When something comes up and emotionally side swipes you...

God Arcade Fire, you melt me. There’s something about Funeral that brings a flood of heart attacking memories. And it always knows when my guts are reeling with emotions

In 2005/06 my life was in a self induced upheaval. I had never ventured life outside of Southern California and the previous paths I had chosen were doing me great injustice. Of what you might ask? Well the fact that there is so much to explore, learn and live through and I was merely picking my ass while I rotted away in an area nicknamed “land of the dirt people”; I had to move, I had to get the fuck out. I remember when I heard the Funeral in its entirety; it was whilst sitting down to a beer, with a fellow redhead. That album bookmarked the already known subconscious decision in to solidification, that I was about to embark on new adventures.

My wanderlust…it was born. I now know I can up and move and land on my feet. Granted the landing is the hardest part and in my case a shaky one. With the love and support of family and friends, I preserver. My wanderlust, she still hungers…I feel I’m destined for something fantastic but how do you find that fantastic when you don’t know what the hell it is? And of course, I can’t get to that pretty pretty fantastic moment without actually doing SOMETHING… Perhaps my life is truly just walking this earth, watching my shadow grow long beneath my strides and doing it alone with only my own soul to share it with…or maybe it’s to use these great hips to pop out a bunch of puppies. But since I have disdain for children, we’ll go with option A.

Of course all of this brain over-analyzing could be a fierce side effect from my new corduroy pants being tragically too tight; creating not only a muffin-muffin-top-gurl but also cutting blood flow somehow to my thought center. Either way, I give mad props to Levi’s for the button not busting and producing attire that affectively remind me to eat better, lay off the beer and lose an inch from my mid section.

Cheers

Look in my eyes, I am serious...these pants are tight!

Walk on weary traveler

For your feet are tired and worn

Being here nor there, O the sights been seen

Lost is the soul with no direction

No where to rest thy bones

Longing are the days for a place to truly call your home

To hang your hat

To lay your head

To unpack and stay

And to have a door in which to shut out the world

For roots to grab hold, for love to grow

Your hearts own cocoon

(early morning start and no so breakfast of champions)

Steps finally happened and I finally moved to the Bay; it all transpired within a few weeks time. To my father’s description of yours truly “she’s impetuous”…that wasn’t a compliment. However, in his defense, I am. Life’s too short and I find that if I think things out too much, I tend not to follow through…mostly because I am a tried and true over-analyzing fucktard.

So as the move went: up at 3:30am, on the road by 5am; shitty McDonalds breakfast; shitty coffee; shitty central California drive; beautiful sunrise; beautiful Bay. Being that mostly all of my belongings are still in Seattle, this was an easy move and unpacking venture; literally an hour.

I’ve been here 3 weeks now, managed a job in a very no brainer environment in the Mission district of SF. I’m unpacked. I have an honest to goodness bed, all my own to stretch my lovely limbs upon, for the first time in 8months. I’ve already had my lovely Frenchie road bike boyfriend Frankenstein stolen from me (a sign I’m truly a resident) and I’ve been exploring my surroundings and making new acquaintances. I have to say that after the initial loneliness of the first couple of weeks subsided; I’m feeling pretty good knowing that I’m sticking around some place for a good amount of time.

Being a nomad had its perks but it was also very daunting. I wouldn’t trade it though, it was an amazing experience to be able to get up and go. And who knows where life will take me in the future but I can firmly say that it’s not so difficult to pick up and go on an adventure…

For now, I’m fully enjoying this bed and being in one place for a while

Foul tip

Life throws us curve balls...be it family strife, struggling for college funds or broken hearts. I'm stretching towards the end of my nomadic life; a home plate if you will; a game plan for life and hopefully one day, my heart.

The metal steed that is my symbol of freedom, will be going on the market next week; gasp! I know. But I need the cash as a cushion to find a job with a roof over my head. Not to mention, I hate driving in the city. And mostly, well, I'm just plan tired of not having a home. Sure I have a place to rest my weary bones now but it's not MY home. So Cal and Seattle couldn't hold me, so now what? The plan is still the Bay...

Soon, so very very soon...I can almost feel the canvas of my home plate

Dan Auerbach's 'Goin' Home' came on tonight. The second verse seems fitting for a recent trip to the Pac NW. It's a beautifully delicate song and it made me tear a bit:

"I’ve spent too long away from home
Did all the things I could have done
Gone are the days of endless thrills
I know I’m not the only one

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I saw the streets all ripe with jewels
Balconies and the laundry lines
They tried to make me welcome there
But their streets did not feel like mine

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I want the sun to hit my face
Through oak trees in the open lot
Forget about the things you want
Be thankful for what all you got

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…"


(I'm trying to be thankful for what I got and weather the storm of the things I cannot control)

Oh the weary traveler

I'm sitting here on a Friday night typing instead of going out. Shit, wait, its Wednesday?! See what happens when you quit your 8-5 gig in hopes of bettering yourself in college? Fucking aye.

I'm going somewhere with this entry…really.

(you could just reach out and touch it)

I use to hate flying-shit, I STILL hate it. But with the amount of travel my life has seen and taken on over the last year, I've become quite the professional nomadic weary traveler. On the off occasion I choose to leave the metal steed at home and take a metal death trap bird instead. I've got a system to deal with my flying phobia(well not the flying part but the falling out of the sky into a fiery blaze of molten steel towards an earth shattering crash…), Vicodin and a beer before flying puts me to sleep and eases the white knuckle grabbing on the arm rest from the tiniest bit of turbulence. I have also become amazingly proficient with packing luggage. For example, my current trip to Seattle. I will be here for 10 days but instead of checking a large bag that comfortably fits many a clothing option to satisfy my fashion slut needs…I choose option small; as in 'carry on'. The trick, I've learned, is to wear the bulkiest items onto the plane. In my case, my big motor boots, sweater, thick socks, scarf and pea coat. Please see exhibit A:

1 pair heels
1 pair vans
4 pair jeans
6 t-shirts
2 vests
2 purses
1 flat iron
1 PJ
14 pair undies(always need clean undies. what happens if you get in an accident?)
9 pair socks
3 sweaters
1 Skirt
4 dress shirts
2 ties
1 hat 1 beanie 1 belt
2 tanks
cosmetics bag


I am highly impressed with myself, hence this post; its all to feed my ego for my packing victory.

Into the great big open...

Nomad-an individual who roams about

in my 31 plus years on this earth, I can say, I'm not quite sure where my wanderlust completely comes from...my balls and utter asshole persona comes from my mother and father. I've lived, at least in my head, a fulfilling life before the point I even reached 30. Two houses owned, a husband by 20, divorced by 26, a zealous love for pills at 18, first drunk at 14 and bringing food home to help feed the family before 18. People have lived far worst and people have lived far less; none of which is unimportant, its all on how you learn the lessons...

I wander. At some point around 26-27, I had this fantastically lame brained idea that buying an RV and exploring my home country working odd jobs for fuel and food cash, would be a fabulous idea. Being a nomad sounded so romantic and exciting. Bring it on back to the now; me, bored shit less working a desk job at head cellular company, writing over 600 reviews on Yelp.com and starting up to 3 blogs, all to sustain the mind numbing self consuming brain deteriorating rot that had become my life, all from my desk at $20 per hour rate. the point of all this babble? I realized my life is dull and unsatisfying. I enroll in an art school i drooled over in high school, shit hits the fan with the family and i pack up and leave Seattle for the familiar confines of California. More shit hits the fan in useless boring details that don't really matter, suffice to say...I am now...a nomad.

Long story short, I must live the simple life of poverty and do school online until I can get full funding. I am sleeping on couches and floors. Don't cry for me Argentina...er Riverside. It was rough at first but after a few months, you get in a groove. I am embracing this life of nomad, no home, go where I please(literally randomly getting off an exit to drive through a random cute town), see what I want but all for a price...and there is no longer a hurry for me to be in one place anymore.

Life from your trusty modern day steed, the car, is one of long in depth conversations with your soul. You notice more...fresh cut fields through Oregon; the way life coats the green in Washington, a wet organic smell you just want to soak through your very pores; having the ocean's scent carried through a breeze and hitting your senses; randomness on every corner of your ocular view. I've had friends say I'm lucky to have the freedom to up and go, as well as the balls to leave everything behind. This life in a car becomes a rolling motion picture on all four corners of your metal steed. 80+mph becomes the norm, 55-60+mph becomes a crawl. You for tell the best spots for cops. You learn that baby wipes and an iPod are your best friends and you wish that you had a better camera with an amazing lens to capture it all on paper and not just your mind's eye.

Heartless Bastards "Into the Open" has become my nomad theme song:

I just want to go

But I didn't wanna let go

I just want to go

But I didn't wanna let go

And I find myself

In a fleeting moment

Traveling far and wide

To the great big open

Things are coming into focus

Things are coming into focus

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

On

All of this time I was searching

Searching for my home

And I discovered

Home is where I am

And I find myself

Here in the meadow

Of a great divide

And in the moment

Things are coming into focus

Things are coming into focus

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

On

All of this time I was searching

Searching for my home

And I discovered

Home is where I am

You already know, how this will end...

Music is to me, what it is to probably everyone…a place card or a folded page for a bookmark in time. We get pleasant or not so pleasant remembrances of moments past and cherished, when a marker reaches our ears again. Unfolding something we may have forgotten….or pushed down. It materializes like a mist…”oh yeah, I remember when”.

Sometimes a song can play perfectly to a moment, like your own personal soundtrack. Case in point: leaving on a rushed flight from San Francisco back to Seattle. My mind was a writhing tape worm feeding on my congested thoughts, gorging and producing yet more thoughts in its waste. The whole flight was spent staring out my window above the clouds, thinking, thinking….thinking. What’s next? I must admit, I’ve forced myself into the notion of ‘nomad’ by packing a van and leaving California. Even moving to Seattle, a city I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, I still found it difficult to get a stronghold; or roots, making it truly feel like home. I don’t believe I ever thought Washington as my final resting place. And as such, I’ve trashed about in my mind as to how long I would stay and the realization that this move, this destination, is nothing but a stepping stone to the next thing in my quest for happiness. Ultimately, it’s been a reboot for me; an adventure, a much needed break from the norm.

What does this have to do with music? As the plane descended through the clouds, Devotchka’s “How it Ends” began to play with its familiar organ notes, joined by accordion, joined by piano…building and building. I use to get excited flying into Seattle, this time I felt sadness. Having just spent a comfortable weekend in the bay area soaking up some much needed sun; I was reminded what it felt like to be on the California coastline, in a city I have always harbored a joy for…once this song came on, I just felt sadness. Yes, I do know how this ends…it ends with me moving, yet again.

Just when this song reaches a strong point with Nick Urata belting out (plane descending) “aaaand you already know…how…this…will end”, (plane descending) “YOU ALREADY KNOW...how this will end”(tires thudding) the plane touched down perfectly on that last note: “end”; violins picking up and carrying you to the finish. Perfect ending to my silent anguished thoughts; what next Mel? I’m still figuring out the fine details, but nomad is once again in my future.

No fears, just titillation for yet another adventure. I do however feel restlessness for something new to begin, things to unfold, desires to be met, dreams of happiness to come to fruition. Whereas Arcade Fire was my exit music from California…I am thinking Devotchka will be my usher out of Washington. To be precise, “the Last Beat of my Heart” seems fitting for such an emotional movement…Washington has a special spot in my heart, until that last beat

Oregon Coast 5/25

So when I hear surfing, I think tanned bodies in board shorts and the occasional shorty wet suit . I knew there were die hard lovers of surf that would don some thick 5/3mm heavy duty wet suits with booties and gloves to hit the waves on the NW coast; read: fucking COLD enough to make your nuts creep up inside ya or your nipples shoot off and take an eye out. But apparently the surf up here is so fantastic that people will drive hours to the coast to catch a great wave.

Memorial weekend I found myself in Portland, and subsequently on the coast, just south of Cannon Beach, to hang out while a friend surfed. Beaches in So Cal are beautiful due to the lovely eye candy and warmth, but other than that, they're polluted and in some spots lined with big ass homes; read: not much nature left(at least in the majority of the southern region). Due to the sadness of pollution and my own frustrations of not being able to get in the water some days cause of the danger level, or walking away with tar on my feet other days; I am a member of Surfrider Foundation. However, the scenery up here is beautiful, and I can deal with the cold by layering up, building a camp fire or drinking.

The waters were crowded and the waves were on the small side; a few of the better riders had a challenging time getting any good riding out.

I enjoyed my peaceful surroundings with some music and my camera. It was nice; it reminded me of being younger back home and ditching school after morning swim practice to go to the beach, watching the local rippers and reading a book, before having to dash back for afternoon practice.

I listened to CKY, which brings back strong memories of my friends in the OC, and being in that environment. They put on a fun show with drunken debauchery, and every once and awhile we'd see one of the douches from Jackass at a show getting hounded for autographs.



(road trip music iPod radio adapter MUCH needed)

Arcade Fire-a love story

Arcade fire was my theme music, when I hit that moment in my life where I decided to throw caution to the wind, pack up my house and get the fuck out of Riverside.

I get a lot of people who ask ‘why Seattle?’…My answer ‘why not? Have you seen this place?!’ Growing up my grandparents had a vacation house on the Hood Canal, around the Sea beck area, and we would vacation in Washington during the summers and escape the brown Hell’s inferno of So Cal. I always loved it here and there were a few times we almost moved up here. So needless to say, I always wanted to be here. New Years 06, I had made the resolution that I would move out of state, my choices were London or Seattle (both similar climates). As I started the immigration process, I realized it was going to be too costly and I would have to sell my house, my possessions and quarantine my cats for 6months. In March of 06, my friend Bernie and I decided to take a weekend trip to Seattle for some snowboarding. I can tell you that I felt like I was home. Before the weekend was even done I had made the decision that Seattle was where I was going and post haste.

(Alpental ebow drop) (en route to Baker) (I worked that SUV)

That decision came while I was sitting in Pioneer Saloon, Arcade Fire’s Funeral was playing, I was sitting with my future boyfriend and my future roommate Bernie (she decided to move with me) and it just clicked; and this album became my strength and soundtrack for what would be a HUGE fucking change in my life.

All I can say is, when I get an idea in my head to do something, I go full bore (case in point: Wanted to do make-up, picked a school in Burbank for night classes. Worked full time at my Marketing job in south Corona and commuted to Burbank after work-EVERY-MUTHA-FUCKING-DAY for a month. 2hours there, 1 hour home, in the summer with no AC, over 5800miles on my Mustang; but I did it and now I’m a pro artist as a hobby). So I was saying, wild hair+full bore=me moving 3 months later to Seattle; and ‘Wake Up’ was playing as I pulled the moving van out of my driveway

You should’ve seen me when I finally saw them in September 07 at the Bank of America theater; I was dancing up a storm and lost my voice singing along…they put on one amazing high energy show and the visuals kinda put you on sensory overload. Their music is so full and powerful; building up and mellowing out before coming on strong again and knocking you on your ass.

Two years later and every time I hear the Funeral, I get all sentimental and sometimes a bit misty eyed.

Even though I have moments of missing So Cal...I don’t regret the move