A little tune

I am having a definite wine and writing night. On top of that I am listening to the most mellow music to go with my mood: Frank Sinatra, Pink Floyd, Fiona Apple and John Mayer are at the top of my list. Another glass of wine and I may just throw in some Juanes - he sings some great hate songs.

I don't know what I would do without music. They say the eyes are the windows to your soul, so they may be, but I think the music you choose says a lot about where your soul is as well. The right song in the morning can set me on the path to a very good day, full of positivity and light. On the other hand, there are those days were all I crave is a good blues riff with some pain and angst to sooth me and make me feel as though I am not alone. Angry? Oh yes, I have songs for this too. Although my musical selection will of course depend on the type of anger I am feeling - or better yet at who my anger is being directed. Sometimes it's a general 'I am mad song' like Nine Inch Nails, Metallica or the like. Other times I grab right for what I describe as my 'sad-ish mad' music like The Cranberries or Joss Stone.

Anyways, so why the music talk tonight with the need for a glass of smooth red wine and a keyboard? I feel alone. I feel left out. I know the source, which does me little good right now, but there is nothing I can do about it at this point. Be angry? What's the point? Get even? Why bother? Instead I choose music and lots of it. Not going to lie either, there may be some dance involved later. Nothing all hip hop like though, that may be odd all alone in my room. Then again, why the hell not?

The rubdown

I am not totally sure but I may have just received an odd, yet good, massage from a questionable location. Questionable in that they may perform more than massages.

Beyond the new experience of having someone walk on my entire body and massage me with their toes, I had a few moments during the 60 minute ordeal that had me questioning the place I had chosen. For instance, I got all the way down into my skivies (as one getting a massage would do) but felt a wee bit odd when the masseuse pulled my thong down to where it rested on my cheeks halfway off. Perhaps I should have left but I stayed because she was doing a good job at working out all the kinks okay? Maybe I also should have left when she massaged my inner thigh just a little too close to my vagina. Serious.

Nah, I stayed. I stayed for the stomach massage that I didn't know was to happen. Yes, she rubbed my chubby belly. Back and forth, in circles, and all around as she needed my skin like pizza dough. Then she slapped me. Well, slapped my stomach multiple times. At this point I was like, you know, this is odd. Maybe I also though it odd that the only voices I heard coming from the hallway and other rooms were the voices of men. Men and little girlie giggles. I was the only female besides the workers.

Scary thing is? I would go back. Why? She loosened up all my muscles, it was inexpensive and she gave me a chocolate mint candy afterwards.

2 kids, a cat and a dog

After what I like to call 'Facebook stalking' my friends, their friends and old friends that I forgot I had (okay, sounding like a creeper), I feel like a bit if either a black sheep or a wild child. Depends on how you look at it. You see, while a good 90% of the people I stalked are married with kids, pregnant or showing off pics of their recent wedding albums, I am not. In fact, my posts are so far from that. I am showing off my nice tan in an assortment of travel and party pics and laughing hysterically about the night before while my other dear friends are posting all about how little Joey just took his first poop in the toilet like a big boy or how teenie tiny Tiffany just ate a lemon for the first time and made a silly face (um, duh, it's a frickin lemon).

Don't get me wrong, I am not bitter. I want my life and I am happy they enjoy theirs. I just feel like, wow, I am soooo not there yet. Do I want kids? Sure, maybe someday. Do I want to be married? Heck yes, sounds like a blast. Do I want a house in the burbs? Hell no. Do I want an SVU? Only if it's to load my friends up for a road trip. I guess I just have to come to terms with the fact that I may be a little different than my "typical" friends back home, and that's okay. Just please, please, please my lovely little Susie Homemakers, stop telling me "it must be nice." Cause you know what? It is. Its bloody lovely.

Travel Freaks

Okay, so I may not be a global traveler on a crazy level, but I have gotten around. To different countries that is. What I have also had the pleasure of observing is that there are a ton of girls that like to get around - with other people that is. Funny thing is lots of people like to stereotype American travelers as those annoying people that speak too loud, are rude, don't even begin to make an attempt to learn about local cultures and then assume that everyone should speak English. Then you have the Wild on E! style Americans that like to flash their boobies at Carnival for beads, jump on top of tables while showing off their g-strings and bumping and grinding to Eminem while letting loose the occasional "Whooooooo!" loudly before laughing hysterically and then possibly contributing to the new trend of girl-on-girl action in a sad attempt to be cool. So why do Americans get pegged as such freaks? Hmm...that's a hard one. However, I say what about the freaky deaky Europeans? Canadians? Aussies? Huh? How do they seem to come off as such travel pros? Dare I even say, refined? I have been observing something for years now ans after my recent trip to Barbados just feel the need to share.

Bottom line: Europeans like to get local ass. Crude? Maybe. True? Yes. Germans, British (especially), Irish (you know it)....they all like to tap into the local pool of men and women. It's so odd. It's like they spend all this time back home, pent up in their cubicles at work, analyzing business trends, commuting on the train in their respected countries only to take holiday to head off and get some uninhibited local action. I find this happens more in the, um, how do I be PC....more dark-skinned areas? It's hilarious to watch these usually proper people (I mean, I am assuming they aren't trashy sluts back home. Especially the British right?) go nuts over some young chocolate stud on the dance floor, grinding on the dance floor and taking shots only to stumble out into the street and head to God knows where to get it on. It always gives me a nice giggle to see them all haggard on the beach the next morning, getting all fried from the sun only to head out on the town in hot pursuit for another night. What's even more funny is that in just a matter of time they will be back in their home country, at their shabby little offices, in their conservative dress answering to "the man" when just not so long ago they were getting smashed and boning everyone across the pond. Ha.

Flight delay

You know it's amazing the way things are sometimes meant to work out. For instance, I was set to depart on a red-eye flight from San Francisco to Miami as I made my way to Barbados for my vacation. On the plane. Whoops, mechanical problems. All fixed. Set to go. Haha kidding. Still mechanical problems. So at 1:15am we are told to deboard the plane in hopes of hopping on a new one. Oh how they tease. Cancelled. So now I am stuck on a standby ticket on a 6am flight. The only flight that can get me to Barbados that same day. Lovely.

Frustrated I decide to step outside to get some fresh air. After sitting there a number of moments I am informed by a nice lady that I can't get back through security now until 4am. It is only 1:30am. So I settle in for a nice chilly night outside with the smokers, because after all those are basically the only other idiots who chose to exit the secured area. Addicts. Turns out one of them ends up being a pretty cool chica named Kristen. Kristen is a coast guard electrician who basically spends her life travelling about and fixing, well, electrical problems on ships. Makes sense. She is also more than likely into women. Just saying. Anyways, her and I ended up spending the nexgt number of hours shootin the shit and learning all about each other's travels, jobs and all that good stuff that complete strangers feel the need to exchange when they find themselves in the fun situation of being stuck outside the San Francisco airport at 1:30am in the morning.

Time flies, chat, chat, chat and then we finally saunter inside to get in line for security that opens at 4am. Oh ha, now that would be just too easy if that worked out accordingly right? Of course right. Security will now now open until 4:30am. Second in line we begin to do what we do best, which is apparantly talk to more strangers. Enter Heather and Steve.

We start going through all the same ol' intros. Where we are from, where we are going, were you on the cancelled flight too and so on. We get to the part about what we do for a living and whoa is me, these people are in the cheese and seed business here in California. No way. Did they know about Tillamook Cheese? Of course, they eat it. Did they know it was farmer-owned? Um no, bout now they do. Also come to find out they are going to be at the same event as my co-workers this weekend. Oh what a small little world. Just so happy to have found some kindred spirits we all go and grab some early morning grub. That is after we made it through security and everyone had fun pointing and laughing at my as I went through the additional pat down by the TSA. I now know that long skirts/dresses will guarantee you additional screening. Apparantly you can too easily shove some additional whatevas up there.

Heather and Steve are off to catch their flights after card exchanges, handshakes and an open invitation to come and tour their farm when I get back into the area. Oh wait, something possibly even cooler happened before the flight cancellation that I failed to have mentioned. Excited to be heading to Barbados, and honestly wanting to keep my goodbye buzz going, I decided to grab a quick drink at the bar. Little did I know I would be having breakfast at this same place just hours from now. This is where I met my first new friend of the day, Bob, or Robert if you please. After a good 30 minutes of good conversation about our lives, he was on his way to a funeral in Illinois, I spoke about my grandmother just passing and work stuff of course (and yes he likes our cheese). After learing more about my new friend - he's divorced but has a good relationship fir the most part with his ex, his cell broke today but got a new one just in time to head to the airport and stuff like that, he excuses himself to go and catch his flight. Before he departs he gives me his information with a personal invite for me and a friend to come up to Paso Robles where he lives and take an aerial tour of the vinyards. Back up, private plane ride? I ever so casually ask him as I am shaking his hand, "Oh, you have a plane? You fly?" Oh yes, yes, for years now and apparantly I really must come up and check it out.

Needless to say after what nearly caused me an anxiety attack, I am the last person to be allowed on the plane, I am finally off to Miami in hopes to get on my flight to Barbados! Just think, if it weren't for those lame mechanical issues I would have never met these great people. That is what I keep telling myself after loosing an entire day in the Barbadan sun.

Multiple Personalities

I keep having these battles in my head lately about who I am and should be. Don't worry, I am not feeling all blue and in no way, shape or form am I depressed. Perhaps I am just full of bullshit, have multiple personalities and should just embrace my odd self. Maybe I need to explain this with some more depth, or maybe nobody cares and I should just grab a corner, hug my knees and cry. Oh come on people, that is so Hollywood. In the real world I would go find an empty bar stool at some dark, dingy place where I can make friends with the bartender and the old fart next to me before finding the only half-decent and non-toothless idiot to hang all over until I feel better about myself right? Hmm....maybe that is too real. Anyways....

Each day lately I have all these thoughts roaming in my expansive brain about the future. You see, I am usually a big time planner but am trying to get away from being way too German and OCD. Sooo...this new non-planner me is having a hard time finding focus beyond the day, okay week really. Some mornings I wake up and want to be this aloof, moody, brooding deep thinker who walks about all mysterious-like and makes everyone feel less smart and less cool than me. Then afternoon hits and I am like, really? So not you Rebecca. Next. Enter hippie me. Now this personality takes things as they come, is super happy, not too chatty but definitely social. She also likes to be outdoors, and stare at the sky. Maybe even smell some flowers, pick one for her hair and comment on how the trees are so pretty. Oh yeah, this me is very lovable. Just when I think maybe there is a good mix going on...enter the puta. For whatever reason I cannot seem to get rid of this pesky bitch for the life of me. I don't like her, either does anyone else. Unless of course I happen to drink too much tequila than the puta is funny, oh so very funny. I am working on getting rid of her asap. So not good for the party man. I suppose there is also just the chill me. I like her. I want to mix this attitude with the brainy aloof girl, with the aggressive business woman I can be and the amiable hippie me. I am weird.

Perhaps what I need to do is open up a hotel (all environmentally sustainable of course) on a nice beach where I don't have to wear shoes and allow only moody artists and uptight Wall Street peeps to come hang and take a load off. I don't know. Either that or I can do the complete opposite. Whatever that is. You see my dilemma here? ha

The American Dream

I saw a glimpse into what my future will not be today. I worked in a certain county in the state of California, that for the pure politeness factor I will not mention by name, that made me want to find the nearest pine or palm tree and hang myself. For many people this community appears to be rather lovely. Jogging trails through man-made forest parks, alongside man-made lakes with cookie-cutter track homes, close-in to your nearest upscale grocery store and chain restaurants. Oh - and not too far from a possible yoga studio where you and other wifies can get together 3 mornings a week after the kids get off to school to gossip and take your life to the perfect zen place. Gag me.

Not that there is anything wrong with basically being bought to keep some techie geek happy while you live it up in a nice home with a nice car and a black American Express card. Or is there? My pride and self-respect as not only a woman but a human being won't allow me to perform my wifely duties for some flabby ass old white man just so that I can have the latest Prada loafers on my perfectly manicured feet. Nope. Can't do it. In fact, the notion of this "perfect" little suburban life just makes me want to gag. Keep up with the Jone's? Why? The Jone's kinda suck in my book.

However, here is where I sound like a wee bit of a hypocrite. I, myself, would have zero problem with having a 'kept' man. Yup, I think I could do it. However, here are were me and this corporate, fake boobies, liposuction, 2 little brat kids and a Range Rover part ways. My paid man would be hot, younger than me and be able to do more than just pleasure me, give me children and look good at the neighborhood Christmas/Hanukkah party. Oh yes, he better be able to fix anything that needs fixing, tell me "no" in a firm manner when needed, keep me in check, and then basically let me get my way (or at least thing I am) and be loyal. Like a dog. Although housebroken and less smelly. Unless of course he smells of grease, aftershave and maybe coffee or a hint of good whiskey. Gross, but oh so good.

Anyways, I am glad I had this conversation in my head today. I just reassured myself it is okay to be me and not want to live this so-called American dream thing. How freeing of me.

Who gives a damn

I have a feeling this addition will come off sounding like a bit of a bitch session, but guess what? I don't care because this is my blog and I can, well, rant if I want to. It's just that today it occurred to be that yet again you can't trust anybody or even begin to. Okay, let me exclude a few people here, like my mother, but for the most part we are out for ourselves and ourselves alone.

So is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. I know me, I know what I like, I know what I need, what I want....or do I? Oh you see, this is where I can begin to get all deep and crap. So think I will spare all of you my 'dark pre-teen depressive child' self and just buck up and get the hell over things. So it doesn't always end up the way you want, you can't always have what you want, but so what. Perhaps life really is too short to spend more than a few moments (or a blog entry for that matter) worrying about things that have little to no importance in the grand scheme of things. Does he like me? Who effin cares?! Do I look ugly today? Probably, so put on a damn smile and fake it - or globs of makeup, that can always help. Will life work out for me? Will I make good money? Will I be happy? Blah, blah, bah. Moral of the story: Just be you, be happy and live each day to the fullest and stop worrying about dumb ass things, and especially dumb as mutha fuckin idiots who can't....oh forget it.

Rockstar

I feel like a rockstar. Yes, it's true. I travel about the U.S., I drive a cool vehicle, I get asked by random people for my picture and I stay in nice hotels. There is however a core difference between myself and an actual rockstar: I talk about cheese all day long. Oh, and I also happen to lack the grandeous musical draw that sells out major stadiums across the world and makes young girls cry at the very thought of me. I have also yet to wear super tight leathers, lipsinc horribly at an awards show or have an affair with a B list actor who post break-up gets signed to do Dancing with the Stars. On the other hand, I do tend to get photographed at grocery stores and have pictures of me taken while driving down the road. Now all I need is 5 kids from different countries and a hot 'semi-husband' to make all things complete.

Too cool

So this may be a topic that I have discussed at great length before. In fact, I guarantee it is because it tends to be a big part of the story that is my life. Sometimes it can just sick to be the "cool girl." What? Huh? Really? In my case this is so wrongly true. Okay, so obviously this has everything to do with boys and nothing to do with friends, work and fun times traveling. Because of course in those times I beyond friggin rock because, let's get real here, who doesn't just love having the cool, fun chica around right? Need I mention I tend to bring major fun times to the bar scene too? Haha, now I am bordering on bragging so let's ge back to the topic at hand. "The cool girl" syndrome, as I have decided to call it, is lame, lame, lame. Bottom line, if I am so cool that you can't imagine life without me by your side, I make you smile, I make you laugh, blah, blah, blah - what the frick is your damn problem bro? I mean, really? Obviously I am not perfection people, I have been known to rock a freak out session or two. You can't blame a girl and let's face it, I would be a freak of nature not to have a wacked out emotion from time to time. Gotta say though, lately there has been a certain somethin', someone, whatever, that has me erked a bit. I am getting the same old "your so cool" speech (which believe me, doesn't totally suck to hear) but I fear that I may get sucked back into the same story were I end up frustrated and only a friend. What's so wrong with just going with the flow and when it feels right just take it? Oh, who knows? I don't want to totally geek out on the situation because it is what it is. I guess I will have to continue my mission in life to have fun, love life and just roll with the punches so to speak. I mean, it wouldn't be cool if I didn't right? :)

Yo Yo Yo.....

Been in Tucson, Arizona for a good week now and every time that I even begin to think that I am figuring these people out, I meet a 'Mario' of sorts. Today I am rockin' it out at the cheese tent in a sketch part of town, you know, just doing my thing and up comes a little old man guido named Mario. It was either that or Vinny eh? Not only is Mario (yo) wearing a white wife beater, warm-ups, sneaks and fanny pack, he also happens to be sporting a shiny gold New York Yankees medallion. Aw, hell yeah. Did I forget to mention that this flashy 75 year young man hails from the great hood of The Bronx? Not only did he tell me I was a healthy girl (insert the boob grab motion here) he talked about how he still gets the ladies (bow chicka wow wow) and works out every day. That's what I am talkin' bout yo! Oh man, been rocking the accent ever since we met this guy. I just can't help myself. In fact, listening to some Pittsburgh accents online right now thanks to Tyler. I am dyin' right now, you all have to Google CSI Pittsburgh. Alright, gotta jam out because I need more wine after this more than thrilling day :)

Cacti, wine and cheese

I have arrived! The first stop on the cheese tour has rolled into Tucson, Arizona ready to rock. Although upon arrival I have begun to question my real maturity level, mainly due to the fact that I laugh at cacti, I still smile and point up in the air when a plane goes overhead (yay for me we are staying next door to the U.S Air Force base!) and I have had conversations with certain someones that have me questioning my emotional maturity levels at times. Too funny I am, really. On the other hand, I make up for it with my consistently stocked wine selection, dinner making abilities for the whole crew (and one lunch packed for a crew member so far) and my need to make sure nobody is hungry, thirsty or lacking in basic necessities like aspirin. Ask me how much I care about their needs 3 months into this tour. I may be telling everyone to bite me and walk to the Walmart or Denny's if they need anything.

Basically our days consist of driving to stores, rolling out our killer little buses, popping a tent and telling people how much our cheese is the best ever and having them munch on the goodness. After that's done we cruise back to the hotel, decompress, drink wine, eat dinner, work out (okay, done this once so far but it's only the first week) and then get cozy in our king size beds and sleep. Not too shabby. Looking forward to our day off on Tuesday cause we are going hiking up in the mountains. Thanks to the local news channel this morning I am now armed with the knowledge that jeans are best to wear when hiking here due to the massive amount of rattle snakes. Umm...sweet.

I now must go see who wants to grab some tacos with me. Found a fabulous taco shack down the street that is on the corner of Mexico and Gangster Avenues :)

On the road again...

I am officially beyond proud of myself. After many years of traveling about, I think I have mastered the art of the packing job. I am shocked that with my first shot at a packing list and my first attempt at a "mock-pack" everything fit! For once I have no ridiculous emotional attachment to that stupid sweater I never wear, but may need of course, or that one skirt that wouldn't go with anything but I just love too much to part with. Now believe me, I am nowhere close to being able to pack just one pair of shoes or roll around like a smelly hippie with dreadlocks and one dingy white button up with brown cordoroy pants. I still need me some comfort clothes of sorts. Like my jewelry and every bra that I own. Of course I overpack on the undies too. You just never know, and dirty undies are so far from okay.

So with one bag (one!) and a carry-on, I am venturing off to spend the next 11 months on the road representing one of the best Oregon brands ever - Tillamook Cheese people! Hopefully the constant access to incredible cheese will not increase the size of my already bootilicious figure - I may have packed well but have no space for XXL size clothing by any means. I did pack my workout clothes, and unlike previous trips I didn't take them out last minute to make space for another dress and pair of heels. I feel so grown-up :)

Adios Portland, Oregon! See you in November!