I Literally DO NOT Belieb(er) This Sh!t.

I need to open by saying that I absolutely loathe that Despacito song that is on, everywhere all the time.

Loathe. It.

LOATHE.

So, it was super fun to drive down to CA, not listening to the radio, but jamming out (and singing along dreadfully) to a bunch of music that I really love.

I was assaulted by the Despacito song only 2 times over the weekend -- on Saturday while in Suckhole, CA (Chico), trying desperately to GTFO of that weird town, and the second time was as I was somewhere near Eugene on Monday night, and decided to turn the radio on.

Twice. Not bad; I could soooooo get used to that.

Anyway, back to my trip to CA. I got there around 1:00 on Saturday afternoon, and I was WIPED!!! I hadn't slept since I woke up Friday morning at 5:00 am, and I had just driven eleventy-billion miles, had a harrowing detour through Suckhole, CA (Chico), and it was hoooooootttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt!

I decided to swing by my former place of employment, because I had thoughtfully and generously bought some Voodoo Donuts to share with my compadres. If you don't know what Voodoo Donuts are, you can do a Google.

They are magic.

 YES, they are donuts, which means fat and sugar and gluten and alllllllll the bad things.

But they are bomb AF, and you should eat the ODB (Old Dirty Bastard -crushed Oreo's and peanut butter drizzle), the Oh Captain, My Captain (white frosting and CRUNCH BERRY CEREAL on top), and the maple bacon (nuff said) bar TODAY.

EAT THEM, I TELL YOU!!!

This is the ODB!!  My only joy in life.

Anyway, the last time I had dropped Voodoo off to the homies was in TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN.

Three friggin' years ago.

So, it's not like I made it a daily, weekly, monthly, or even an annual habit. I actually thought I was being the fun former work person who comes from out of state to bestow magical Pacific Northwest treats, like some benevolent, benign sugar fairy.
LOLZ.

NOPE.

I was, in fact, dropping off a box of death and destruction and am clearly just not a good person as a result of my attempt to poison the innocent do-gooders I left the Death Circles for.

One of the people that was duped into eating the garbage that I brought down, posted a pic of them and made a funny little post thanking me for ruining his diet.

All funny, all good, right?

Not so much. Within hours, this saber-toothed tiger broad (it's when you are too old to be a cougar...so, basically me in about 5 effing minutes) was all up on the Facebook going on and on about how this dude shouldn't eat the donuts and how bad they were, blah, blah, blah.  "Oh, people mean well, but...you know, she is clearly trying to kill you."

I was like, jeez, bitch, calm your tits! IT WAS A FUCKING DONUT, NOT THE BAG OF METH I HAD IN THE CAR!!! (kidding! I swear!)

I didn't say anything, though, although I ALMOST did when I saw that she was, like, “I didn't want to say anything since they were a gift, but ohmygodyouwillfuckingdieofeatingtheglutendeathcircleandhowcouldthathorriblepersonwhoclaimstobeyourfrienddothattoyouyoupoorsexythingnowwhydontyoucomeoverandletmerubyourbackandyourjunkuntilyouareoverit”

Or something like that.

Anyway, I was super pissed. Like, lady, if you want to bone the kid, just tell him so, and don't try to bond with him by slagging off another one of his friends about some frickin' donuts.

Whatevs.

You know me, food not feelings, so I decided, rather than respond and be an angry FB bitch, I would eat an entire pizza because CARBS ARE EVERYTHING.

I went to Mama's Pizza in North San Juan and ordered what was probably the second best margherita pizza I have ever had in my entire life, and I ate HALF of it in about 5 minutes. And this place doesn't do "sizes".  Allll the pizzas are large.  Every one.  Seriously, though, it was that good. Crust was amazing, crispy, doughy, and chewy, they have the BEST sauce in the world, and fresh-fresh, fragrant basil with fantastic farm tomatoes and gooey mozzarella. That pizza was AMAZING!!

Seriously, if you are ever in Nevada City and you feel like pizza and you have some free time, GO TO MAMA's. But call first, as they have some really weird hours that aren't necessarily the same ones posted on their FB page.

Anyway, I decided to write what ended up being yesterday's blog, as my fever of rage over the Suckhole, CA (Chico) incident was still fresh in my mind, not to mention Mrs. Robinson's attack on what I thought was kind of a fun gesture.

I took a scalding hot shower, climbed onto one of the fluffiest, coziest beds ever, and popped open my laptop, with the pizza box from Mama's next to it on a towel. I inhaled 2 more pieces of pizza while my computer was turning on, I opened my blogger page and started typing.....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

At 5;00 Sunday morning, I woke up from one of the most blissful sleeps I have ever had in my life, face imprinted from the laptop's keyboard, denuded pizza crust in my left hand, and open pizza box with only 2 basil-ly fragrant pieces left.

I felt almost as fabulous as I had the last time I had sex, and even the fact that I had failed to brush my teeth before passing out, thus leaving my mouth feeling like an empty can of tomato sauce, did not affect my general sense of well-being.

MAN, I love carbs.

Anyway, I got up, took another fabulous shower, brushed my teeth for, like, infinity, and then went downstairs to an AMAZING breakfast of blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, hot coffee, amazing sausage links, and icy OJ on tap.

Let me pause here and tell you that Milano's Inn is, LITERALLY, the only place you should consider sleeping if you are in the Nevada City-Grass Valley area. Gorgeous themed rooms with fresh, crisp linens, boiling hot water on demand, fluffy pillows, and delectably firm mattresses. Breakfast, with the AMAZING proprietors, is always locally sourced eggs, meats, and fruits and veggies, plus delicious coffee with fresh cream. For $80 a night, there is nothing better in the area. NOTHING.

Gorgeous, inside and out.  Basically, the opposite of me.

Anyway, after I handled my business in Nevada County, I headed home – a scant 48 hours after my arrival.

Carefully avoiding Suckhole, CA (Chico), I made my way home, rocking out to my preselected jams.

When I got near Eugene, I turned on the radio, only to be attacked by that flippin' “Despacito” song, and quickly hit 'SCAN'.

Suddenly, there it was.

MY JAM.

“I'm The One”

Delicious jam, and I was KILLING IT with my Carpool Disco moves.

My new favorite song, ever.

I was JAMMIN' (Bob Marley Jammin) to this song. I hit 'scan', and there it was again. And again.

And. Again.

Damn, this song is the shit!!!

Soooooo, I got home, passed out for 4 unsatisfactory hours, woke up, went to work – yes, on the 4^th of July!! – and did a bit of a Google, only to find out that my new favorite song EVAH is, in fact, a MOTHER EFFING JUSTIN BIEBER SONG!!!

WTF?

So, this is who I am now.

Evil, dangerous purveyor of deadly gluten/fat/sugar death circles, and a JUSTIN BIEBER fan.

No wonder I can't get a boyfriend.....

Oh, well, as long as there are Ryan Gosling photos on tap on the interwebs, I guess I am OK.

*Sigh*

Broadening My...Er, MIND. One Trip At A Time

Supposedly travel broadens one's mind.


Unless you are me.


Travel has narrowed my mind, made me want to never leave the confines of my home, and also I gain weight when I travel....so the only thing "broadening" are my thighs.


Bo-gus!!


So, I have decided to do a "travel series" of blogs over the next few days/weeks/months/whatever, and detail some of my travels, sort of as a public service warning (ahem, Chico!!), and also so you know where to eat!




I have had to drive down to my hometown 2X in the past month. 
10 hour drive says Google, not taking into account the times I have to drive around for 30 minutes in some Podunk, spitwad, BFE town, frantically hunting for a gas station, a Starbucks, or a way OUT of said "town".


The first trip was because my parents, who have been together for 34 years, decided to quit setting a bad example for their children and change their living-in-sin state to the legitimacy of (un)holy matrimony.  The trip was (surprisingly) very sweet and drama free--except for the time I almost ran out of gas in a town of 164,000, because THE WHOLE TOWN CLOSES AT 11....seriously, Eugene, OR, go suck it.  Also, I hate your teams, go Beavs!

Christmas is 5 short months away, people!

The second time was because both of  my aged P's have failing health, and did not have legit medical directives and post-mortem body dispositions written out in any fashion.  I decided to correct that, YAY ME!  That trip was emotional, exhausting, and also just. not. fun.


I tried to get some sleep on Friday night, and was unable to, so I figured I would start driving.  1:00 in the morning, and I decided to stop off at get some Voodoo Donuts to drop off at the Fire Department in my hometown -- a decision I was later put on blast on the Mother-Effing Facebook for, as I was not dropping off fun, interesting, PNW treats, but IN FACT DELIVERING A PINK BOX FULL OF DEATH AND ORGAN FAILURE....but more on that later.  Super fun, as the front area of Voodoo was full of the detritus of Portland's bar scene, standing around in drunken or drugged or both stupors.  I loaded up the boxes of death and malaise and hit the road.

                                      Nice gesture, or death in a box?  Next time I will just eat them myself!






On the "wedding" trip down earlier in the month, I almost fell asleep around 7am, somewhere in Northern CA.  I had passengers, so I was unable to drive in the manner which keeps me awake and cheerful, regardless of lack of sleep -- heater on full blast, pointed at my feet, windows down with icy mountain air pouring in, and tunes on full blast so I can yodel along to my jams in my tone-deaf, tin-ear fashion.  As this trip was solo, there was no danger of me falling asleep, but I did decide I wanted a no-whip mocha at around 6:30am, so I got off the freeway in Grant's Pass, and proceeded to spend 20 minutes driving around the city in a rage. 


I passed a Dutch Bros (varmint...I hate DB!) - nyet!
I passed a billion little drive through coffee places, none of which were open yet, all of which had cutesy little names that annoyed me to no end.  WHY does every little coffee place have to have some kitschy, twee name?  It makes me want to open a bazillion little drive through coffee places and call them all "Coffee".
ANYway, I finally busted out my phone, thinking I would use GPS.  Except it wasn't working in Grant's Pass.  It didn't connect.  Of COURSE!!!
I finally found the Starbucks all on my own-- although I had contemplated calling 911 - surely law enforcement would know where it was, right? 


Properly caffeinated, I continued along my way to sunny Califor-nye-aye, happily ignoring all of the random road ragers, tailgaters, don't-know-what-the-blinky-light-is-for-so-I-will-just-surprise-you-by-making-a-lane-changers.

                                                     One of the best parts of the drive...Shasta!!


Around Chico, I decided to get gas.  I had about 1/4 of a tank, and figured it would be better to get it in the last large town before I left the multi-lane highway portion of my trip and embarked on the 2-lane country roads that would take me home.


As Julia Roberts told the mean sales lady that didn't want to sell her clothes when her belly button and vagina were showing in last night's dress.... BIG MISTAKE. HUGE.


Chico is not a nice place.


Now, before any of you jump my shit and defend the quaint, leafy, flower-bedecked-shrubby, peaceful little college town, I need to tell you to SHUT UP. 
(Not you, Nicole, my sweet Chiconian...you just need to be quiet, ok?)


Chico totally sucks, though.


I pulled off on one of the exits, turned right onto a one way street, and drove until I saw a gas station.  Not a REAL gas station, mind,  but one of those weird ones that they have in CA that start with a 'V', and remind me of the giant bags of crappy imitation cereal.  (Marshmallow Mateys DO NOT taste the same as Luck Charms, dammit!!)  No offense, Villanova Gas Company (that's not what it's called, but it's close), but Shell, Chevron, and Safeway are the only gas stations I trust.


I got the gas, and then spent the next 40 minutes driving around Chico, CA, wanting to punch things, call 911 (for legit help this time, not for coffee), and shout at all of the happy, placid, calm, dog-walking, car-washing, shrub-pruning proles that waved or smiled at me as I slowed down, reading signs, sobbing as I realized I was back where I had started, and making blinker-indicated turns the wrong way on one way streets.


One road I got on went on for about 2 miles, and then there was a little yellow sign that said "Not A Through Street", after which the street fucking ended.  Ended.  Yanno, had the happy yellow sign been at the BEGINNING of the street, I would not have spent 9 minutes rolling along at a leisurely pace, looking desperately for signs directing me OUT OF THE TOWN -- I would have flipped a bitch right there and found a different street.

                                           Much like your ex, the sweet facade conceals PURE EVIL!


I decided to just get on a northbound street, figuring I would eventually hit one of the east-west streets that would get me on the freeway.


LOL.
Nope.


All of the north-south streets turned or dead ended.  Seriously.
As I drove around Chico, sweat dripping down my forehead in spite of the AC on full blast, blood pressure at near stroke levels, I was frantically punching the 'scan' button, hoping to avoid that soul-crushing 'Despacito" song that is on EVERY STATION EVERY 5 MINUTES, and find some very hateful music  (Korn, Eminem, or similar) that I could rage and shout along to.


Noooooope.
L.O.L.


Religious station. Bad 90s Country. Religious. Country. Mariachi station. Religious. Country. Mariachi--no, wait, fuggin' DESPACITO!! Religious. Religious. Country. Justin Bieber- not Despacito, but something equally sucky. Religious.Country.


Just as I jammed my thumb into the power button, silencing the ear assaults, I saw a Wells Fargo. 
YAY!!


Civilization.
Money.
Surly customer 'service' people.
Possibly even a Nicole!!


I cut across 3 lanes of traffic and bounced into the parking lot like my last name was Duke (Bo or Luke, not David!).


The super friendly and not in the slightest bit surly customer service cheerleader was happy to help!
Here is your money!
No, no one by that name works here!  There are 2 other Wells Fargo's in Chico!  Would you like me to give you directions to them! (Hell no, Prozac Barbie, give me my $$ and get me OUT OF THIS FUCKING TOWN!)
No Problem!
At that light, take the first left!
Then the next left!
Then the next Left!
Then the next left!
You will see the sign for the freeway!
As I left the bank, waving goodbye to all of the other Wells Fargo employees who couldn't smile big enough or wish me a good day enthusiastically enough, 2 things occurred to me:


1. Four lefts would put me right back where I started, wouldn't it?  Was it a trick?  A trap? WAS I EVER GOING TO GET OUT OF CHICO??? (no worries.  there is no logic, no rationale, and no sense to anything about Chico, and the laws of physics do not apply there)
2.Clearly, the town fathers put Prozac in the municipal water supply, as there is no way ANYONE could live in that town with it's deceptive street signs, sub-par gas stations, and insane street configurations and remain that cheerful, bubbly, and lets-wave-at-the-sweating-crying-lady-in-the-black-car-cause-she-is-from-out-of-state.  NO WAY. (note to self, DO NOT EAT IN CHICO, not even at the In N Out, because you WILL NEVER LEAVE.  There is some serious Persephone-and-the-pomegranate shit going on there, for REAL.)


Just writing that story down has got me back to stroke level blood pressure, so I gotta stop now, but will return tomorrow to tell you all about how a misguided attempt to bring a bit of PNW frivolity to some former work colleagues resulted in a.....what's after a cougar?  a jaguar, right?  then what?? saber-toothed tiger?...whatevs, this one broad totally throwing shade at me all over Facebook, and acting like I was trying to kill people.  Also, I fell asleep on one of the best pizzas I have ever had in my life.  Kind of.

                                                        This was me last Friday.  It was AMAZING!