Toodles to Texas

This is my first attempt at a blog. So, as I now am writing about my exceedingly interesting life, I will fill my fans in with all of the details.

Tomorrow will be June 2nd. I will probably wake up around 9 AM although my initial plan will call for a 7.30 alarm. After silencing the alarm twice I will take the time to wake up and consciously turn off the alarm. At this point I will have coffee. I take it black because I used to hate coffee, but now I really like it. That's how these things tend to happen for people, or at least, for me. Breakfast will be a must have, but I probably won't eat any. Either way, its going to be a decision that must be made tomorrow. The day might get rough, but I'm willing to call the shots when the shots need calling.

Anyway... I really am leaving Houston tomorrow. My buddy, Taylor, and I are going to be flying to Portland, Oregon. That's why I'm not eating breakfast. I want to save up for home-made organic granola and vegan soy yogurt. Maybe I'll rent out a bicycle to fit in... I really don't know.

Before that is a conveniently placed lay over in Atlanta, Georgia. I'm looking forward to any wild shenanigans that the peach state might through at us.

The past couple of weeks have been wild. I've been working two stimulating jobs in an attempt to not be an impoverished bum throughout the trip. One has been a brief stint at the ever-fashionable retail store J Crew. Over the two months in the fashion biz I've learned that it might not be a career option, but who knows what the future holds for this ole tumbleweed.

This entire planning process has been mostly alcohol induced brainstorming and uncollected banter between Taylor and I. (I'll throw a shout out to our bottom bitch, Ciara "Lumberjack" Ayala, too). After a brief attempt to sell off both of my motorbikes and purchase an old vegetable-run diesel mercedes, we settled on the current plan on the porch of the Dark Horse Tavern. I'm not going to go into too much detail about what we're thinking of doing, but if all goes well, then we should end up doing a Portland to Portland trip. The second being the city located in Maine.


I am leaving Belle the dog in the hands of two seemingly capable dog owners. I'm sure she's in a nice home, but the woman of the house is something of a redneck, so I'm nervous to see if I'll find my basset freshly drowned in a burlap sack in the bayou. I'm only joking, PETA. Don't come around breaking my balls.

Not to leave all you readers wondering about what happened to my attempt to sell off the motorbikes, I'll give you a play by play. Raphaela, the motorbike that took me around much of the western US last year, was indisposed. After watching a youtube video or two, I decided it would be a good idea to fix the oil leak coming out of the engine block. I got the engine apart, but ran into some problems that by in large are unfix able by me. Turns out, taking an engine apart requires a little more know how. Turns out, it's shitty to do. Turns out, I'm not a mechanic. Fuck semi-colons.

Raphaela is now sufficiently saran wrapped in a parking lot. I'm not as worried as I was when I left the old bike. Mostly because of this magnum sized Christmas Ale I've been partaking in. It probably has a name, but the hell if I know it. There's a picture of a Christmas tree or something. I don't know.

Anyway, keep it real. I'll be going now.