Epic Banality

Washington becomes #22 on the visited states list as of today. K.L. and I flew in today and, aside from an experience much like one documented earlier when I was in Salt Lake City, there weren’t any major bumps getting here. This trip is not what I would call a regularly scheduled vacation. It’s actually a trip with a purpose. K.L.’s middle brother, whom she refers to as the “Seattle Brother,” lives here and her parents and oldest brother, referred to as the “Weird Brother,” are flying in tomorrow so I can meet everyone. The trip, so far as I know, was not planned with me in mind specifically but it works out that I get to meet everyone. Whether this is a good or bad thing, I do not know yet.

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Every time a car dies I try and diagnose it myself before it goes to a mechanic in hopes that I can fix it or convince myself the problem is minor up until I get the call from my mechanic saying, “Yeah, I hope you have good credit.” When my car failed to start the other day, I did the same thing. This time, however, it wasn’t some vain hope.

With the help of one of my mom’s friends we diagnosed some sensors as being the problem and, even better, they didn’t need to be replaced. They just needed some cleaning. So, good news there.

Today marked the last symbolic step in finalizing what I am calling my “trial separation” from religion. It’s been a long and complicated road the last few years, where I’ve struggled much more with the concept than I had as a child or teenager. However, this year finally did it for me. There wasn’t any particular event, but most people out there have a threshold for the amount of guilt and disappointment that they’re willing to tolerate. Furthermore, people who value things like reason and logic tend to have a similar threshold for the amount of arbitrary ceremony that they can stand. My thresholds have all be crossed I guess.

So what was my symbolic step? I went underwear shopping today and for the first time in about six years I’m wearing something other than white underwear; it’s red right now, for those of you who are curious. I purchased an array of colors: greens, blues, the red pair and some gray and black. No white though, not a one.

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Every Wednesday the gang—which generally includes Guinness, Voltron, Hotelie, Soldier and K.L.—and I head to our favorite pub, Fadó for some drinks, dinner and a furious round of pub quiz. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, people form teams at their respective tables and compete for a number of rounds of trivial. At the end of the night the team with the most points wins some kind of award. At Fadó first place gets a $50.00 gift certificate and there are prizes for second and third as well. We’ve been at this “traditionally” for about six or seven weeks. We’ve never managed to win and even when we’re in the race, the last round always proves fatal. In the last round the points are doubled and we always seem to fare poorly.

Tonight was different. Tonight, even though it required some morally flexible means, we emerged victorious. The night began with naming our team which is given a theme each time. The theme for tonight was a made up 80s dance move. We thought that “The Blumpkin” had a nice ring to it. Over the course of the match we answered the questions pretty well, but for that extra added push in the last round we effectively bribed one of the waitresses for the answers. (She was a hot waitress according to K.L., and I have to agree. Incidentally, so does Guinness.) Also, I stole one answer (the number of stars on the Australian flag) from K.L.’s Blackberry. So, we’ve got unclean hands now. We also have a $50.00 gift certificate.

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Today marks two months since K.L. and I managed to solidify the particular parameters of our association. The story is short and amusing.

I had been invited to a party that a buddy of mine was putting on and I basically asked K.L. to be my date. We were together for most of the party and I can’t count the number of times someone asked me, “So, is that your girlfriend?” This question posed a problem for me and revealed the most sensitive spot in a budding relationship. If I answered yes that would be presumptive but I didn’t want to say no in a manner that was like, “Definitely not!” So I did a lot of fudging and humming and ha-ing. K.L. recounted as recently as last night how amused she was that I was being “grilled” and she was being left alone concerning the matter.

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If I was to say that K.L. was weird, she’d be the first to insist that was not the case. She’d say, “I’m original, not weird. I can’t be weird because I’m normal.” Her mother agrees with her assessment, though I have some feeling if a vote were taken among those who know her, the consensus would favor my evaluation. She’s weird, plain and simple. Allow me to submit an example that took place last night.

K.L. came over to my place, as has become customary, and we simply laid down in bed together. It wasn’t long before she curled up and rested her head on my stomach so the back of her head was facing me. So far, so good. This is a typical position for two people who interact in a romantic capacity. Things became decidedly abnormal when she said, without looking back, “I like stomachs. They make so many interesting noises.” I don’t remember the exact order of events that followed but I can say that I said that she was a weirdo, she asked me if I could “feel it” in reference to the noises that were being made, commented on liking what stomachs “said” and when I got up a little later I suggested we change positions so I could listen. (Yes, I get that I’m weird too, but I make no arguments to the contrary.)

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Like many people out there, I used to know everything. I knew what was best for me in all circumstances, my parents were dated and simply couldn’t understand what I was going through and I was a beautiful and entirely unique individual that the rules applied to in a different manner. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all unique, just like everyone else, and as such you can’t statically apply the life experience of one person to another, but what you begin to understand as 30 looms is that experience certainly has its place and shouldn’t always be ignored.

More than just listening to words of the older an wiser, today I’m reflecting on how much my personal perspective on so many things around me has changed in the last ten years. This was brought about because earlier today I opened up contact with an old friend whom I had a falling out with a little over three years ago. The details of the falling out are unimportant, not only because no one needs to know them for the sake of the points I’m making but because, the truth is, they’re generally unimportant. They were important when I was turning 25 and had to be right and everyone who disagreed with me was wrong. They aren’t now.

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Mornings and I have had a strained relationship, at best, throughout my life. I think the only time I ever consistently got along with mornings was on Saturdays when I was young enough to look forward to cartoons. That was a good era. However, still being two hours ahead of my native time zone, mornings are brutal. This is compounded by the fact that I’ve always had trouble sleeping when out of town. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hotel or a friend’s place. It takes me forever. I had a Josh Turner song and Brad Paisley song on a continuous loop as I tried to sleep last night because both songs, as corny as a lot of people would think they were, remind me of K.L. I miss her.

Hotels, no matter where I go, always seem to serve a “continental breakfast” in the mornings. I’m not sure precisely what a continental breakfast is since the contents differ from place to place. I always forget to look it up too. Hopefully, next time I have an internet connection (I’m on the road right now) writing this will remind me to look it up.

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The morning came too early this morning. It’s not as if this is a new thing. About the only morning I can think of in recent history that didn’t come too early was Tuesday morning and that’s entire the fault of K.L. and her mood. Well, not her fault I suppose, since she makes it clear to me on a regular basis that nothing is her fault. The point is though, Tuesday morning coming pleasantly, despite nearly no sleep, was entirely her doing.

We’re in the central time zone. Aside from my brief stop in Houston on Tuesday and the actual flights across the country, I’ve never been two hours ahead before. I’ve done three and one and I’ve even been on Arizona time before. Two is new though. That being said, had we left at the same time from Charlotte, my body would be running as if it had awoken at 3:00am rather than about 4:00am.

While getting pizza last night with Tacita I noticed one of the service station, a place called Huck’s which proudly displayed a picture of some guy with a straw hat and missing teeth, had a sign for “homemade donuts.” We sort of agreed to check it out in the morning for donuts. Turns out that Huck’s don’t do donuts anymore. In retrospect this is probably a good thing. Since I radically changed my diet six or seven months ago, sugar affects me pretty badly but I still have issues saying no to copious amounts of baked sugary goods. So yeah, no donuts this morning.

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I arrived in Charlotte yesterday to help a friend of mine, Tacita, move back west to Salt Lake City. By help I mean we’re trading off the role of pilot and co-pilot/chief-napper over the approximately 2,100 miles of driving to get her, her car and her stuff back west. While a part of me has been dreading this trip—those who know me know I always have massive anxiety issues about traveling and being apart from K.L. isn’t exactly a picnic—the other part has been looking forward to this trip since it was planned. When I visited Charlotte, Philadelphia and Washington D.C. in April, it was the first time in my life I’d left the confines of the southwest. Having seen what the ends of America had to offer, I was curious about the middle. And, although Tacita probably wouldn’t publicly admit it, we tend to have a good time in our travels, even if I’ve been mocked to no end and she’s been forced to listen to me carry on about K.L.

I have to say, although I didn’t make any stops, I’m quite enchanted with both Tennessee and Kentucky. The rolling hills and the green all over is just beautiful and it’s a different kind of green than Northern California that, for whatever reason, makes me feel alien. I felt very at home driving around here and was actually interested in the idea of living here despite only seeing things from the highway. (I’ve been recently afflicted with wanderlust which is a completely new feeling for me. I’ve also enjoyed traveling despite my anxieties. I hope to do it a lot more over the next couple years.)

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