good. Then I beat Steve-o at pool. He claimed he let me win. Then I beat Jami. She admitted to my ultimate superiority. Then they both beat me at tabletop shuffle board. Afterward I ate a rueben on rye and got farts, so I went home and watched Conan the Destroyer.
It turns out I could have watched any number of good movies, Jami has quite the collection. I opted to hide in my fortress of solitude. Here is Jami's story. Steve-o owns two properties in Bend, the ranch and a house in town. Jami used to rent a room in the house in town, along with two middle aged painter men. Those men, while friendly and clean, bicker constantly like small children. Jami complained, so Steve-o in his kind-hearted way offered to let her rent a room at the ranch. I'm sure the fact that she's about 30, slender, blonde, and a waitress at Starz had no influence on his decision. At least I have a friend to keep my company. That is the extent of my ruminations for the day.
The stars were beautiful tonight.
Question. Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
Monday, September 29. This was a good day. I got invited to an interview for a job running the cafe at a local country club. This gives me an opportunity to meet my sugar momma. I've decided I can be a trophy husband to some rich old bitty for a few years. I'm not proud.
I also fixed the brakes on the truck. It is now obedient. To celebrate, I went to good old Reede Pub to have a few drinks. I got a young lady's phone number. We scheduled a date. She has a roomate. From Germany. Good. Then I beat Steve-o at pool. He claimed he let me win. Then I beat Jami. She admitted to my ultimate superiority. Then they both beat me at tabletop shuffle board. Afterward I ate a rueben on rye and got farts, so I went home and watched Conan the Destroyer.
It turns out I could have watched any number of good movies, Jami has quite the collection. I opted to hide in my fortress of solitude. Here is Jami's story. Steve-o owns two properties in Bend, the ranch and a house in town. Jami used to rent a room in the house in town, along with two middle aged painter men. Those men, while friendly and clean, bicker constantly like small children. Jami complained, so Steve-o in his kind-hearted way offered to let her rent a room at the ranch. I'm sure the fact that she's about 30, slender, blonde, and a waitress at Starz had no influence on his decision. At least I have a friend to keep my company. That is the extent of my ruminations for the day.
The stars were beautiful tonight.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Day 5.5 and 6
Friday night, September 26th. After a quick nap, Jami and I went downtown. Steve-o decided to come along. This proved to be a mistake. We began our evening at Mcminimans Irish Pub. (That is spelt incorrectly) (I think). The pub is actually a huge complex, that in the dusty past used to be a catholic prep school. Now it contains a restaurant, bar, lounge, and movie theater. The theater seems pretty neat, it runs older movies for 3 dollars, and since it has a bar inside the later movies are 21 and older. They're not pornos though. I don't think. Porn and alcohol in an old catholic church just seems deliciously indecent.
We decided that we were more hungry than thirsty, so we went to the restaurant first. Steve-o got fish of the day, a rainbow trout, and some fruity cocktails. He likes surprisingly gay drinks when hes not inhaling PBR bottles. Jami got a side of french fries and another fruity drink. Women. I on the other hand enjoyed an enormous bacon cheese burger smothered in ranch dressing and for an appetizer, the "Terminator".
Oregon is apparently the home of the microbrew, every singly bar/pub/restaurant/gas station/and flower shop has their own home brewed beer. Mcminimans has six, the Terminator being their most aptly named. In a world of watered down rice beers, the Terminator is a refreshingly barbaric concoction. Coal black and thick has mud, this heavy stout replaced my entree as a major source of calories. The beer tasted suspiciously similar to the homemade bread they served with my cup of new england clam chowder, and was much the same texture. Both were cut with a knife and served with butter. The only difference was the Terminator has more alcohol than some rye whiskey's I have sampled.
Following the meal, my natural tendency was to lapse into a diabetic coma and sleep off the itis for 6 to 8 weeks, but my cohorts were annoyingly energized by their sissy drinks so we continued into downtown proper. Here we wandered around for a time, stopping at various trendy and chic bistros and bars. Steve-o's glower grew ever darker and more sinister. He does not enjoy trendy and chic. We finally camped out at a small martini bar, where I enjoyed an overpriced whiskey sour and talked steve-o out of buying a painting of Mr. T. No matter how realistic a rendition of Mr. T, acrylic on canvas, it was not worth 175 dollars. I recognized the name of the artist though. She was one of the dancers at Starz. Small world.
After I finished my drink and stole the rest of Jami's, we followed a grumbling Steve-o back to his truck, and we were home by 8:30 pm. From now on, Jami or I drives.
Saturday, September 27th. On account of my previous early night, I was up and about rather early. I hit the post office, to collect a large box of clothing and shoes that Big Momma had graciously mailed me. I then dropped my truck off at the shop to get the brakes fixed, and Steve-o and I went to the farming supply store to buy fencing. Jami has a small cattle dog by the name of Griz, as in grizzly bear, and being a cattle dog he enjoys nothing more than herding the horses and periodically getting kicked in the face. For the Horses sake, we wanted to build him his own kennel.
On the way back to the ranch, Steve-o remembered that our Reed Pub was hosting customer appreciation day. Being such a long time local patron, I went and enjoyed free tacos and 1.75 beers. I enjoyed these until my wallet was empty and my belly was full. I then went home and fell asleep face down next to my fridge. It was 6pm.
We decided that we were more hungry than thirsty, so we went to the restaurant first. Steve-o got fish of the day, a rainbow trout, and some fruity cocktails. He likes surprisingly gay drinks when hes not inhaling PBR bottles. Jami got a side of french fries and another fruity drink. Women. I on the other hand enjoyed an enormous bacon cheese burger smothered in ranch dressing and for an appetizer, the "Terminator".
Oregon is apparently the home of the microbrew, every singly bar/pub/restaurant/gas station/and flower shop has their own home brewed beer. Mcminimans has six, the Terminator being their most aptly named. In a world of watered down rice beers, the Terminator is a refreshingly barbaric concoction. Coal black and thick has mud, this heavy stout replaced my entree as a major source of calories. The beer tasted suspiciously similar to the homemade bread they served with my cup of new england clam chowder, and was much the same texture. Both were cut with a knife and served with butter. The only difference was the Terminator has more alcohol than some rye whiskey's I have sampled.
Following the meal, my natural tendency was to lapse into a diabetic coma and sleep off the itis for 6 to 8 weeks, but my cohorts were annoyingly energized by their sissy drinks so we continued into downtown proper. Here we wandered around for a time, stopping at various trendy and chic bistros and bars. Steve-o's glower grew ever darker and more sinister. He does not enjoy trendy and chic. We finally camped out at a small martini bar, where I enjoyed an overpriced whiskey sour and talked steve-o out of buying a painting of Mr. T. No matter how realistic a rendition of Mr. T, acrylic on canvas, it was not worth 175 dollars. I recognized the name of the artist though. She was one of the dancers at Starz. Small world.
After I finished my drink and stole the rest of Jami's, we followed a grumbling Steve-o back to his truck, and we were home by 8:30 pm. From now on, Jami or I drives.
Saturday, September 27th. On account of my previous early night, I was up and about rather early. I hit the post office, to collect a large box of clothing and shoes that Big Momma had graciously mailed me. I then dropped my truck off at the shop to get the brakes fixed, and Steve-o and I went to the farming supply store to buy fencing. Jami has a small cattle dog by the name of Griz, as in grizzly bear, and being a cattle dog he enjoys nothing more than herding the horses and periodically getting kicked in the face. For the Horses sake, we wanted to build him his own kennel.
On the way back to the ranch, Steve-o remembered that our Reed Pub was hosting customer appreciation day. Being such a long time local patron, I went and enjoyed free tacos and 1.75 beers. I enjoyed these until my wallet was empty and my belly was full. I then went home and fell asleep face down next to my fridge. It was 6pm.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Day 4 and 5: Damn it feels good to be a gangster
Thursday, September 26th. Lets fast forward through today. I applied for jobs online, and watched movies on HBO and Encore. It was cold and windy out. I also found a really nice guitar and fender amp. I stole them. Now I am a rock star.
Friday, September 27th. It gets interesting. While out and about looking for jobs, I conducted an important experiment. I wanted to know how fast my truck is. It's a 93 chevy blazer. 2 door, white, with chrome wheels. The wheels add speed. Of course so does the fact that the previous owner (a race car driver) put a larger than stock engine in it. So the results of the experimental study were two-fold. 1- the truck is fast. 2- the truck has no brakes. I am now afraid of it.
After barely surviving a debacle involving a tractor trailer truck, an irate soccer moms minivan, and a mature blue spruce tree I decided I needed a vacation from the job hunt. I limped my disobedient vehicle back to the ranch and lo, there before me in the garage was the answer. It stood gleaming a deep cherry red with white flames, its long lines and fat ass promising me the most sinful of pleasures if only I would give in and get the key. I gave in. I took Steve-o's motorcycle out for a whip.
As you may or may not know, I rode a lot back in CT on my suzuki street bike, and I figure I looked pretty good all done up in my leathers weaving through traffic, leaving behind only the raspy buzz of one million killer bees. This 100 CID rigid frame chopper is a whole different monster. With a thumb on the ignition switch and a twitch of the throttle the huge engine between my legs barked like a mastiff, propelling me towards our front gate in a motion that is best described as lumbering. Once out on the empty road the machine shed any hint of its initial lack of grace and I was off. With the soul crushing roar of a feral kodiak the fat rear tire bit pavement and the front grabbed at the clouds. Like I said, racing street bikes is fun. This, was terrifying. And yet, I felt so....Manly. I spent the rest of the afternoon out in the desert channeling the outlaw biker within, devouring pavement and blowing down sign posts with my subsonic snarl, until the bean sized gas tank forced me back to reality.
When I returned to the ranch Steve-o was there. I assumed I was in for an epic beating. Instead, he seemed pleased with my audacity. His only words on the subject were, if you keep stealing the bike and you get hurt, i'm not calling your mother and i'm kicking your face bones in when I get to the hospital. Fair enough.
As if this venting of my inner primal wasn't enough Steve-o then invited me to "shoot guns at stuff". As a man, I was compelled to accept, so we spent the next hour or so doing just that. We may not have killed any animals, but I can tell you there are several mortally wounded soda bottles on my property right now, and the pond out back is going to think twice before it starts something again. I shot rifles and I shot shot guns, 22's and 9mm's. Steve-o evidently has been preparing for when the terminators come back to bring us armageddon.
As we finished our manscapades, Jami got home from class. Jami is my other roomate. I'll tell you about her later. For now, you should just know that today she brought home a cheech and chong sized sack of grass and an enormous burrito. She also invited us out tonight to see what the downtown scene is like. Steve-o seemed unenthusiastic. I jumped at the chance. So here I am blogging away in the afternoon sun while Steve-o shaves and grumbles to noone in particular and Jami alternately coughs and munches on her rice and beans.
I look forward to this evening. You should too.
Friday, September 27th. It gets interesting. While out and about looking for jobs, I conducted an important experiment. I wanted to know how fast my truck is. It's a 93 chevy blazer. 2 door, white, with chrome wheels. The wheels add speed. Of course so does the fact that the previous owner (a race car driver) put a larger than stock engine in it. So the results of the experimental study were two-fold. 1- the truck is fast. 2- the truck has no brakes. I am now afraid of it.
After barely surviving a debacle involving a tractor trailer truck, an irate soccer moms minivan, and a mature blue spruce tree I decided I needed a vacation from the job hunt. I limped my disobedient vehicle back to the ranch and lo, there before me in the garage was the answer. It stood gleaming a deep cherry red with white flames, its long lines and fat ass promising me the most sinful of pleasures if only I would give in and get the key. I gave in. I took Steve-o's motorcycle out for a whip.
As you may or may not know, I rode a lot back in CT on my suzuki street bike, and I figure I looked pretty good all done up in my leathers weaving through traffic, leaving behind only the raspy buzz of one million killer bees. This 100 CID rigid frame chopper is a whole different monster. With a thumb on the ignition switch and a twitch of the throttle the huge engine between my legs barked like a mastiff, propelling me towards our front gate in a motion that is best described as lumbering. Once out on the empty road the machine shed any hint of its initial lack of grace and I was off. With the soul crushing roar of a feral kodiak the fat rear tire bit pavement and the front grabbed at the clouds. Like I said, racing street bikes is fun. This, was terrifying. And yet, I felt so....Manly. I spent the rest of the afternoon out in the desert channeling the outlaw biker within, devouring pavement and blowing down sign posts with my subsonic snarl, until the bean sized gas tank forced me back to reality.
When I returned to the ranch Steve-o was there. I assumed I was in for an epic beating. Instead, he seemed pleased with my audacity. His only words on the subject were, if you keep stealing the bike and you get hurt, i'm not calling your mother and i'm kicking your face bones in when I get to the hospital. Fair enough.
As if this venting of my inner primal wasn't enough Steve-o then invited me to "shoot guns at stuff". As a man, I was compelled to accept, so we spent the next hour or so doing just that. We may not have killed any animals, but I can tell you there are several mortally wounded soda bottles on my property right now, and the pond out back is going to think twice before it starts something again. I shot rifles and I shot shot guns, 22's and 9mm's. Steve-o evidently has been preparing for when the terminators come back to bring us armageddon.
As we finished our manscapades, Jami got home from class. Jami is my other roomate. I'll tell you about her later. For now, you should just know that today she brought home a cheech and chong sized sack of grass and an enormous burrito. She also invited us out tonight to see what the downtown scene is like. Steve-o seemed unenthusiastic. I jumped at the chance. So here I am blogging away in the afternoon sun while Steve-o shaves and grumbles to noone in particular and Jami alternately coughs and munches on her rice and beans.
I look forward to this evening. You should too.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Day Three: Hump Day
Wednesday, Septemper 24. Waaaaarm. I'd been itching to ride the motorcycle since before I sold mine out in Connecticut. A man feels like a true outlaw biker on a rigid frame chopper. A pioneer. Until your ass goes numb from the hideously rough ride. I wanted to spend all day riding around town and exploring. Instead, I went to work.
I've been mowing and trimming and landscaping for so long now I think I impressed my new boss. In every way is that depressing, considering the expensive diploma I carry with me at all times on a plaque (this hangs from a chain around my neck). In any case, I spent the best part of the day spitting out grass clippings instead of mixing it up on the streets, but what are you going to do? Homeboy's got bills to pay.
At least after work things got real exciting. I went grocery shopping. I'm now a safeway club member. I had also discovered the location of the closest bar to the ranch. Reed Pub Inc. Since I've been there twice to date, I'd say i'm pretty much a regular. I mean, its right there. Right on Reed Mkt rd. Which of course comes out on 27th street. Unless you take Fox to Ferguson. But you don't want to take Ferguson. So if you stay on 27th you'll reach Rickard after the dump. And off of Rickard, well thats Arnold Mkt. I don't know who Arnold is, and I've never seen a market on the road, but there are various deer, llamas, emus, cattle, dogs, sasquatches, and those fluzie horses. Not to mention yours truly. So well done Arnold. Well done.
When I got home, I did finally get a hold of the cable company so there's digital cable in the Apt. and house. HBO and everything. I also bought a wireless router, and I now have a football field sized area of space to wander while perusing the interweb. My very own bubble of civilization. Mostly I just want to be able to download free porn from bed.
So Wednesday wasn't an especially glamorous day in the course of this adventure. Its the kind of day those other authors would skip. Luckily, you have me keeping these annals. I don't want you to miss out.
Notable mention: My Oregon beard is growing nicely. Soon I shall be mistaken for a local.
I've been mowing and trimming and landscaping for so long now I think I impressed my new boss. In every way is that depressing, considering the expensive diploma I carry with me at all times on a plaque (this hangs from a chain around my neck). In any case, I spent the best part of the day spitting out grass clippings instead of mixing it up on the streets, but what are you going to do? Homeboy's got bills to pay.
At least after work things got real exciting. I went grocery shopping. I'm now a safeway club member. I had also discovered the location of the closest bar to the ranch. Reed Pub Inc. Since I've been there twice to date, I'd say i'm pretty much a regular. I mean, its right there. Right on Reed Mkt rd. Which of course comes out on 27th street. Unless you take Fox to Ferguson. But you don't want to take Ferguson. So if you stay on 27th you'll reach Rickard after the dump. And off of Rickard, well thats Arnold Mkt. I don't know who Arnold is, and I've never seen a market on the road, but there are various deer, llamas, emus, cattle, dogs, sasquatches, and those fluzie horses. Not to mention yours truly. So well done Arnold. Well done.
When I got home, I did finally get a hold of the cable company so there's digital cable in the Apt. and house. HBO and everything. I also bought a wireless router, and I now have a football field sized area of space to wander while perusing the interweb. My very own bubble of civilization. Mostly I just want to be able to download free porn from bed.
So Wednesday wasn't an especially glamorous day in the course of this adventure. Its the kind of day those other authors would skip. Luckily, you have me keeping these annals. I don't want you to miss out.
Notable mention: My Oregon beard is growing nicely. Soon I shall be mistaken for a local.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Day 2: Bend Oregon Bends Over
Monday Sept 22 cont'd. The remainder of my first day was busy, but not exciting. Steve-o, my friend, my father figure, and my landlord picked me up from the airport, and brought me to my ranch. Technically, its his ranch. But he's never there. So its mine. My ranch. You go to the store and get your own ranch, this ranch is my ranch. I don't really feel like describing the place in detail, because im sure there will be photos online soon so you can see it for yourself. Or you can just come visit.
In any case the ranch is a smallish 3 bedroom house, with an attached garage, and a larger garage and a barn on either side. Above the larger garage is a small 1 bedroom apartment. I have decided to nest there. Lower energy costs you see. The ranch is situated on 12 acres of high desert scrub, which I share with some deer, coyotes, and 5 very pregnant horses that I assume somebody owns.
After satiating my OCD by unpacking and settling in, Steve-o brought me out to meet his friends and see the sights. He explained in detail that he is the king of Bend. How mistaken he is.
After parting ways with Steve-o at the end of the night, I immediately went to sleep. Actually I read some more of my nerd novel. Then I listened to the horses run around erratically. Hopefully they aren't giving birth soon, im not ready to be an uncle.
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 23
Tuesday morning dawned bright and cold. There was frost on my balcony. So much for Summer.
After breakfast, Steve-o picked me up, and we went shopping. Being men, the shopping went quick. I purchased food, furniture, a computer, and a truck. Pictures of these will be available.
Through the course of our wanderings, I made a few aquaintances my age, and found a temporary job landscaping for 15 an hour cash, until I get settled and find an actual job. The conquering of my new country proceeds nicely.
With my new vehicle, I now had the freedom to explore. I visited the BMC motorcycle shop to visit some old friends. Then I went to MOB (the motorcycles of bend) dealership to make new ones. I assure you, they are badass. They invited me on a ride around town, but unfortunately Steve-o had let the registration on his bike expire. Being the gentleman I am, I went to the DMV and renewed it for him. In my name.
After their ride, I met up with the BMC and MOB guys at Stars. I would post pictures of that, but I think i'd be arrested had I taken any. Its a titty bar. The biker boys (and girls) are very well known there. I was roundly harrassed. I'm the new guy. Note: Stars does not employ its A-squad on tuesday night. At least I hope not. Woof.
I won't bore you with the gritty details, but my evening ended eventually and I finally went to bed back at my estate. I had to. I had work in the morning.
In any case the ranch is a smallish 3 bedroom house, with an attached garage, and a larger garage and a barn on either side. Above the larger garage is a small 1 bedroom apartment. I have decided to nest there. Lower energy costs you see. The ranch is situated on 12 acres of high desert scrub, which I share with some deer, coyotes, and 5 very pregnant horses that I assume somebody owns.
After satiating my OCD by unpacking and settling in, Steve-o brought me out to meet his friends and see the sights. He explained in detail that he is the king of Bend. How mistaken he is.
After parting ways with Steve-o at the end of the night, I immediately went to sleep. Actually I read some more of my nerd novel. Then I listened to the horses run around erratically. Hopefully they aren't giving birth soon, im not ready to be an uncle.
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 23
Tuesday morning dawned bright and cold. There was frost on my balcony. So much for Summer.
After breakfast, Steve-o picked me up, and we went shopping. Being men, the shopping went quick. I purchased food, furniture, a computer, and a truck. Pictures of these will be available.
Through the course of our wanderings, I made a few aquaintances my age, and found a temporary job landscaping for 15 an hour cash, until I get settled and find an actual job. The conquering of my new country proceeds nicely.
With my new vehicle, I now had the freedom to explore. I visited the BMC motorcycle shop to visit some old friends. Then I went to MOB (the motorcycles of bend) dealership to make new ones. I assure you, they are badass. They invited me on a ride around town, but unfortunately Steve-o had let the registration on his bike expire. Being the gentleman I am, I went to the DMV and renewed it for him. In my name.
After their ride, I met up with the BMC and MOB guys at Stars. I would post pictures of that, but I think i'd be arrested had I taken any. Its a titty bar. The biker boys (and girls) are very well known there. I was roundly harrassed. I'm the new guy. Note: Stars does not employ its A-squad on tuesday night. At least I hope not. Woof.
I won't bore you with the gritty details, but my evening ended eventually and I finally went to bed back at my estate. I had to. I had work in the morning.
Day 1: The King Arrives
Monday, September 22. The day of my depature from Connecticut came too soon. And it came just in time. Big Momma herself had volunteered to drop me off for my morning flight out of Bradley, so we both had the distinct pleasure of waking around 4am.
Perhaps it was a last minute case of nerves. Perhaps it was the suspiciously scented milk I enjoyed with my breakfast miniwheats. Either way I was gassy on the ride to the airport. I was also having second thoughts about this entire endeavor.
Luckily Big momma dropped me off at the terminal with little ceremony, and my two duffel bags and I were ushered through security quickly and efficiently. Before my sleep starved brain knew it, I was in the plane and we were aloft. Once committed to action I immediately began feeling better. I very rarely second guess myself. It also helped that in an extremely crowded plane, I got an exit seat (more leg room) with no one beside me. I imagine that is what first class fliers feel like all the time, and I envy them.
The first leg of the trip from Bradley to Chicago went smoothly. I slept mostly, and read a nerd novel. In Chicago, I was further pleased to note that my departure gate was the very same gate that I had arrived through so while United was switching the planes over, I made peepee and ate a snack.
Plane flight number two was much the same. It is of notable mention that 93.7 percent of my fellow passengers were AARP card carrying senior citizens. With so many wheezing, loud talking, liver spotted, ear haired geriatrics I got little sleep on this flight. Evidently those ancients not drawn to Florida go to Portland Oregon to die. I was glad for my nerd novel.
From Portland Airport, it was a swift jump in a small plane to Redmond Airport. I was now in central Oregon. At the baggage claim yours truly's were the first bags on the belt. This pleased me.
As soon as I stepped outside to wait for my ride, I fell in love with Oregon all over again. Feeling the gentle sun, and the dusty piney fresh scent I have only ever experienced in the high desert, while being treated to a spectacular view of snow capped mountains whos jagged peaks were doing unmentionable things to a few fleecy puffy clouds undersides, all of my worries and stresses lifted.
I was home.
Perhaps it was a last minute case of nerves. Perhaps it was the suspiciously scented milk I enjoyed with my breakfast miniwheats. Either way I was gassy on the ride to the airport. I was also having second thoughts about this entire endeavor.
Luckily Big momma dropped me off at the terminal with little ceremony, and my two duffel bags and I were ushered through security quickly and efficiently. Before my sleep starved brain knew it, I was in the plane and we were aloft. Once committed to action I immediately began feeling better. I very rarely second guess myself. It also helped that in an extremely crowded plane, I got an exit seat (more leg room) with no one beside me. I imagine that is what first class fliers feel like all the time, and I envy them.
The first leg of the trip from Bradley to Chicago went smoothly. I slept mostly, and read a nerd novel. In Chicago, I was further pleased to note that my departure gate was the very same gate that I had arrived through so while United was switching the planes over, I made peepee and ate a snack.
Plane flight number two was much the same. It is of notable mention that 93.7 percent of my fellow passengers were AARP card carrying senior citizens. With so many wheezing, loud talking, liver spotted, ear haired geriatrics I got little sleep on this flight. Evidently those ancients not drawn to Florida go to Portland Oregon to die. I was glad for my nerd novel.
From Portland Airport, it was a swift jump in a small plane to Redmond Airport. I was now in central Oregon. At the baggage claim yours truly's were the first bags on the belt. This pleased me.
As soon as I stepped outside to wait for my ride, I fell in love with Oregon all over again. Feeling the gentle sun, and the dusty piney fresh scent I have only ever experienced in the high desert, while being treated to a spectacular view of snow capped mountains whos jagged peaks were doing unmentionable things to a few fleecy puffy clouds undersides, all of my worries and stresses lifted.
I was home.
The 5 W's
I'm Max Kramer.
A few days ago I decided I needed to go on an adventure. So I moved to Oregon. From Connecticut. I don't have a job here. I don't know many people. I'll be living alone. I can't speak the language. I promise I haven't actually thought this through. I couldn't be more excited.
I cordially invite you to come enjoy an intimate friendship gathering of friends online so you may vicariously share in my adventures.
Treats will be served.
I love you.
A few days ago I decided I needed to go on an adventure. So I moved to Oregon. From Connecticut. I don't have a job here. I don't know many people. I'll be living alone. I can't speak the language. I promise I haven't actually thought this through. I couldn't be more excited.
I cordially invite you to come enjoy an intimate friendship gathering of friends online so you may vicariously share in my adventures.
Treats will be served.
I love you.
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