Answer: What is Fun?

Last week sometime, I was sitting at the dinner table, innocently gnawing on some corn on the cob, and my father and I are having some argument or another as usual. We tend to have differing opinions on a lot of things. He thinks I'm a smartass, but I just think we both sometimes like to argue for the sake of arguing. Dad plays devil's advocate, preys on the gullible, and enjoys getting people worked up and then just walking away from the argument while you're there still breathing heavily. (This makes him sound really terrible, but really, it's all in good fun, usually.) I'm not usually as gullible as other members of my family, but I'm also incredibly capable of hurting his feelings without realizing it. Hence, why he calls me a smartass.

So, this particular night, we were arguing about one of his favorites...my piano abilities. He thinks I'm the world's greatest or something, but he's my father. He's supposed to think that. And he refuses to accept that I've resigned piano into the hobby portion of my life. I don't want more lessons, and I certainly don't want to make myself into a performer.

Anyway, he finally says, "You know what I think, Nat? I've been thinking this for years but never said anything."
"What's that?" I ask.
"You know what your problem is? You don't know how to have fun."

He placed a certain emphasis on this word, "fun." It was the all too familiar tone of voice that said, "Dad is looking to get you riled up." I took the bait.

"What do you mean?"
"You don't know how to have fun with it. You always play that classical stuff. You don't ever loosen up and play a little rhythm and blues and sing."
"I don't usually choose what I play, but it doesn't matter. I enjoy most of the pieces," I protested.
"No, you don't. You don't let loose and you know, play!" He rolled his shoulders in motions along to some imaginary music.

I rolled my eyes. There was no way for me to explain to him the complexities of his accusation. It was something only a music person would understand. Not to mention, his argument made no sense. If he wanted me to have fun, why did he also insist that I should play piano for some sort of living?

However, he continued to move on to criticize my taste in books. Again, he focused on the fact that I didn't read anything for fun. I read everything because I "need" to, or am "expected" to, because they're classics. He might have had some sort of point there, but I wasn't about to admit it to him. So, I left the room saying, "I'm gonna go work on putting more fun in my life." He laughed and switched on the news. (And he thinks I don't know how to have fun.)

It's this running joke between us now. "Jane Austen," he reads on the spine of my book.
"Sorry it isn't fun enough for you," I say sarcastically.
And he laughs, and you can tell he's thinking, "My daughter is a smartass," but sometimes, he's kind enough not to say it out loud.

Advice from an Alumna

I've been looking at these pictures on Facebook of all my younger friends in their graduation gowns, lining up for opening convocation at my Alma mater. That was me, only a year ago. Yeah, that's right...the school tortures the poor seniors by making them wear those stupid black gowns 3 or 4 times throughout the year. Opening convocation is just the first time. You process in looking all grown up in your gown, and you listen to the president talk, not about you...but about the new freshmen. You sit there, thinking you're the center of attention because you get to wear your gown that still has folds in it from being wrapped in plastic, but no...you're just 1 of 300 poster children representing how successful these new freshmen might be someday.

Then, you go home, take off your gown, and think about how nice it is to be a senior and not a lowly freshman. NO! You're only thinking that because you got to go to the president's house and drink champagne (and you snuck into the bathroom for a swig of tequila). You obviously weren't listening to the toast that was already pushing you out the door into alumnihood.

What really happens is that black omen hangs in your closet for the next 9 months until you actually have to wear it. It's this constant, blaring reminder that you, indeed, must walk across the stage, receive your diploma, and enter the "real world." All year, it's cheerfully yelling at you from the back of the closet, "Hey! Look at me! Whatcha gonna do about me? Can't ignore me forever!" And every time you get dressed for class or for some party where you just want to have fun during your senior year, you're like, "SHUT UP!" And then, you start to think you're crazy because your talking to a black, polyester gown.

Everybody told me that when it came time to graduate, I'd be excited to do it. They told me I'd be ready to get away from school and everything. You can ask my friends; I was fretting about graduating when I was a freshman. "I don't want to graduate!" was my mantra for four whole years.

Guess what, "Everybody," I'm still saying it, and I graduated 3 1/2 months ago. 

It's not that I'm not grateful to have a break from studying, homework, and class. It's not that I'm disliking my mode of existence in my parents' basement. It's not that I feel like a failure for being unemployed and over-educated for every job I'm applying for. It's not that I'm not looking forward to having adventures in Alaska. It's hard to explain why exactly I still don't want to graduate. I guess this hermit kind of misses being social, or perhaps, school was just the closest thing I had to home for four years.

Regardless of the reason, I will stand by these two statements from now into the foreseeable future...

1. "Everybody" was wrong. Don't listen to him anymore.
2. The black gown is an idiot. (I'd throw it in a fire if I didn't want the smell of burning polyester ingrained into my nostrils for the next 10 years.)

I'm That Friend

Just imagine. You're sitting around the table at some reunion...5, 10, 20 years down the road. And you're remembering the fun days in college. Those all-nighters in the library, those parties when the cops drove by and you hid under a bed because you were underage. You know, the good times. Before you got old and can barely stay coherent drinking a glass of white wine anymore, much less anything with liquor in it.

And then, you remember that girl who had that mission. What was it again? Something to do with the bathrooms on campus. She had a flask. And she loved...what was it? Somebody chimes in, "tequila!" *Cringe* That's right. Shots in bathrooms, or something weird like that. You think she even had a map. Where is she now, anyway?

And the only semi-knowledgeable person in the room speaks up, "I talked to her about a year ago. I think she's in Alaska dog-mushing, or something like that." And then the conversation moves on to the drama that used to go on between some "him and her" and now they're getting married next spring.

Okay...perhaps that was a little melodramatic. Surely, my friends will remember me for more than taking shots in bathrooms. (Perhaps I'm slightly narcissistic as well.) But my point is! I have the tendencies to fall off the face of the planet, because I'm perfectly inclined to be a hermit. This may seem impossible to you. Really...how could a girl who had a "mission" like that possibly be a hermit? Well, that was a senior year. The first three years of college were training me to not be a hermit.

I was a funny kid growing up. I would turn down playing with my friends so that I could read my book instead. Then, college happened. Suddenly, I wasn't allowed to be introverted anymore. And by the end of sophomore year, I had developed quite a different definition for being "that friend," a definition that involved a variety of missions. Now, I'm slowly flipping back to the other side of the coin. Now, I just talk to myself.

"You know, your blog kind of sucks."
"No it doesn't."
"Have you looked at the stats of how many people read it?"
"Yeah. Well."
"Your friends are lying. They aren't really reading it."
"They're not lying."
"Suit yourself. Your blog still sucks"
"I laugh out loud at what I write. Why wouldn't someone else?"
"Have you ever paused to think about what you look like when you laugh at yourself?"
"Have you ever thought about what I look like when you talk back to me?"
"Oh, shut up."
"You shut up. I'm trying to read Wuthering Heights here."


I'm not going mad. I promise. And it's not like that devil and angel on each shoulder crap. I'm just saying. I'm very good at entertaining myself.

What is this thing they call "Discipline"?

I read these books all the time, and they're by these people who write and they know what they're talking about, and they say that the key to being a writer is discipline. They say that the only way to get anything done is to wake up every morning at the same time, go to your computer, and write, even if the stuff you write is crap. Now, for me, having a routine seems like the most anti-writer, anti-inspiration thing ever. But then again, I wasn't getting much writing done without a routine. When I sit around and wait for inspiration, it comes to me at the worst times. i.e. when I'm driving, when I was in class, in the middle of talking to a friend, while drenched in sweat at some house party in college. Then, you sit down at a computer two hours later, and you can't for the life you remember what your inspiration was about. Was it about lamps? Was it about a baseball game? Was it something that your friend said two months ago?

So, I'm trying to find this newfangled thing called discipline. It's worked so far...in the two days that I've done it. I get up at 8, eat breakfast, drink some tea. I fix my second cup of tea while my computer boots up. Then, I sit on the lower deck of my parents' house and attempt to write for 2-3 hours. (Really, I attempt to keep myself off Facebook.) I started a story. Yesterday, I had inspiration. Today, I didn't. But...at least I wrote something down. Then, towards the end of my writing time, I try to make myself write a blog entry before I go out job-hunting. Not sure how this routine will work when I do have a job, but we'll see. Who knew that those experts could be right?

SIDE NOTE: There's a really obnoxious bird in the tree about 5 yards away from my head. *SQUA-EEP, SQUA-EEP* That's my attempt at imitating the noise it's making at an incredibly high decibel and volume. It's times like these that I wish I could take after my grandfather. He liked birds, but he hated the squirrels that would eat the bird food and chase the birds away. So, he would sit on the back porch with his BB gun and shoot at the squirrels' butts to scare them. I'd like a BB gun right now. (Don't worry, environmentalists...I wouldn't actually shoot the bird.) Instead, I suppose I'll just blame the stupid SQUA-EEP bird on my lack of inspiration. Fair enough?

The Discombobulate

I hereby christen this town, "The Discombobulate". I know that's a verb, not a noun, but I'm throwing grammar out the window right now. *Gasp, shock, faint in horror* If you thought it was impossible for me to get lost in Lubbock where everything is laid out in a grid with boring street names like "Q," you should see me in this place.

I ventured out yesterday to get applications for jobs, and I went in so many circles, I had to pull over for coffee so as to stop my head from spinning. There's a river that goes through the middle of town. The roads follow and/or cross the river inadvertently with seemingly no pattern or sense thrown into the mix. One wrong turn, and somehow I ended up out in the country - I have no idea if I was North, South, East, or West of town. The difference from Lubbock is...The Discombobulate threw me into a confusion that I actually loved. This town thinks the same way I do...it just goes where the river takes it. And who can predict that?

I'm like a foreigner here though...I suppose I'm from Texas, so I might as well be. I went to get gas the second day I was here. I get out, I put in my card. I put the pump in; it's pumping away. Then this woman who works there walks by, looks at me weird and goes, "You can't pump your own gas here!"

I politely responded, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just moved here." She glanced down at my license plate. Unfortunately, I had driven my mom's car that day which has Oregon plates actually. Her face showed like 8 different signs of disbelief. So, I just sighed and waited while she told another attendant that I had pumped my own gas and to go make sure I didn't do anything wrong. It felt like I was in South Africa all over again. They can't pump their own gas either.

Anyway, I stereotypically live in my parents' basement. I'm a supposed product of the "Boomerang Generation" or whatever they're calling us these days. I have to find a job and make money to save for grad school - which I think sets me apart from some of those other Boomerang kids. My job is writing. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me any money right now. So, stifle the nomadic spirit. I guess I'll go find a job.

Manifest Destiny: Complete

A quick trip to the Honda dealer on Monday made Theo ready for the last push on our trip to Oregon. We skipped out on wine country, but perhaps it was just a sign that if we had, we would have gotten bucked off a horse or something.

After a brief stop in Redding, California with my godfather, we headed for the northern coast and the Redwood forest. Being in the forest is what I imagine being in the middle of New York City would be like if there weren't any people. All those tall buildings and nobody to fill them...it fills you with a sense of eeriness. It felt like the trees would come to life at any moment. And yet...it was also really peaceful. There's not much else I can say about the Redwoods other than, "Go see them for yourself."

Picture credit again...goes to Leslie

After a late lunch of some seafood on the coast, we headed northeast for Oregon. We were about 35 miles outside of our destination city (I haven't come up with a good nickname yet), and suddenly I realized...

Me: Leslie I'm going to live in Oregon!
Leslie: Yep. In about 35 miles, you live here.

Then, we started laughing hysterically. Sure, we'd been on this journey for almost a week. My car was full of crap, and we knew we had this alternative purpose other than road-tripping across the country. But it didn't really hit me until then...35 miles from my new "home."

After completing the last stop on the beer map, Leslie took a plane back to Dallas and drove herself back to Atlanta. We're now on opposite sides of the country from each other without any idea of when we'll see each other next or when exactly those microbrewery plans will be happening.

I don't know if a nomad can have a home, but this is where I've arrived for a while.

An Excuse for Day Drinking

After being movie stars, Andrew took us to the beach the next morning. If you remember, I was on the Georgia coast just 2 weeks prior to this event. Leslie had just journeyed to Dallas from Atlanta. So, both of us made it from coast to coast in like 2 weeks. Hence, why we called this trip "Manifest Destiny!"

We counquered the oceans!

There also happened to be an aquarium at beach. So, here's me being an eel...

After the beach, we got back in Theo, my little Honda Civic, and started to head for wine country. But womp, womp!! CAR ISSUES! The check engine light had been coming on since Moab, but we'd ignored it. And now, if we tried to go above 45, the engine would sound like it was trying to fly to the moon. So, we pulled over in Santa Clarita, just outside of the city for some lunch.

Since it was Sunday and everything was closed, plus we couldn't really drive 50 mph on the interstate for 350 miles, we grudgingly decided to forego wine country and stay there for the night. It was only 2 pm, so we nursed my car to a liquor store to find ourselves some beer before going to the hotel. As we're driving up, I turn to Leslie in a panic and say, "It's Sunday!! It's gonna be closed!"

Thank God for California! We almost hugged the man. We invested in some California beer (including, Lagunitas, of course) and made our way to the hotel where we drank, watched movies, ordered pizza, and passed out at 10:30.

I suppose it's not a real road trip unless you have car issues. At the time, I would have taken the flat tire over a transmission issue. But in retrospect I find that it was a good excuse for some day drinking and to get out of the car for a few hours.

We Have a Beer Map

"We have a beer map," has to be one of the most singularly awesome phrases to be able to say. And guess what! Leslie and I totally have a beer map! It's this map of the United States, and it lists the favorite/best beer of each state, voted on by people in that state. (Here's the link in case you're interested... Beer Map.) So, every place we stopped, we had to try the beer on the beer map. Of course we didn't limit ourselves to just this...it was just where we had to start. Thank goodness we didn't go to Idaho...there is only a huge "?" and I really don't know what that means!

Anyway, we were incredibly dedicated to the beer map...so dedicated in fact that come 10:20AM on Saturday morning in Las Vegas, Nevada...

-"Good morning, can I interest you in one of our beers?"
-"Why yes, yes you can."

What a relief to be out of Utah! We were not the only ones in the restaurant enjoying a breakfast beer, and our waitress found it quite amusing that yes, we indeed had a beer map. She high-fived us and everything. Also, we can now say that we had a beer in Vegas, even if we didn't stick around to play the slots.

We ended up in LA that night where we stayed with Leslie's friend Andrew. We made up for our two nights in Utah by going to a bar on Hollywood Blvd. Needless to say, we felt like movie stars...or perhaps just people in Hollywood. I told Leslie when we were driving in, "Hey, we're in the place where movies happen." Here's a picture of us being movie stars...

We're gonna be famous one day...

Andrew is a movie star, too.

I'm Never Going to Utah

Disclaimer: If you don't want to hear about the random thoughts and conversations of Leslie and Natalie...don't read this...but, they're entertaining I promise!

So, I found a partner in Leslie for my nomadic lifestyle for a week. Leslie and I left Albuquerque and headed for the Four Corners. My mom didn't understand why we wanted to go there. "There's nothing there!" But we both had a fascination with being in 4 places at once. So, why would we NOT go to the Four Corners? That's the real question.

So, we ventured through some back roads, spent 10 minutes in Arizona and ended up in Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico all at the SAME TIME! We took pictures to prove it. (All picture credit goes to Leslie and her camera...I suck at taking pictures.)

SEE! FOUR PLACES AT THE SAME TIME!!

About 3 weeks ago, I found this article about liquor laws in Utah, and it was so strange, I sent it to Leslie. After reading it, both Leslie and I swore that Utah was not worth our time. Little did we know that 2 weeks later, we'd find ourselves in Utah. And you know what? Utah is pretty dang awesome...other than the weird liquor laws. I'll get to that later. But seriously...Utah is beautiful, I recommend it.

Irony seemed to hit us at every turn. Here we were driving through Colorado/Utah for a few minutes when a song came on. The first line was, "A long and winding road..." Yet, this is what we saw:

Irony...gotta love it

Then, we're like 10 miles from Moab, Utah, and we see this billboard that says "Moab Brewery. Open Lunch and Dinner." And I turn to Leslie and say, "Should we go there for dinner?" And she goes, "Is that even a question?" So, we end up at a brewery in the middle of Utah. Here we were, worrying about the alcohol laws. Leslie and I can find beer anywhere.

So, we're sitting there, eating dinner, drinking beer, and talking about life. And suddenly, we turn to each other and we're like, "Dude, we should do this." Obviously, we mean that we should open a brewery. So, we proceeded to pull out our notebooks, and we plan our entire future brewery. We continued to plan for the rest of the week. And if nothing else came out of this road trip, this plan did. She may be in Atlanta, and I may be in Oregon/Alaska...but this IS happening in the next 5-10 years, so look for it. Thanks, Moab Brewery for the inspiration!!

After a brief night in a weird hotel in Green River, Utah, (seriously, 1 guy running the whole place...the kitchen, the desk, the grounds...odd place) we hit the Arches National Park. This was my whole reason for detouring to Utah in the first place. Guess what, it was worth it. See!

In case you were wondering...that's an Arch!

After lunch at, yes, Moab Brewery, we hit the road to St. George, Utah where we attempted to go out, have a good time, get a "Leslie and Natalie story" that could beat Big Bend at spring break (another story for another time). We failed, but it wasn't our fault! We ordered margaritas at dinner. They were green, literally green. And I can only conclude that they made a mistake and brought me a virgin one because I sure didn't taste any tequila. Such a disappointment. Then, we found a "sports bar" where we sat down at the "bar" to have a beer. We looked at the shelves...condiments. Lots and lots of condiments. On the island in the middle of the bar was a motorcycle, no bottles or taps. The other guy at the bar ordered a drink, and they had to make it for him in the kitchen. Utah makes them hide the liquor from you. Plus, we had to order fries that we weren't going to eat because food has to be on the ticket for them to serve you a beer.

Long story short...we ended up back in the hotel room drinking our 4% alcohol beers we bought at the grocery story and decided that Utah was NOT the place to party.

Adios, Tejas!

So, there are going to be a lot of posts all in a row here. Be ready. I haven't had much time to write these past couple of weeks because of the copious amounts of driving. After leaving Louisiana, I went on a Goodbye Texas Tour and saw a bunch of people I needed to see. It felt like I was leaving the country all over again, but no, I was just leaving Texas. Same difference.

From Louisiana to Houston, to San Antonio, to College Station. The Tour was worth the extra miles on my car. It may have been the last time I see a lot of these friends for a very long time.

Highlight: My friend Ashley took me to the Tower of the Americas in San Antonio where I got a good dose of Texas medicine. We watched this video about Texas, which really wasn't as informative as it was brainwashing. If you wonder why Texans are the way that we are, watch that video and then realize that the phrase, "There's no place in the world like Texas," has been drilled into our heads since we popped out of the womb. Then, maybe you'll understand. I don't think I'll miss Texas though...I'm just going to miss the people.

A week long stop in Sherman took me through a wild ride of unpacking, cleaning out, and RE-packing. Basically, the equation of my week goes like this...Metal storage unit + 112 degree Texas heat + fitting my life into a Honda Civic = RUTHLESSNESS. I threw out my favorite jacket that I've had since freshman year...it used to make me feel cool and retro. A mournful farewell was in order...I cried and hugged it 3 or 4 times before finally resolving that it should be in the Goodwill box. I also decided that no one should have that much attachment to a $20 jacket from Target. (Also...this seems to be the only decent picture I have of myself wearing it. See why I needed the help being cool?)

Goodbye, cool jacket...you treated me well!

After a week in Sherman with a bunch of exhausting moving tales that would bore you and only make myself frustrated again, I convinced my best friend Leslie to road trip it with me across the country. She agreed, and we took off across the state of Texas. First stop: Albuquerque to stay with my sister. You might realize that this was my...count it...first, second, THIRD trip across the state of Texas in my little Honda this summer. It might be a record, I don't know. But I don't really recommend it to anyone.

From Albuquerque, we embarked on a little thing we like to call "Manifest Destiny." Leslie and Natalie...Road Trip and Beer Queens took off on an adventure. Stay tuned for more.