Author: laurenne

  • Day 2: pillow crumbs!

    7am Wake up from odd dream about pythons. Go back to bed.

    10am Hit the pool. I ain’t spending $59 on a place and NOT dipping into the pool.

    12pm Finally hit the road. Figure I’ve got 7 hours ahead of me.

    1pm Screech to a stop due to starvation. Want something healthy and go for a salad at a strip mall Chili’s.

    1-2pm Observe Americans in their Chili’s environment. Amazed at all the white people, waitresses in mom jeans, loud talkers, guys drinking lunchtime beers, career bartenders, old people eating soup, and lunchers half in conversations and half texting others.

    2pm Stop at Wal-Mart for an audio book. The only one they have is Glen Beck’s “An Inconvenient Book” Hmmm…. might be nice to get the point of view…. Nope. Not gonna do politics on this peaceful ride through the beautiful southwest.

    2:10pm See a school of cops and a gaggle of Mormons entering the Chili’s. Darn. Wish I had come later so I could observe.

    3pm See Santa Monica license plate! About to wave but spy sorority bumper sticker and think otherwise.

    4pm In absolute awe of the beauty of my own country. Red rocks and funny shrubbery.

    4:30pm Enter New Mexico, the land of enchantment!

    Sorry this one’s blurry. Too many lunchtime beers. Just kidding. I’m driving.

    4:40pm Notice the sudden lack of mountains. Wonder if mountains are banned in NM.

    5pm drive behind a truck full of red chiles. Coooool! I mean, hoooot.



    5:15pm Spend a good 15 minutes thinking of a joke about telling these chilies I’ve just been to Chili’s. Come up with nothin’.

    7pm Almost stop to buy souvenirs in the Silver City but am turned off by their selling point: Agate bookends.


    7:20pm Pass State Prison sign.

    7:21pm See Fairgrounds sign

    7:40pm Stop for the night in Las Cruces. The owner of the hotel is a quirky Indonesian lady. Realize that life can lead you anywhere. How did she ever find this Las Cruces place?

    8:00pm Head out for dinner and note that there is nothing in Las Cruces. Nothing. It’s either Sonic burger or gas station food. I choose Chex Mix and orange juice.

    9:00pm Jump on hotel bed.

    10:00pm Fall asleep with Chex Mix on face and crumbs on pillow.

  • DAY 1: Burgers and asphalt

    America, here I come. I’m about to pummel across your highways and deserted roads. I’m going to count every grain of amber waves. And devour your spacious skies. With Scionito, my trusted Toyota Scion Xa, I will bust through your fruited plains and scale your purple majesties of mountains. I want to see all that you are. And fall in love with you again. You are my country. And we should enjoy each other. So, I will tread lightly through your variety of states. From Los Angeles to Chicago in seven days. Alone again. Free. Just me, the highway and Julieta Venegas (Not really her. Just her songs.). Haven’t driven in 8 months, but I’m ready to put my pedal to some floor mat.


    DAY 1:
    9am Finally get out of bed after four snoozes.

    10am Wash down mixed feelings of going home with a cappuccino and bagel (does not live up to recent French croissants).

    10:45am Write down directions from LA to Chicago on one tiny post-it.

    11:30am Pick a $60 parking ticket off my car window. Curse Los Angeles.

    11:55am Check blind spots as Catalina holds up her digits around the car. See them despite the wide load I’ve stuffed in the back.

    12pm Hit the 10E like lightning.

    1pm Famished after the hour drive. Stop for lunch.


    1:15pm Devour two In-n-Out cheeseburgers without meat. And a coke. Last Coke of my life. Swear. Man, this is a good lunch. I love big straws. Lordy, I love this meal.

    2:45pm Stomach is pissed. Fuck! I hate In-n-Out.

    3:00pm Thirty-eight miles to Palm Springs!

    3:38pm Stop to pee. LOVE not having to ask someone else to stop for a pee break. Wonder if I will ever be able to be in anyone’s company again or if I have just spent the year training myself to be alone forever.

    5:03pm Pee again!

    6:34pm Pee again. Just because I can.

    6:36pm Starting to think the cacti are waving at me. Wave back.


    9pm Use a coupon at the Holiday Inn in Casa Grande, AZ. Oh Yeah. Coupons! Can sense my mom smiling in her sleep all the way in Chicago. She can feel coupon usage. Especially at Kohl’s.

    9:15pm Compare Holiday Inn for $59 to $6 room in India. Not thaaaat much different. Everything just looks a little fresher, whiter, cleaner. The beds are more jump-worthy. Not 53 more dollars worthy.

    12:00am Fall asleep enjoying my journey. Remind myself to think of every day as a journey. If I don’t, it will all be over soon.

  • Let’s try it again, America


    Why hello, USA.
    It’s so comforting to set eyes on you again after this long time apart. I admit I was fed up with your normalcy and celebrity-obsession when I left (I mean, just the fact that Heidi & Spencer are famous pissed me off). But now my fresh eyes see so differently. You’re like an ex boyfriend I haven’t seen in a while, and as the butterflies fill me up, I remember only the good; Heidi & Spencer who?

    My dear, lovely ex-country, I find so much comfort in our familiarity. No guessing. I don’t have to wonder if I’m saying something correctly or accidentally insulting you. To be where I came from makes me feel cozy wherever I stand. I love that I can sit on a bench and be invisible to everyone around me. I don’t look like a tourist here even though I feel like one. I’m home. But the comfort of familiarity is always friends with the comfort of predictability. And THAT sends me leaping into a fit of non-commitment. Yes, USA, you are my ex. This is all too familiar. And, since I’ve never been able to mend my ways with any ex, I might have to leave you again.

    But not just yet. For now I will use you for all your relief and luxury before I ditch you again for some other, more exotic country. For now I will take this time to enjoy all those things I didn’t realize I was missing. Things I’d forgotten. Things I never really noticed before but are blinding me now. These, USA, are your idiosyncrasies:

    Supermarket Sticks – USA! What is with the obsession to get that stick between your groceries and mine? The cashier isn’t going to make our grapes mingle. But even if she does, it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to glare at me because I didn’t put the stick behind my soy milk.


    Inside temperature. It’s a beautiful day. The breeze is swinging the leaves, and you can still sit comfortably under a tree in just a tank top. Yet, when you walk inside, nipples cringe and people build snowmen in the corner. In supermarkets, office buildings, libraries, it’s below 40. What gives, America? I haven’t been cold in 9 months and now I can’t even buy a few bananas without getting frostbite.

    Diversity. Yes, I heard that Republicans have become racists since I’ve been gone. But man, America, we are lucky. I teared up the other day as I drank from a water fountain next to a black man. He told me I was a crazy white woman. But I couldn’t stop. So many other countries are faaaar behind us when it comes to accepting other people. I’ve missed diversity since Australia. I feel so free to be riding an LA bus with a rainbow of skin colors. Yes, America! This is what you’re all about.

    Dollars. What is this green shit? It’s so boring, so monochromatic. Who designed this? Every other country gets pink or blue or yellow money adorned with handsome faces of recent rulers. We don’t even understand our money with its pyramids and random floating eyeballs. And all the guys on dollars are wearing wigs. Lame.

    Unknown substances. I innocently made an oatmeal at Cata’s house and spit it out onto her carpet. That taste… Fake sugar. Diet stuff. Not found in Asia. I think the chemical companies probably said, “Hey Asians, want to ingest these gross synthetic powders instead of sugar so your bodies will look skinnier ?” And the Asians kicked those chemical company people in the mouths. This stuff is nasty.

    The astounding variety of capitalism. Do we really need to choose between 20 different toothpaste brands? I mean, really? It makes life so hard. Do I want the whitening with fluoride or do I want the whitening with crystals or will the whitening take off my enamel so I’ll stick to just breath-freshening or maybe that will hurt the environment so I’m going with a natural baking soda paste. Geez. It’s just toothpaste. In Laos, it was either Nivea face cream or Nivea face cream. And Laotians are surviving! With lovely faces, I might add.

    Wow… They’re everywhere. “If you’ve ben injured in an accident, CALL NOW!” Haven’t seen a lawyer ad in a while. And now they’re inescapable. How I’ve missed you, Larry H. Parker.


    Technology. It’s sort of gross. On my NY layover, I could tell I was in an American airport strictly due to the head positioning of the fellow layover-ers. I would say that 80 percent of people were texting or typing on some device. And the others were talking to people on the other end. I think we should all just ta– hang on, getting a call…

    Restaurant service. My first trip to an American restaurant was of course to Swingers, an American diner, for some tofu chilaquiles! YES. The food was exceptional, but I thought the waitress was stalking us.
    “No, I don’t need more tea…. Nope, do not need anything else…. Nope, I’m good on the napkins, but thanks lady. Nope… LEAVE US ALONE.”
    If you want the bill in a Vietnamese cafe, you might have to walk back to the bathroom or chicken coop to find someone who remembers what you ordered. Come to think of it…. Most people who don’t speak English know the restaurant word for ‘bill’ and the word for “Bill Clinton.” I wonder if they think Bill Clinton is named after the tab of things you’ve eaten.

    Lawn ornaments. I’m almost positive America can claim this one all on its own. Nobody else could possibly have a fascination with plastic animals in the yard. I have to stay, fake geese are pretty fucking amazing.

  • Los Angeles is totally talking about, like, stuff.


    The ear is a funny little organ. If all other senses disappeared, the ear could tell you if you’re underwater, if people are laughing at you, if you fell through a hole that led to China, or if you have a shell held up to it (unless it gets confused and thinks it’s at the beach). The ears are smart little organs. Or, in some cases, big ones.

    Now that I am back in an Enlglish-speaking country, my intelligent little orifices have been picking up the most interesting tidbits.

    See, for 9 months I have been training them to find English. In a Cambodian café, for example, my little ears scanned the place for those speaking my language, those with accents, those who might be on the same route as I, ready to slink into the next destination with me.

    Once my aural radar picked up a signal, I would make a new friend. Or ask for a direction. Or avoid a woman with a penchant for ‘like’. We would talk about our global experiences and how devastating Cambodia was or how many people live in Europe or what it all means in the end. My precious lobes are the reason I made so many friends abroad.

    But now, with my highly-trained drums lounging in LA, I can’t stop their ultra accent-tracking ability. They no longer discern Germans from Austrians; instead they’ve morphed into expert eavesdroppers. And as I pummel through Los Angeles cafes in search of internet access and cups of chai, I can’t help but listen in. And, sadly, these tidbits are just not as intellectually stimulating as those heard in other countries. The following are some of the “conversations” I have been so lucky to hear:

    (Two girls, both staring at their phones.)
    -I mean, nobody likes onions.
    – Yeah, I don’t think they should make them anymore.

    (Guy on phone, talking loudly in cafe)
    “Babe, I need to see your body really soon. I am making a new movie, and I can really imagine you in it, but I haven’t seen you in, what, a year? You’ve been going to the gym? Well, I hope you didn’t lose that butt. I love that butt. That butt’s gonna be the star of my film.”
    (Guy proceeded to fall asleep on a pile of cafe pillows for the rest of my café stay.)

    (Two girls with fake tans)
    -I do not like her. I mean, her face looks like a dog. A total dog. I’m serious. Like, she actually looks like a dog.
    -Yeah.

    (Two women with big sunglasses and boots)
    -I totally wanna like party tonight. Like really party. Like hardcore party.
    -Me too. Totally down.
    -Let’s call Light. He’ll totally be down.
    -Totally.

    (Waiter, pointing to empty plate) – Are you all done here?
    (Patron) – Yeah, we didn’t like it.
    Eruption of laughter.
    (When will we Americans tire of this unfunny joke?)

    (Two guys in Diesel jeans with iphones)
    -Man, Ian totally cock blocked last night.
    -Yeah, that guy’s a total douche bag.
    (When will we stop calling people by the horrible name of a feminine cleansing product? I mean, isn’t it a compliment? A douche bag is clean. It helps women. It comes in pretty pastel boxes [I assume.] Next time someone calls you a douche bag, say ‘Thank you. Yes, I AM a clean helper of women.’)

    To be fair, intelligent conversation lives well in LA. At this very moment, there must be Angelenos talking about Chinese politics, the situation in Darfur or health care reform. Those folks just, like, totally don’t happen to hang out with the unemployed at, like, 11am in Hollywood cafés. I mean, totally.

  • back to Cali

    9 months. From LA to LA.
    Stops in Australia, Papua New Guinea, Japan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, India, France, & Spain.
    I started pale, scared, anxious, uncertain, and slightly unhappy with my position in life.
    I ended pale, confident, relaxed, secure, happy.
    You can see it.
    I know I just belittled an unsuspecting Italian man for his narcissism, but… well… here are 176 pictures of ME: