h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I have found my future Paradise in St. Petersburg, Florida. It's almost time to Head West, probably in July. I knew I wanted to be Tampa-ish, closer to my nephew and in a place with a different social dynamic than here. After working a couple days in Clearwater I spent Sunday with my dear friend Quintin who's just moved to St. Pete himself. He'd not had a chance to do much more than work, find the bank and grocery store, so it was an Exploratory Mission for him as well.

St. Pete just *feels* right. To get there from Tampa you bridge a few miles of glassy, gorgeous water. That in itself is awesome, a perfect way to start and end a day of work, so different from the madness of I-95. The town itself is lovely, lots of older houses with verandahs and gardens. It looks like human beings live there, as opposed to the Planned Urban Developments of obscenely huge and sterile McMansions and condo enclaves that are cropping up all over Florida. It shows character instead of zoning laws. There are plenty of parks, a thriving art community, and oldish architecture that's lovely to look at, rather than just whopping great clods of cement and glass high rises. Parts of it remind me of Key West without the seediness and debauchery, parts remind me of St. Augustine and the causeways feel like a better version of where I grew up.

I 'doused' our way to a laid-back restaurant on the water, found what we were looking for atop the pier. Ahhhhhhh. Guy playing guitar and singing, horny margaritas, fish sandwiches. Sun and lots of sparkly all around, but on the water rather than on the people. We got sunburnt, poor Quintin's head was glowing. So I decided we needed commemorative hats for the occasion, and Quintin wanted a cowboy hat. He decided that *I* look good in cowboy as well, and since I didn't already have one, why not? I'm Heading West, after all.

I decided that I'd start wearing this hat here at home as a reminder that I'm going to wide open spaces, a place where people default into considerate, and who you are isn't measured by whose logos you're wearing. I need to get myself re-balanced before I make the move, definitely don't want to import the aggressiveness that's infested me here to my new Paradise. So my hat is a reminder that I'm detoxing my soul in preparation.

There's a funny magic in cowboy hats, at least in places where they aren't done. It's easy to start conversations with people. I've decided that since I'll be leaving here soon I want to get out a bit, do some of the things that I used to enjoy before I got so caught up in making things. I want to leave this place with a feeling of fondness for it. So, last night I went for ice cream and cocktails on the beach. Sat on the wall and got sticky while watching a quite good Spanish guitarist playing for the restaurant across the street, then went to the Elbo Room, my old hang out, for cocktails. It's a dive, filthy bathrooms, live reggae, all sorts of people go through there. The ambiance sticks to your feet, but it still has it's own charm.

Vodka tonic in a plastic glass, ultra-hootered woman (she bought the jumbo size) in mini-bikini dancing on an invisible pole with anyone who'd buy her a drink, navy lads (town is filling up with military in prep for the Sea and Air Show) middle-aged, sunburnt folks from Kansas, tourists from all over the world, local boozers. It's a good place to people-watch. And of course, it's a good place to ambush innocent bystanders and convince them to participate in the Questions For God project. Especially when you're wearing a cowboy hat. So I did that for a while, collected some fresh questions to meddle with, and in ambled the Guy in the Black Cowboy hat. His Sunday-go-to-meeting hat. I *knew* I'd be talking to him before the night was over. Sure nuff, just after the girl next to me mentioned that Cowboy was awful cute, a drink from him arrived in front of me. I tipped my hat in thanks, finished with the couple I was involved with, and went over to introduce myself. He seemed mostly harmless, for a redneck, so I invited him to come join us on my side of the bar.

His name is Ricky. He's from the northwest tip of Florida, down here for work, gobsmacked by the goings-on. He'd never *seen* such a place. He lives on 180 acres with his entire extended family, has no intention to ever live anywhere else and has never *been* anywhere else other than work missions. He's the 'bad boy' in the family because he doesn't always go to church on Sunday. He's a character from a Carl Hiaasen novel, incarnate. We talked about God, religion, politics (very briefly, that was *not* a good place for the two of us to dialogue) and life in general. Turns out, when I asked what kind of work he does, he's a grave digger and his out-of-town work missions involve corpse repo. He does his job with pride, and a sense of respect for the dead. He makes sure to wear a clean button-down shirt, doesn't like the idea of dirty, sloppy-looking gravediggers planting people. Just doesn't get much better than that, in a surreal reality! He was surprised that I didn't skitter away when I learned his profession, apparently almost everyone does. I dunno, it's necessary work, and there's no problem with job security. He said most people don't see it that way.

He told me about his initial difficulty coming to terms with the idea of the people in the boxes he plants, the heartache he felt when he was planting little, two-foot boxes, that he'd finally stopped thinking about the people when he learned that one of the boxes contained a young woman--younger than him!-- who'd blown half her face off in her suicide. From that point it was just about digging a big hole in the ground, putting one box into another box, then putting the dirt back where it belonged.

He told me about the time he learned that bulls can tap dance. He'd impulsively decided to participate in a rodeo, got thrown very quickly the first time, learned that everyone was given a second chance, and that time the bull tap danced on his back. His six-year-old son was there, watching. The boy wouldn't speak to him for three days because he thought he'd watched his daddy being killed by a bull. He doesn't do that any more, though he *would* if the right circumstances presented themselves. But he wouldn't bring his son.

He wanted me to tell him where to find a gay bar. Not to go in, just to look at it from the outside. He's never seen one. I didn't think that was a good idea. He didn't seem like a fag-tromping kinda redneck, but he obviously didn't think gays are just folks, either.

I told him he'd make an excellent character for a story and he gave me permission to use him, if I want to some day. I told him he has a story with boundless potential and he liked that idea. I don't think it had ever occurred to him before.

There's in a cowboy hat. I'm looking forward to finding it. I think maybe Odetta Flambeaux has emerged.

Lawdy, this new persona of mine is gonna be a hoot in the developing!

>> Lawdy, this new persona of mine is gonna be a hoot in the developing!

Isn't she just!

You always amaze me, girl.

B

Nooooooow I've done it.

Just got back from St. Pete, took a 5 day mission to find a Home. It was time, as I already gave notice for 1 July on this place here in Fort Lauderdale. I felt so *naughty* sending a letter of final notice rather than a rent check the beginning of June!

So, I went West. No real planning or research, of course. And I regretted that dearly by the end of the first day of search. I went into a total panic when the cute lil fixer-upper house that only allowed for a 7 month lease wanted to do all sorts of background checks thet took 2 business days (it was a Friday) AND wanted to verify that I make three times the rent monthly. I *do*, but it's not exactly easily verifyable as I'm self-employed. So AAaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh! I haven't done this for about 8 years. I had to leave on Monday so I can be at work tomorrow. I needed it DONE!



Well, I did. Stress has been building. Fortunately, I have enough prozac to keep me on track for the next month, because I realized I was starting to degenerate into the first stages of Major Depression.

Anyway, Friday night I discovered this accumulation of properties in *just* the neighborhood I'd decided I wanted to live in. And they're all older properties, beautifully, lovingly refurbished. Right by downtown, right off a lake. They felt like home. So Saturday morning I went to check out their only availability.

Vicky warned me that the place is tiny, and needed a special kinda person to live in it. I went, I fell in love. But it was *totally* unlike what I'd been envisioning for myself. Hah. 2 bedroom, place for my garden, respectable kitchen was the idea. Bigger than my current tardis was the idea. But nooooooooo. I went for bizarre studio instead. There's a *real* inside part, about 300 sq feet. 1 big room with kitchen and bathroom hanging off the end. 2 Huge sliding glass doors looking onto the patio. Very little wall space (where am I going to hang my paintings?). BUT!!!! It's surrounded on three sides by screened-in patio with a real roof. There's PLENTY of space out there for my living room, dining room and studio. And it's nestled away in the midst of a jungle, but surrounded by other places so nobody would really know it was there unless they *knew*. It has a garage and a storage shed. I can have my garden and then some! I can hide the new car when hurricanes come and it'll be fine unless the garage falls on top of it. That compensates for not having a proper closet, doesn't it?

Anyway, I fell in love because it was so perfectly located, so weird, and so *me*. I put down my deposit, went for a three martini lunch downtown, and then went to my brother's place and panicked. WHAT WAS I THINKING???? I'll be living almost outside, kinda. What if it leaks? What if it gets really cold in the winter? Aaaaaaaaack!

Anyway, I calmed down. It rained steadily and heavily all last night and this morning, so I went to check the water status. And *just* as I was pulling into my neighborhood I got a call from the other place I'd liked the model of, telling me that they'd have one like I'd seen on July 15. So I told them I'd let them know in an hour.

My place was watertight and snug. It felt *good*. I told them I wanted them to make sure the screens are in perfect condition before I move in, as I have no interest in losing weight by being eaten alive by bugs. They'll do it. I can easily frame in some visqueen for the colder days in winter. The big room will be fine, anyway, no matter what's going on outside. And I drove home, made a scale model of the inside part and all the must-have-inside furniture, and it'll all fit comfortably.

I'm still not sure if this is the most brilliant or stupidest thing I've done since I moved to Puerto Rico sight-unseen, but it'll definitely be an Adventure! I'm looking forward to minimalizing my Stuff (though I'll probably put some of it in storage) and it'll definitely be an environment suitable for an . I can't wait to be there! Just, no major hurricanes, please.

Hi MoGie
Nice to hear from you. Sounds like you've had aquite a time. Moving is alwys stressful.

It's been stress city here too what with exams reports etc and SoRB also stressed out to the nines.

We're all calming down a bit now though.

My thoughts are with you.


Alex

I've been so busy the past couple of months I've fallen out of touch with everyone. Hope everything is ok with y'all. I'll write some emails this week and catch up.

I'll manage, just have been under a very heavy work load and time is a real problem. Not enough time for 'normal' life-maintenance stuff and living in the chaos of trying to sort and pack as well kinda wore me out. Now I know where I'll be the tension has eased a bit.

I've decided to decorate the 'living room and dining section' of the patio like an exotic oasis tent, will hang the ceiling with fabric and create room dividers with potted plants and screens. That'll be inexpensive to do and fun to live in, I'll feel like a nomad princess.

You are a princess babes.
x

I thought you were just ignoring me!!!

Welcome back.

hehehe I'm an *Empress*, dahlink. Feeling like a princess will mean I can shimmy rustily around in belly-dancing garb at home and ignore the fact that I have enough belly for two dancers.

I'm not *ignoring* anyone, Alfster. Just need servants right now and wish I didn't feel as if I've dropped about 50 IQ points during the past two months. The 24th will be my last day where I've been working full time(yaaaaaaay!) and I think I'll grow a brain again as soon as I'm out of that pit. It's taking all my energy not to bite the customers lately. I am sooooo sick of Miami.