you should always have a back up plan

unless this is the first time you're reading this, you already know that i make decisions that have not been thought out. i live my life based completely on the assumption that everything will be ok, and about 99% of the time, i'm right. worrying is the least productive way to spend your time. most problems aren't that hard to solve if you have  a little common sense & put some backbone in it. but that 1% of the time things go wrong, it's a mess of epic proportions. here's my problem: the more i travel, the worse i get at it. "cavalier" is the first word that comes to mind. i used to have back ups for my back ups, but now i seem to scramble onto a plane, lucky to have my passport in one hand & a bunch of semi-useless crap in the other. when i left the US for brazil & colombia, i made sure i had an extra camera. i always lose my camera faster than paris hilton can lose her self respect, then i was convinced i forgot my little speaker for my iPod that i can't live without, so i bought one at the airport. turns out i never forgot the 1st one, so i now have 2 little speakers & 2 cameras. but no money. and no way to get money.

i'm sitting in the rio de janeiro airport, & its total chaos. angry mobs of people are literally chasing airline employees around. there's no flight info on any of the monitors. i don't speak portuguese. i definitely don't understand portuguese. its getting crazier. my flight seems to be late, but the gate agent tells me to keep waiting there. Things are getting uglier by the minute, and police have arrived to control the angry people. i'm sitting there, listening to announcements i can't understand. i can't find gate agents anymore. they're all in hiding. the monitors are still blank. its about 2 hours after my plane to salvador, brazil should've left. no planes have landed. no planes have taken off. i check my email; 2 of them are disturbing. 1 is from expedia (who i bought my plane ticket to salvador with) saying that "changes have been made to my flight that could impact my travel plans severely" & that i need to get airline help right away. the 2nd email says i have $11 in my bank account. Which can't be possible. so first things first. i deal with my plane. i find someone, which is only slightly easier than flapping my arms to get to salvador. they tell me i missed my plane. my portuguese is not good enough to say "listen asshole, i've been here for 4 hours, no planes have come or gone, & i have an email from expedia saying you changed things, so explain to me how i missed it." instead, i let them hand me a new ticket & i get to salvador 6 hours late.

i decided to go to salvador because i heard amazing things about it. that its culturally very rich, & a brazilian must-see. so when i get settled in my room & ask the front desk where to go for dinner, i'm surprised when they encourage me to stay in the hotel. i say no, i wanna go out. they inspect me to make sure i'm not wearing any jewelry, they get a taxi for me & decide to let me go out on my own, under 1 condition. when i'm done eating, the restaurant has to get the return taxi for me, i am not allowed to get a taxi on my own. fine. the food was terrible. i get back to my room & have a look at my bank account. yep. my account is empty and i'm not the one who emptied it. looks like my ATM card got cloned in a town called Paraty and now some one is having quite a good time. its definitely not me. i cancel my bank card. i now have very little cash & no way to get more. i have to 2 more days in salvador, the whole place smells like pee, & I'm pretty sure someone would stab me for a stick of gum.  my bank is completely useless & not helping me at all. so i call american express (collect, because they're amazing) I'm clearly upset, they patch a call through to my brother for comfort. The first thing he says to me is "I thought you were in jail." very comforting.

in my bag, i have discovered turkey jerky, too many pairs of socks for someone who doesn't wear shoes, & 2 liters of hair conditioner. Do I have extra back up cash? Nope. Extra bank card? Nope. So now find yourself in a town, by yourself, where you don't speak the language, you are literally stalked like a wounded gazelle in the Serengeti, the whole city smells like pee, you have no money, you have no way to get money. I called Amex, collect, about 137 times. I cried every one of those times. They gave me a ONE TIME USE ONLY PIN to get cash. I opted to do this in Colombia, in 2 days, because I figured I'd get robbed where I was. I had to go thru all of my pockets to scrounge together enough money for my taxi to the airport, because if I opt to get on a bus here I will surely never be seen again. I get to bogota. I go straight to the ATM. Stick in my card, but discover the ATM has a low limit. This is my 1 shot at cash & $150 isn't gonna cover it. So I cancel the transaction & hit the next atm with a higher limit. But I'd squandered my single use PIN. Now I can't get cash. I've got nearly the entire bogota airport helping me. I'm back to calling Amex who is happy to western union me money, but its Saturday evening & they can't find a location that's open for me to pick it up. They tell me to wait on hold while they figure something out. I get disconnected. It takes another army of people to try to get another collect call out. But something has happened to the whole operator system. It is officially impossible to make an operator assisted phone call in the entire country.  I do not have even enough money to take the taxi to a hotel. Colombian people are the best people in the world. The airport employee calls a hotel, has them send a taxi, and run me a tab. I have other credit cards, like the more widely accepted visa & MasterCard options, but I left them behind in the US. Another colossal mistake, as not many 3rd world countries take Amex. The hotel pays the taxi in cash, and basically takes my word that I'll pay when I have money. I just have to get thru one more day of no cash. Once I make it thru Sunday, I am home free. I've decided to be ok with this. I have a great day walking around taking pictures. I manage to find a place to eat that takes my Amex. Monday morning at 9am, I'm in front of western union. They're closed. Well, it is Colombia, I'll give it to 9:30. Still closed. Ok. Fine. 10. Still closed. I ask the shop next door what's up. They inform me that, yes, they're closed. Back to the hotel. I ask why. It's a holiday! Commence crying. Again. The poor guy at the hotel has watched me cry a lot at this point. He takes it upon himself to find a western union thats open on a holiday. He calls the same taxi driver who picks me up, drives me to the other side of bogota, where I get cash after 5 days, 3 airports, & 2 countries with no money. I have about 4 hours left before I get on a plane to Cartagena. I go to this touristy church on top of a mountain that has a beautiful view. I want my picture taken, so I'm looking around for someone who looks like they won't steal my camera when I hand it to them. I find him. "hey, can you please take my picture?". Sure. Then he tells 2 other men, each  in uniform & carrying multiple guns, to get in the photo with me.

Cool. Thanks. Turns out that he's the police captain for bogota & those guys are his security team. One is police, the other is a special forces soldier. I spend the rest of my time with them, he gives me his information & tells me to call him if I have any problems while in Colombia. Things feel back on track. This is what usually happens to me when I travel. Not imagining myself on an episode of "locked up abroad". I am flush with cash, I love Colombia & colombians, I'm headed to Cartagena, life is good.

 After several days in Cartagena, I've been drinking, eating, shopping, seeing old battle forts, & floating around in giant mud baths.  I decide I'm going to get on a sailboat to panama. I change my plane ticket, I make all the arrangements. Now I need more cash. I call Amex. They explain that they gave me a PIN, & they just gave me cash less than a week ago. They're worried about fraud & no I can't have more cash unless I can prove why I need it. Its not like I'm going on a carnival cruise ship. I can't prove what the money is for. I just need it! Shit. I call my brother. Hey, I'm in Colombia, I need money to get to panama where I catch my plane back to the US. His response, "I don't have any money." You apparently didn't hear me. I'm in Colombia and I need money. I get him to concede that he has money. Now keep in mind I'm arranging things from a 3rd world country, so the way I am talking to my brother, who will not get with the 21st century & download skype, is that I'm using prepaid skype credit to call his cell phone. So while we are talking, I run out out of credit. Damnit. I'm trying to buy more credit to call him back. The power goes out for an entire 4 block radius. So that means no more Internet. Shit. When the power comes back on an hour later, I try to buy more credit, so I can call my brother so I can have money. Turns out buying skype credit is a transaction that requires a lot of information traveling thru space. As a matter of fact, too much information, for the server I am using, to handle. So I skype  call my friend (who has joined the 21st century) and she calls my brother like a translator. Done. My money is at western union, it's Friday afternoon. All I have to do is take my passport to them, & boom, I have money again. Hmmmm. Where's my passport?  I can't find the thing anywhere. Stay calm. Oh god, now I remember, I gave it to the boat captain because he handles all the immigration stuff when you leave the country on his boat. I call him. My passport is busy at the immigration office. I'll never get it today. Luckily western union is open on Saturdays in Cartagena. So after another round of drama, I get my money, & I get on a 39 foot sailboat with 8 other people, & we sail to panama. I don't get sea sick, but turns out when you don't drink enough water & are exposed to the sun for every minute it is in the sky, somewhere around day 3 you begin to vomit. A lot. You are already dehydrated, so the fact that you cannot keep down even a sip of water becomes somewhat distressing. The sun goes down, and you miraculously recover. Sailing with 8 other people, you've never met before, for a week on a 39 foot boat has potential for disaster, and probably isn't for everyone. Especially if you're really attached to the idea of personal space. Because thats a little over 4 feet of space per person. But I had a fabulous time, except for the puking part. Now,  I also travel with an extra bank card & spare, for emergency use only, cash. I definitely felt like parts of the trip were trying to kill me. Once, the thought even crossed my mind to give up, and get on a plane to the US. But then I realized that, for me, giving up is harder than finding a way to get thru it.

3,000 miles: the hard way

i'm going to change the name of my partner in crime for this event because he has a life now. but if you know me, you know who it is.

charleston, south carolina 9:30pm - december, a long time ago. i'm at home, doing nothing. i'd been deathly ill & was on antibiotics. when my door comes flying open & my friend, max, pretty much falls thru it. he's wearing a suit, & he's so drunk i can barely understand him... something about a swedish meatball landed on his shoe at the party, so he took his shoe off & ate the meatball off of his shoe. max is an attorney. he was at a party with other attorneys trying to schmooze with them to get a job since he'd only recently moved to charleston & hadn't even taken the bar exam for that state yet. max & i are both from west virginia & had been friends for years. he'd had sex with all of my friends. and their sisters. and their sisters' friends. charisma is his middle name. i might be the only female that did not have sex with him. so max is drunk. too drunk to go drinking, so he wants me to take him drinking. ok, fine. i have on a t-shirt & jeans. i grab my flip flops, $3 & my ID so i can get into a bar. i'm not drinking. i have to finish my antibiotics. we walk outside & i say "we're taking your car" (his car was nicer than mine). he says "well, we have to find it" max tried to drive to my house, but somewhere along the route he was literally too drunk to drive it, so he abandoned it. not like "oh i better not drive because i'm drunk" but like "holy shit, this is just too hard" too drunk to drive. so we roam around & find it. he wants to go to his house & change out of his suit. fine. as we're driving away from his house, i'm asking him where he wants to go. now i think everyone knows how annoying drunk people are when you're sober. he was about 732 times more annoying than that. he's complaining that he's been to every bar in charleston (true) & that he wanted to go someplace he'd never been before. then he says "i want to go to mexico". people, mexico is over 1500 miles (2300 kms) from charleston, sc. its midnight, i have $3. he's wasted, but i'm sure he has a credit card. and he's pissing me off. so i turn the car around & i get on the freeway.

1st stop is within an hour. fill up the tank & get max more beer. if he sobers up, i'll never get him to mexico. thank god for his exxon gas card. by 5 am we're in atlanta georgia. he's still drinking but says his head hurts, so he ties a bungee cord around his head. by 8 am we're in alabama. at this point i explain we need to buy a map, this is as far as i can get us without one. we go into the truck stop. stock up on cheez-its & beer. we buy a toothbrush to share. we explain to beth, the cashier, that we're going to mexico. she tells us we'll never make it. i take a pen, i mark where we are on the map & notate that beth says we won't make it. i have her sign it. i also note our purchases. this becomes standard at every stop. i call my dentist, from a payphone (this is before cell phones were the norm), to cancel my appointment. a futile step toward responsibility. at some point we called my roommate because i needed him to find my car & get bring it home. he got mad & said i was going to have sex with max. this roommate was, at best, unstable & had a strange crush on me, so he was not happy with our plan. by noon (12 hours after leaving charleston) we are in new orleans, louisiana. we are half way to mexico. we have the clothes on our backs, 1 toothbrush, $20 cash between us (including my $3), and max's exxon card & visa card, that would not get us nearly as far as his credit cards today would. we get a room at a bed & breakfast in the french quarter on his credit card. we start walking around. we find a transvestite bar where we are greeted by a proper tranny who was missing a front tooth. but, alas they aren't open yet. i find another pay phone and call the restaurant i work at & explain i won't be at my shift, which starts in 15 minutes because i'm in new orleans. somebody yells "3 for 1 happy hour!!" i say let's go. max is convinced we'll ask for 1 drink, they'll give us 3, & charge us $12 (drinks were about $4 then). we order a kamikaze, they hand us 3 & charge us $4. oh shit. this is gonna get ugly fast. its a karaoke bar. i find myself sitting on a bar stool in the middle of the stage, wearing a sombrero while max sings me the song "aimee, what you wanna do?" by the pure prairie league. then he announces to the crowd that i'm amazing because we are going to mexico & i don't even have clean underwear. applause. i do believe max is still in possession of this video. 3 for 1 happy hour didn't go so well for me, and i ended up out on bourbon street throwing up (out of my nose). our waitress went in, grabbed max & said "hey! your girlfriend is outside throwing up!" he said "she's not my girlfriend." and continued dancing with the girls he found. at some point he picked me up off of the curb & took me for food. my memory of the story here is a little fuzzy, & i don't fully trust max's recollection either, but this is what he said happened. i walked into a pretty nice establishment (linen table cloths, proper stemware, 2 forks - and i'm in the same clothes for 36 hours, 700 miles, & puking on a curb), sat down at a table, used my arm to sweep everything off of the table, folded my arms onto the space i cleared, put my head down, & went to sleep. max sat down, ordered dinner, and ate it. the waiter says he should get me food. i'm gonna need it. so max gets me bread & soup. he picks me up when he's done & drags me back to the room. i find a cat & bring it back to the room with us. i am now chasing a cat around the room & eating soup with my hands. i crash into the massive 3 tiered dresser & break it. we pass out. in the morning max decides we have to fix the dresser because he can't get charged for it on his card. i take my $3 & go find glue. not an easy task in the french quarter. it's gorgeous, but it all looks the same. old buildings with wrought iron everywhere. so my raging hangover & i roam around where the houses, hotels, restaurants, and 7-11's all look identical until i find glue. we squirt elmers glue all over this thing, i play twister with the thing to hold it together while max showers. we trade, i shower. i come out of the shower, we look at each other & nod, he lets go, the whole thing, surprisingly, falls apart. he says, "we need tape" i use the rest of my $3 to buy tape. we wrap the whole dresser in scotch tape & lean it against the wall. its 9 am. we leave for mexico in quite a hurry & the car bottoms out leaving the parking structure. now the car starts making hideous noises, but we decide that's not going to interfere with our mission. i save a piece of the dresser. we see a Gap. they're having a sale. max buys us each 1 pair of new underwear. i think mine were $1.50.

we go to exxon to stock up on supplies. beer and more cheez-its. i will own up to the fact that we drove the rest of the way completely drunk. yes, i now know that's a horrible idea, but colorful decisions are rarely made without alcohol. so anyway, we're drunk by noon. somewhere in texas, max is calling the law firm that he potentially could have a job with. god. if they only knew. if they could only see him now. we get into nuevo laredo, mexico at 2 am, about 50 hours after leaving charleston. at the time, we didn't know you shouldn't vacation in border towns. we partied till about 4 am with some locals. the ladies really loved max, despite the fact that his idea of dancing had become literally flopping around on the floor like he was having a seizure. i had a large mexican man in a white cowboy hat trying to take me to KFC. we go look for a room. our 1st prospect was amazing. we walked thru this warzone/hallway of broken plaster, into a pepto bismol pink room where the walls were covered in mold, there was a stained mattress on the floor, a naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, & a broken shard of mirror propped up on the wall. it had "dead hooker" or "involuntary organ donor" written all over it. we eventually find a place that smells like bleach, so we take it.

the next day we relocate to another hotel, right on the main drag through town. a parade goes down the street. we have climbed out of our window & are on the roof, beers in hand, screaming & cheering for the parade. the whole parade is looking up at us. how the hell did we become the show? later that day, we are walking down the street at about 2pm. broad daylight. i get grabbed from behind & am being dragged down this dimly lit path between 2 tall buildings. i can't see who has me. they're behind me. it feels like everything is in slow motion. i see max react & start running toward me. he reaches out & grabs 2 handfuls of my t-shirt & starts pulling. they're playing tug-o-war with me. max wins & we run back to the street into daylight. no one even noticed, or maybe they didn't care or maybe it happens all the time. i was in shock. did i really almost just get kidnapped? maybe at that point we should've thought it was a good time to go, but we stayed another day. max does his xmas shopping here. i think his parents still have the santa clause pinata. we are down to our last $4, so max decides to have a contest. we each get $2, we go in opposite directions, & come back with the coolest thing we can find for $2. i come back with this beautiful, humongous glass vase. i still have it & i still love it. max comes back with this leather, detailed holster that goes on your belt, hangs down your leg, & ties around your leg... it's for holding a beer. so clearly he won.

we get in the car & start the drive back. max says to me "you can't tell your dad about this trip because he'll think i had sex with you." we drive to the border. mind you, this is day 5 of same clothes, sharing a toothbrush, & enough drinking to make charlie sheen look like he has good judgement. max is wearing some stupid leather hat he bought in mexico. we've been sleeping in out contacts for days so our eyes are off the chart of red. i'd been combing my hair with either my hands or a fork. we are in serious disrepair. we get to the border. we have west virginia plates on the car. both of us have south carolina identification. they don't like that. they don't like that we drove for 2 straight days to spend 2.5 days someplace. we look like hell. we probably smell like hell. they ask me what i do. i say "student". ok. they ask max what he does. "attorney". next statement from border patrol "pull your car over in that stall!!!" we have to get out of the car & they went through EVERYTHING. they took the tapes out of the cases. they unwrapped everything we bought. they put 2 drug sniffing dogs in the car. they separated us for in depth interviews that lasted over an hour. i think they were disappointed when they didn't find any drugs. they were sure we had them.

onward. following the same route on the map. i'd documented every stop, every detail, on that map, so when we get to alabama, i know exactly where the truck stop that beth works. i go in & ask if she's working. she's not. so i leave her a note. all it says is "we made it" & i folded the note up around some pesos. i wish i could've seen her face. we power through & get back to charleston in 1 piece. within a few days, we're back on the road, up to WV to spent xmas with our families. of course max tells my dad about our trip, but i didn't care. my dad knew i was smarter than to have sex with max.

max got the job with the attorney he called when we were drunk in texas. turned out to be a damn good job too.

i took the map & glued it onto cardboard, then glued the piece of the dresser, pesos, the toothbrush, & any little piece i kept of that trip, onto the map. max kept it for years, but it didn't last forever.

F%@#KKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

this site had problems & deleted my last post, which was maybe my favorite. stay tuned. i'll re-do it & get it up.

my ode to homelessness

the other side of "traveling at the speed of life"

being homeless by choice is fabulous. hands down, one of the best decisions i've ever made (that's either not saying much or saying a whole lot). i imagine that being homeless, not by choice, sucks. that's why i always give money to the ones asking for it. always. all of my friends have "made it", so to speak. they have spare bedrooms with really comfy beds. most of the time i even have my own bathroom. they all have nicer places than i've ever called my own. so i really enjoy staying with them & am very thankful that they invite me to (even if i question their sanity by doing so). they have cable TV with lots of channels. they have couches that practically have to be set on fire to get me off of them. my car is amazing. her name is Mary-cedes, and she's old enough to buy her own beer. none of her gauges work. nor does the odometer. so that means i never know how much gas i have, nor do i know how far i've traveled to even take a guess. i don't know what the  oil pressure is, but i know she burns almost as much oil as gas, so i tend to just put both of them in when i remember. i have no idea if she's ever overheated, but we've made it through the last 5 months. once, i ran out of fuel on a 5 lane freeway in southern california, known as the 405. if there truly is a hell, it's the 405. if you've been on it, you know. if you haven't, you can't imagine. driving on it is like going to war, except every single person is their own army and it is a battle to the death. there were concrete construction barriers on the shoulder, so that meant there was no place to pull off. i've got good ole Mary-cedes, in neutral & we're coasting about 35 mph on the 405, which is slow enough to get you shot at, even by a grandmother.  additionally, no one in southern california would ever deign to help a stranded motorist, so i know i'm screwed if Mary-cedes doesn't make it. i'll be that asshole that blocked a lane of traffic on the world's most horrendous highway. but then there it is! the exit ramp. i'm going to make it. i'm coasting down the ramp, with enough shoulder to pull over. i'm smiling. i feel good. i'm the only person on the 405 that feels that way. but wait, there's a fuel station across the intersection. the only thing standing between me & glory is a red light with 2 cars stopped at it. the light turns green, the cars go, & i coast through, gracefully stopping at the pump, like i planned the whole thing. i could get the gauges fixed, but how much would that cost? doesn't matter, it's not worth it to me.  i also have no brake lights. or reverse lights for that matter. the no brake lights thing scares me a little. i really don't want rear-ended. i've been pulled over twice for them & i'd like to thank both officers for not giving me a ticket. 

technically, i have not had an address that i actually live at, in the US, in about 18+ months. i'd like to thank the internet for making my lifestyle possible. this would've been a lot harder years ago. i've decided that home is where my toothbrush is. i've been back in california for 5 months in an effort to make some money. every time a friend says "do you wanna...?" i don't even let them finish the question. i just say yes. i understand most people would not want to have their whole life reduced to a snowboard bag, a surfboard bag, and  few boxes of photos in a friend's garage. but it keeps things easy. when i go out with my friends, they know they will see me in 1 of about 3 outfits that are appropriate for public. we call these my "going out uniform". most of my clothes are either really old,  have been given to me, or bought with someone's employee discount. i wear them long past their expiration date, but i'm not as bad as my brother. often times, i'm getting ready to go somewhere (like yoga or the grocery store), & i map out the route i plan to take in my head. then i walk outside & realize i'm not where i thought i was & have to make a different route. its not a big deal, but i think i understand what homesickness is. i don't get homesick, but there's something inside of you that tells you where you are. a biological homing device. you take it for granted. you don't notice it, but sometimes i get so disoriented. once, i changed time zones, plus 1 daylight savings time change, 6 times in 8 weeks. i couldn't even guess what time it was anymore.  these things have the potential to really mess with your head. i like them. i like getting lost. i like not knowing where i'm going. i like not knowing where next week will take me. plans stress me out. my life is my adventure. i make certain sacrifices to keep it that way. certain sacrifices that make most people wonder what the hell i'm doing with my life. commitment-phobe may or may not be the right word. i don't crave stability. i like last minute decisions. how does that saying go? "everybody dies, but not everybody lives".

WV, I ♥ YOU

my brother's dog doesn't have  a water bowl. he drinks from the toilet. only.

hot spots are all over the place. i asked my brother what they were. he said "5 poker machines & an ashtray" so video poker = hot spot. and the limit is 5 machines.

the view out of my brother's kitchen window is a 1983 jet ski & a kitchen sink laying in the yard.

rather than pay for trash service, my brother takes his trash to his buddy's work shop & dumps it

 which is where the mud slut is

have you had "Choco Vino?  it's, and i quote, "the taste of dutch chocolate and fine red wine". it tastes like Yoo-hoo, but is 14% alcohol. delicious. honestly. and even better when everyone just passes the bottle around.

fun facts:

i was in WV for 3 weeks

times i ate a meal from a gas station: 5

times i've done that otherwise this past year: 0

times i ate chicken wings for dinner: 6

times i've done that this past year: 0

# of candy bars i ate: 7ish

# eaten the rest of this WHOLE past year: 7ish

gallons of beer drank: unchanged

exercise level has declined from an 8 to like a 1.5

which is probably why when i said i should try to make some money by being a stripper, my brother responded with "you're going have to wear a bra on your ass, and learn to walk on your hands" and said i needed to get some anti-monkey butt powder, which is for large butts, that struggle with friction issues. you can buy it at the tractor supply store, along with chicken poop, which made it into the previous blog entry.

there's a new strip bar in town called the parrot somethingorother, & apparently they didn't secure their pole very well because (according to my brother's friend) the pole broke & the stripper flew about 15 feet off the stage. i wonder what the terminal velocity would be off of a stripper pole? this is the same place & same friend that had a stripper (tho clearly she has another profession) say she'd do whatever he wanted for $200. he responded "for $200, you'll paint my kitchen!!" 

my brother made a big announcement. it started with "you guys! bad news!" long pause. "i got a job". it is in our genetic code to be adverse to employment.

would you expect the guy that has his own bio-diesel making facility to say things like "the solution to pollution is dilution"?  you see, in WV people are not really what you'd call "green". they are, however, very thrifty & innovative. so every single thing in this bio-diesel shed (yes, shed) is home-made. these guys are making 10's of 1,000's of gallons of fuel. in a shed! giant 1,000 gallon propane tanks have to be relieved of their remaining propane. you just open the valve, when the hissing slows down, you take the welding torch, and throw a spark into the tank. it'll burn for quite awhile, like enough propane to supply a house for 4 days. usually one of 2 things is said during these moments:

1. hold my beer while i get the camera

2. PUT IT OUT!!! PUT IT OUT!!!

does it sound dangerous? because it is. very. dangerous. one day a state trooper was driving by while they were heating up the vegetable oil to get the water out of it. imagine a flame about 12 feet high & 4 feet in diameter that was visible to the trooper. they knew he'd come back around, so when he made a 2nd pass, they hooked a shop vac up in reverse so it'd blow air & funneled it into the flame to get a significantly larger flame. as the trooper was staring at them, he managed to drive off the road, into a field. that now required a 3rd pass by the trooper who had to come back to ask some questions, like "what are you guys making here?" answer "maple syrup". trooper thought they were making moonshine, but realized it was bio-diesel, and didn't care. technically, they're making soap (glycerine) but you have to get rid of that bio-diesel "waste" some how. might as well put it in your trucks, bob cats, back hoes, & excavators. about 20 feet away from the shed (full of not just flammable liquids, but also explosive liquids) is the "burn pile". you know, where you throw all the trash to burn it. now, i have several more photos of this operation, but i like these guys too much to publish them. i don't want them to be identifiable. but there's the welder, inside the shed, about 6 feet from stuff that blows up.

there's the burn pile. its much bigger than it looks.

who builds a house around trailer? is it still considered a trailer? i don't think it's a "trouse", which is a trailer you put on top of a basement, but i guess it could be. 

this is not the first time my brother convinced every one to drink beer out of the dog's bowl. nor is it the first time he pulled his pants down while standing in the middle of this bar. apparently his behavior is not shocking enough to get kicked out. so we passed the dog bowl around the same way we passed the Choco-Vino around. 

redneck xmas begins 2010

 we went to the bar, that had a stripper pole (tho not a strip club) & a neon sign on the ceiling that said "the pole is your friend" & a bell you ring if you make it to the top of the pole. i only saw 1 person take advantage of the  pole. she was easily 240 lbs (110 kgs), and as my brother put it "that's a west virginia 240, not a miami 240 with tan lines".

we then went to another bar. it's called the purple cow. it was their xmas party. the band was awesome & i got to ride around the dance floor in a shopping cart, wearing a construction helmet with deer antlers (reals ones). 

why my brother & his friends still have all of their fingers & toes is beyond me, because the number of stories i've heard that start with statements like "when i was standing there with a bottle of yukon jack in one hand & a running chainsaw in the other..." is astounding. there are also stories that come from the bio-diesel shed... most of them involve near death experiences, like methanol raining (literally raining) down on you with copious amounts of lye laying around. my brother says it is an OSHA video.

how many people do you know that have taken at least 4 cows to the dump? i know one.

i've seen homeless people dressed better than my brother. he swears he threw away all of his really bad shirts. and this is his uniform. he only wears white hanes T-shirts & jeans. every day.

how many people do you know that put a baby seat in their back hoe? i know one. this is what being a stay-at-home-dad looks like in WV.

 

this is my bedroom at my brother's house. chance of him changing it? slim to none. he calls it the winnie the pooh suite.

chicken poop