I always thought it would be cool to be one of those traveling gypsy-type models, so when one of my photographer friends invited me to come shoot with him this summer up in Seattle, I decided to plan a whole modeling road trip around it. I posted a casting call on Model Mayhem, and before you know it I had six or seven shoots lined up, mostly in the Seattle area, but a few in the Bay Area and Reno as well. My plan is to leave Vegas around July 12th, then make my way up to the Bay Area, spend some time with my family there, and then continue up the coast to Portland and Seattle before heading back down toward Tahoe for a family reunion with my grandma and extended family on the 25th.
My sis agreed to come along with me, so we plan to make it a fun adventure, like we did on our Salton Sea foray last month. But in order for it to be REALLY fun, I decided I need to get my finances in order before I go: if I earn enough money to pay all my July bills up front, before I leave…then I won’t be under as much pressure to make money while I’m traveling, and can use my modeling earnings on the trip itself, for meals and hotels and whatnot…instead of living off Alpo and couch-surfing, like other traveling models.
Since I’m already super-anal about my finances, and have long figured out it costs me $70/day to live, I know exactly how much cash I need to earn before July 1st. If I earn enough, I can even go up there a few days earlier, and spend more time with my family — and if I really bust my hump, I can even make enough to cover August as well…which would be awesome, since I’m not sure yet if I’ll be going back to work Sturgis again this year. I certainly want to, but I have to confirm with the manager of the saloon where I worked last year…and he was kinda hard to read. My plan is to hit him up in early May, and see if he wants me back…in which case I’ll do like I did last year, and spend the first half of August spanking drunken bikers, and the second half running around naked at Burning Man
So anyhoo, in preparation for my summer adventures, I’ve been busting my ass, hustling for a buck left and right, socking it away. And as always, no job is too small…or too freaky!!!
Not all my gigs were freaky, though — I actually did a few normal, “nice-girl”-type jobs recently, just to keep my nice-girl skills from rusting. One night I worked a charity fundraiser wine-pouring event for this smoking hot French winemaker, who used to be a rugby star but retired to open a winery in the south of France. Must be nice!!! Anyway, he only showed up for photos at the beginning of the event, and then delegated the job to his assistant, this adorable little French hottie who took a shine to me. I offered to give him a ride back to his hotel after the event, because there were no taxis at the venue, and to thank me for my help he hooked me up with two cases of bad-ass hi-class French wine! SCORE! I normally drink Two Buck Chuck or worse, so this shit is a real treat.
Meanwhile, I was kinda nervous about pouring hi-class wine for all these cork-sniffers — this was a huge charity event they hold every year, and all the Botoxed society Frankenmatrons of Vegas come out to show off their new lips and tits and whatnot and talk fancy-talk about wine, while their husbands perv on all the model servers. But I needn’t have worried – everyone was so fucking wasted it was embarrassing. These dumb-ass poseur chippies would stumble up to my table with their wineglasses held out for a pour, and the French hottie would start blathering about the terroir and notes of oak and shit, and you could see these dumb-ass bitches had zero idea what he was talking about — nor did they care, they just wanted to get fucked up for free. It was amazing! I don’t know why I’m always so self-conscious at these events — despite the fact that I am a foul-mouthed plebian, I have more class and brains in one hair on my big toe than most of these idiots have in their entire collagen-plumped bodies.
Aaaanyhoo, aside from pouring wine to the wealthy, I also put in a few days at a tradeshow, which I always loathe, but this one wasn’t so bad because I was working with a pretty good girlfriend of mine who makes things fun. NOTE to prospective tradeshow clients: if you are looking to hire a booth model, consider hiring two! I find that two models are waaaay more effective than one, because they can tag-team these poor shlub conventioneers and hustle them into signing up for your iPad drawing or whatever-the-fuck hustle you have going to generate leads. MUCH more effective!
The best part about working tradeshows is the corporate gobbledygook they have you parrot, to reel in prospective leads: at this show, they told us to say that “we” (and by “we,” I mean the client, not “me”) are a cloud-based project management solutions platform. Now, you tell me….what the fuck is a “cloud-based project management solutions platform?!?!?!”
What’s really interesting is, you’d think that booth models who actually understand what they’re saying would be the most effective — but you’d be WRONG!!! It doesn’t matter one bit if the model understands the first thing about cloud-based project management solutions platforms (hereafter to referred to as “CBPMSPs”) — as long as she’s attractive, and personable, and calls the guy by his name (as seen on his nametag)…she can pretty much talk him into signing up for anything. I’ve seen this firsthand with the chick I was working with — she’s beautiful, flirty and aggressive, but has such a thick accent that I’m gonna say 95% of the guys she hustled in had no idea what was going on….they just did what she wanted, because she’s hot and was persistent. She could have been signing them up for chemical castration, for all they knew! But anyhow, I really like working with this chick because she’s one of the best I’ve ever personally witnessed, and she makes it fun and easy to rope in leads. Although I must admit, I’ve already forgotten what a CBPMSP is, and moreover…I don’t care!
Anyway, like I said I don’t really love tradeshow gigs, but they do pay well and can be kinda interesting, here and there. But I have a hard time getting those gigs, because when it comes time to apply, I have very few “decent” photos I can submit, like headshots! I have hundreds and hundreds of photos, but in most of them I’m naked or wearing a Viking helmet or something, so I can’t use them to get “straight” work. With that in mind, I set up a few photo shoots recently to get “square” shots…but gawd, it’s so boring!!!!! I shot with my one of my favorite photographer/friends Michael Maze the other night specifically for the purpose of getting a boring-ass headshot, but things devolved quickly until the next thing you know, I was wrassling on the floor in a Lucha Libre mask and my electric vagina :-/ I just can’t seem to get it together and be normal!!! Arrrrrgh!
The easiest solution to this quandary is just to not do any “normal” gigs — which of course I have no problem with, as I’ve certainly done my fair share of unorthodox gigs lately. The freakiest and most fun were these two fetish sites I shot for: first I did a shoot for DecorativeGirls.com, where you strip naked and pretend to be a piece of furniture, like a plant stand or a nightstand or something (?!?!?!). This was one of the WEIRDEST shoots I’ve done — two-minute videos, no talking or anything, just sitting there naked holding a plant. Bizarre!
But even more bizarre, and quite possibly the most amazing, freakiest, funnest gig I have EVER DONE, was for TaylorMadeClips.com the other week. Taylor shoots a lot of inflation fetish, where a girl gets fatter and fatter until she explodes or whatever — and one of her most popular sub-genres is the blueberry fetish, where a girl turns into a giant blueberry, a la Violet Beauregard in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (I guess a lot of guys popped their first woody during that scene, so it remains a hot-button for them for the rest of their lives). Well, I finally made a lifelong dream of mine come true last week when I was blown up into a giant blueberry!!!!!!!!!!
OMG, it was amazing — in the video, I play a Monsanto scientist, working on a genetically mutated blueberry big enough to feed the entire world. But when I go to add the special super-sizing agent to the blueberry DNA, it froths over and accidentally spills on my hand…causing me to turn blue, and swell up into a giant blueberry!!!!!! Oh, no!!!!! I get bigger and bigger, and more and more terrified…until finally I just give in and realize how good it feels to be a giant blueberry swollen with delicious blueberry juice — mmmmm! The feel of all that blueberry juice sloshing around against my taut skin feels so good that I end up just moaning and groaning and finally disappearing into the blueberry altogether….until finally, I grow so big that I EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG, if you’re into the blueberry fetish you will bust your fucking nut in no time watching this amazing masterpiece!!!!
While I was there, I also filmed another clip of dirty blueberry talk. I’ve been chewing magic Wonka gum, so I’m already swollen up and blue like a blueberry: “Would you like to join me? Here, chew this gum! Do you taste the roast beef and tomato soup? So yummy!! Now do you taste the baked potato?? Mmmmmmm!!!! Uh-oh, now it’s time for dessert — here comes the blueberry pie!!!! Do you taste it?? Doesn’t it taste good??? Oh no, look! You’re starting to turn blue and swell up too! Your fingers are turning blue, your arms are swelling up and turning blue….oh my, now even your dick and balls are turning blue and swelling up!! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!”
In summary, I can’t fucking believe I got paid to something this fucking fun!!! It was amazing!!!! The only downside was, I had blueberry juice in my ears and toenails for like a week afterward. But that was OK, since I also put in another night of mud-rasslin’ at Gilley’s….and that messed me up pretty bad, too.
You may recall that last time I mud-rassled, I accidentally ingested some of the chocolate pudding “mud,” and was afflicted with terrible diarrhea afterward. Well, this time I knew better, so made sure to keep my lips shut, and to shower off thoroughly afterward. This rassling experience was better all-around than my last time, which you might recall was slightly scarring since I only got a $40 bid to be my towel boy — well, this time, some poor drunk guy bid $60 on me, and paid up….but was so wasted that they had to escort him out of the bar before he had a chance to get in the ring with me. So they auctioned me off a second time, and this awesome British dude bid another $60 on me — and he was cool. He helped me defeat my first opponent, Kombat Kitty…but then I faced off against Betty Rage, and she beat my ass Oh well, you can’t win ‘em all!!
Then before you know it, it was April 20th again — a/k/a 420, the national pot-smokers’ holiday! Last year, I had just finished making my marijuana showgirl costume in time for this momentous occasion, but you may recall that I went out busking with my friend Jay Joint in his giant joint costume, and they made us leave Fremont Street because his costume was “inappropriate.” Well, this year I decided to go out alone, since a) I didn’t want to get kicked out again, and b) I wanted to go out earlier, and Jay Joint never goes out til after 10pm.
So this year I headed downtown to the Fremont Street Experience pedestrian mall around 7pm, and went to town. It was great!! I made about $200 in three hours, and could have stayed longer if I hadn’t been bummed the fuck out by the oppressive police-state vibe down there. See, Fremont Street is technically a public thoroughfare, but they blocked it off to vehicle traffic and put in this cheesy light show canopy thingy overhead, so now it’s run by a gang of buzzkilling thugs known as the Fremont Street Experience, LLC, which I guess all the casinos down there pay into. Because it’s still technically a public thoroughfare, they can’t ban buskers (street performers) outright — but they can and do make it next to impossible for us to work our shtick!!
I hadn’t been down there more than 5 minutes when a security guard came up to me: “You’re new here, aren’t you? Well, you can’t stand within 200 feet of a performance stage when there’s a performance going on.”
“Oh, OK! I’m sorry!” I moved down the street, 200 feet-ish away, but I couldn’t stand there, either: “You can’t stand within 20 feet of a crosswalk, it’s a hazard.”
“Oh, my bad, I’m sorry! Where can I stand?!”
“Over here, by these trash cans. But don’t get closer than 10 feet to any of the kiosks, or 20 feet from any casino entrance!!!” “YES, SIR!!!”
So I basically glued my feet to this one tiny little spot where he’d said it was OK to stand, and meanwhile there were about 50 other buskers working the same patch of ground, since it was basically one of the only free zones on the entire fuckin’ street. I mean, Captain America, Thor, the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Elvis, Michael Jackson and three sets of showgirls were all crammed into this little bitty shitty spot, and it was nuts!
Still, things were going pretty well for me until these two beat-up old stripper-looking showgirls showed up in raggedy-ass bedraggled costumes. They might not have looked like much — but every time someone posed for a photo with them, they would each raise one leg up in the air so that their ankle was behind their neck, basically flashing their sequined twats at the camera!!! Forget about it — my business was over! I tried to walk down Fremont Street to another spot, but it was so fucking tricky trying to figure out what was 200 feet from this and 20 feet from that, while still maintaining a distance of 10 feet from the other, that I kept fucking up and getting yelled at. Finally this one snaggle-toothed redneck kid security guard screamed at me to get out and go home, because I wasn’t listening to him!!!
I was like, “Hey man, I’m really making a sincere effort to abide by your regulations, but I find them baffling! I don’t have a tape measure on me!” At this he relented a bit, and showed me exactly where I could stand: “You see that sign in front of the ABC Store? You can stand anywhere on the far side of the “B” in “ABC.” Are you fuckin’ serious?!?!?!?!?
Look, I know what’s going on: these fucking casinos downtown are pissed off that tourists should spend a few bucks outside their gambling tables, god forbid. They’d rather see people piss their money away on craps, blackjack and plastic footballs full of sugary alcohol slush!!! It’s so fucked up I don’t even know where to begin…but that’s the way it’s gonna be, and mark my fucking words, they will not rest until they’ve regulated every fucking inch of space down there to the point where there’s no room to busk whatsoever. Fuckin’ Vegas, man!!! I wish that all the hundreds of Vegas street performers and buskers would all band together and stage a fuckin’ protest march down there — how awesome would that be?!?! Can you imagine — a throng of a thousand Elmos, Elvises and SpongeBobs???? They’d never be able to stop all of us!!!!
By that time, I was so disheartened that I gave up and started walking back to my car…but on the way, my headdress inadvertently got in the background of some big fat saggy-titted hag in a slutty pirate costume’s photo, and she snarled at me to get the fuck out: “GIT OFF’N MY LAND!” basically. JEEZ! The atmosphere down there is so toxic and miserable, I don’t know when I’ll have the balls to go back down there. I mean, it was good cash money, but….at what price?!?
One final wacky gig I did lately was act as concierge for this group of rowdy drunken Canadian guys who come out every year to play golf and cat around: I caddied for them last year, and they were so taken with me that this year they hired me to arrange everything. The first day, I set up a nude photo shoot with me and my fellow Goddess Collective members up at Red Rock Canyon — we drove the guys out there and posed for softcore lesbo photos for a couple hours, and a great time was had by all. Then the next day, we all met up at a local golf course and proceeded to booze our way around the course, taking all manner of salacious photos and engaging in all kinds of naughty shenanigans involving strategically-placed golf tees and lots of puns involving the word “balls.” The final day, we were all supposed to get a cabana at one of the big pool parties, but the weather had turned shitty so we ended up just getting wasted at their hotel Jacuzzi, then going to the nightclub and getting fucked up til all hours of the night.
Now, I haven’t set foot in a nightclub since the days when I was working at The Act…and guess what, it was just as abhorrent an experience as I recalled! This particular place, HAZE, was especially lame and unremarkable — they actually had the gall to hire that tired-ass moron from Jersey Shore, Pauly D, as DJ!!! Even worse, all the star-struck, fat-assed farm girls in the crowd were absolutely stoked, holding up their cell phones to capture footage of this momentous occasion. JEEEZ!!!!
Still, I’m not sure what happened but I ended up having a fantastic time — I was dressed really sloppily, in leggings and flip-flops (remember, we were boozing at the pool all day), but something happened and I went bat shit dancing, burning about 1,000,000 calories and having a really good time, despite the horrible DJ and lame-ass environment…so I guess it wasn’t all bad! The only downside was, after all that I felt like I’d been hit by a giant alcoholic Canuck bus — I mean, I was exhausted when those guys left! I don’t know how they did it.
Now that I think about it, I was probably tired not only because of the Canadian guys…but because of all the other crazy shit I’ve been up to lately! I mean, not only the shit I’ve already covered in this blog — that was all just work!! Don’t forget, I also had plenty of PLAY the past few weeks!!
The best party I went to lately was this amazing Burning-Man-themed bicycle pub crawl organized by one of my neighbors, called Blinking Man. Twice a year, about 300-400 wackos in costumes ride bikes covered in blinking lights all over downtown Vegas, stopping at four or five bars along the way for drinks and fun. This one group carts around a full DJ setup, and we basically have raves in all the parking lots we stop at along the way -
- it’s a RIOT! I went with some of my neighbors and friends, and even my roommate made an appearance, Rollerblading around half-naked in an Indian headdress and a G-string. NICE! All in all I was out til about 2am, pedaling furiously about the streets of downtown Vegas, dancing and drinking and getting merry like Christmas. NO FUCKING WONDER I’M TIRED — that was my day off!!!
Then another night, I went over to the annual Viva Las Vegas rockabilly festival at the Orleans Hotel. I used to go over there every year to scope out all the crazy hardcore rockabilly kids from L.A. and all over the world, but I hadn’t been for a couple years, since it kinda gets old after awhile. But this year, I went with my friend the Baroness, and it was pretty cool! We sneaked into one of the lounges and partied late into the night to the rabble-rousing strains of a fabulous rockin’ Western Swing band — good times! The only bummer was, I had to drive…so I couldn’t get royally wasted, like the Baroness, who ended up baby-talking to two cops like the shameless hussy that she is!!!
Now, after all that city dwelling, you know I had to
get out into the desert and have some fun in the fresh air and sunshine, too!! One night, some hippie pals and I kayaked out on the Colorado River and had a bonfire on one of the beaches to watch the Blood Moon eclipse. Remember that? When the moon turned all orange and weird that one night? It was fabulous!! We had a big ol’ fire, and listened to Rush on my friend’s boom box, smoking some reefer and partying like it was 1981. Good fucking times!!!
The only downside was, the eclipse didn’t even start until like 11pm, and it dragged on until like 2am….and we couldn’t leave until the whole eclipse was over, since there wasn’t enough ambient light out to kayak by until the moon came back!! But let me tell you, when the moon finally did come back out, it was fantastic: gliding down the silent river in the dark of night, with just the gentle splashing of the kayak paddles in the moonlit water. Magical!!! I didn’t end up getting to bed til like 5am, but…hey, YOLO, man!!!
Now finally, the most traumatic adventure I had lately was this overnight campout I did on the top of Mount Potosi, with my ol’ buddy Alex. You remember Alex — the guy I went on that bickering snowbound campout in Mammoth Lakes with? He and I don’t really get along too well, but for some reason I thought it would be fun to hike up to the top of Mt. Potosi with him — it’s been on my bucket list for eons, and he brought it up so I agreed to go, and camp out overnight at the top, overlooking the lights of Vegas.
Also, there’s the wreckage of this historical plane crash up there — back in the ’40s, the actress Carole Lombard died in a fiery crash on one of the mountain slopes, and to this day no one has ever recovered her wedding ring. She was married to the actor Clark Gable at the time, but she heard a rumor he was messing around with up-and-coming-starlet Lana Turner, so despite the advice of the air traffic controller, she insisted on flying back to L.A. that night to keep tabs on him — in the middle of a terrible storm!! The plane ended up crashing and everyone aboard died, and Clark Gable spent three days at the nearby Pioneer Saloon in Goodsprings, waiting for word from the search party…but it was of no use. The area where the plan crashed is super rugged, and they had a hard time getting up there to look for survivors, even if there were any. Anyhoo, like I said the wreckage is still up there, and Carole Lombard’s wedding ring is supposedly up there somewhere, too…just begging to be found by an intrepid Hussy!!!
So when my buddy Alex invited me to go, I was stoked…despite the fact that our Arizona hotsprings adventure ended badly. I packed up my tent and sleeping bag and stuff, and rigged up a backpack to carry it all, then headed out to pick up Alex at his parents’ house. The trouble started there: he wanted to bring a pair of bolt-cutters, so we could cut the lock on the gate at the bottom of the road and drive up to the top of the mountain. He kept telling me it was too hard to hike the whole way — like, it was straight vertical uphill, harder than the Grand Canyon!
However, I insisted that I would not be party to his cutting a lock, and that we would hike the whole way like real men. So already, he was peeved with me. He kept arguing with me that “no one has the right” to put up a lock, that “no one can own land,” etc. etc. etc. (He’s obsessed with that whole bullshit Cliven Bundy debacle up in Mesquite…you know, the redneck rancher who’s refusing to pay his grazing fees?)
Still, we didn’t bicker too much on the way up. He kept saying things to goad me, but I was pretty relaxed and let it all slide — he kept mocking my makeshift backpack, and questioning the legitimacy of my work as a model, etc. etc. etc. Some people are just like that, and if you want to hang with them, you have to deal with it. Anyway, we both made it to the top of the mountain a little after dark, and it was actually really cool — we set up camp, had a big bonfire, and sat there looking out over the lights of Vegas. That is an AMAZINGLY beautiful spot to camp — what a view!
Alex had forgotten to bring much food, but he refused my offer to share my falafel, so he sat there while I ate, and he drank his only beer and I drank some wine. He kept bitching at me for not bringing mushrooms — he’d asked me to via text message the day before, and secretly I had brought some, but decided it was a bad idea to eat them up there with him, so kept mum. As it was, we ended up having a pretty nice, peaceful night with little arguing and some pretty good conversation. I smoked him out, although he did make fun of me for being cheap with my weed, and not changing the bowl out after every hit — that’s the kind of person he is. I drove us out there, I offered to share my food, I shared my weed — and all he does is bitch me out for being miserly and not bringing mushrooms. You just can’t win with some people.
Anyway, he fell asleep by the fire, so I shoveled dirt on it and went to bed myself. It was really windy up there, so I didn’t get much sleep, with my tent flapping around and stuff — but I was super stoked to get up the next morning and hike down to that plane crash site! So in the morning, Alex made coffee and eggs (I’ll give him credit for that, he shared his breakfast with me but still refused to share my Clif bars with me, even though I had an extra one for him — he’s so weird like that) and then we packed up camp and headed back down the mountain.
The plane crash site is off the side of the mountain near the top, down a really rugged slope on a totally unmarked trail. Alex’s idea was to hike down to the crash site, then continue hiking overland to the bottom of the mountain and back out to the road that way. Well, I was uncomfortable hiking on that steep slope with all that gear strapped to my back — I felt top-heavy, and preferred to leave my gear up at the top, hiking down a different way to the crash site, then back up to get my gear and back down the way we’d come up yesterday. Sure it was a longer route, but it seemed easier to me.
Well, Alex just wouldn’t let up about how stupid it was, and how I “never” take his advice and how his way was so much easier. Despite his anger, he begrudgingly hiked back down the way I wanted to go, and we both left our packs at the top of the mountain, just off the trail, and started picking our way to the crash site. The whole time, Alex is reminding me how stupid my idea is, and how this way is just as hard as his way, and I should have listened to him. Jeez!!! After about an hour, we lost sight of each other — the terrain out there is SUPER rugged, as mentioned, and it’s easy to get lost.
I picked my way along for about another hour or so, but I wasn’t really dressed for it (I had on shorts) and it was REALLY windy, and I couldn’t find the plane wreckage anywhere…so I finally gave up and hiked back up the mountain to where we’d left our packs, thinking I’d wait for him there. I sat around for a bit, but saw/heard no trace of him…which kinda got me worried. I called his name a few times, no answer. So I decided to hike back up to the spot where he’d originally wanted to hike down to the crash site — it was a better overlook of the crash site, so maybe I’d see him there. I left a note on his pack saying I’d be right back, then hiked back up to the first spot — no sign of Alex!
So I hiked back down to where we’d left our packs, thinking he’d probably be there waiting for me — still nothing! Only now, my sleeping bag was missing!!! Our backpacks were there, but my sleeping bag was gone. I figured he’d hidden it somewhere nearby, and was sitting there watching me — so I looked around, but no sign of Alex or my bag. My next thought was that the wind had blown it down the mountainside — but I looked around pretty thoroughly, and saw no trace of it. I mean, a bright blue bag would stand out pretty well on a scrubby hillside, no? But I couldn’t see it anywhere!!!
So now, I started to get a little weirded out. I figured a person didn’t take it, since a) there were no people up there, and b) there was much more valuable equipment in Alex’s pack. So did an animal drag it off?? I had no idea, and it was so windy and weird up there, with the ghost of Carole Lombard keening in the pines, that I kinda got a little creeped out. I sat there for another hour waiting for a sign from Alex, until about 3pm, but it was fucking cold and windy and shitty, so finally I gave up and decided to wait for him in my truck at the bottom of the mountain. I left another note on his pack saying I’d wait for him in the truck til 7pm, then hiked all the way back down to the bottom, about 3 miles.
When I got to my truck it was about 5pm, and I called my mom to see what she thought I should do. There were only about two hours of daylight left, and part of me was afraid something had happened to Alex up there, and I should try to find him before dark. But ANOTHER part of me knew that he is totally ornery and independent, and for all I know had hiked down all the way to the bottom, leaving his pack up at the top to pick up the next day, on his dirt bike. For all I knew, he was already at the Saloon, waiting for me. I wasn’t sure what to do!
Alex had left his cell phone in my truck, so I took the liberty of calling his dad and asking him what he thought. His dad didn’t seem too worried — apparently Alex disappears all the time like this. He said I should wait til 7, and then call him if I still hadn’t found him. But then somehow his mom found out, and she called me, all worried, saying that she was sending his dad out there right now to look for him. I mean, the terrain up there was so rugged that there was nothing either one of us could really have done, anyway…but it seemed like we had to do something! At this point, I hadn’t seen Alex in five hours…kind of weird for someone you are supposedly hiking with!
Anyway, I drove around the base of the mountains looking for signs of Alex, but most of the roads were either gated off or two gnarly for my little 2wd truck to handle. I went into town and checked the saloon, but no one had seen him there, either. Finally, I headed back to the place where I’d parked the truck overnight, down by where he’d wanted to cut the lock — and there he was, waiting for me! Apparently he’d hiked to the crash site and hung around for a couple hours waiting for me, and when I didn’t show up, he figured I’d just hiked out and followed me back. D’OH!!!!!!
Now I felt like a total ass for having called his parents — and when he found out I’d called them, he flipped out! “DON’T YOU KNOW I’VE HIKED ALL OVER THE WESTERN U.S., CANADA AND MEXICO?! I CAN SURVIVE ANYTHING OUT IN THESE WOODS!” He made me feel like a total puss for having worried, so I bawled him out in the car and told him I never wanted to see him again. I drove him back to his parents’ house, dropped him off, and that was it. Two days later he moved to Colorado for the summer, to work at some high-class golf resort out there…and I haven’t seen him since.
Honestly, it’s for the best. There are some people who just don’t get along, and he and I are two of them!! But now I’m really wondering…..was I a total idiot to have worried so much about him up there on that mountain? In retrospect, it seems I should have just sat in my car and waited til he showed up, and not worried so much.
Dangit!!! I need to be less of a worrier…….and more of a WARRIOR!!!
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