on the road

first, i would like to offer all of you faithful subscribers a heartfelt apology for my absense. driven by a wave of bleak, bleak feeling, i have spent the past few weeks hitchhiking up and down the eastern seaboard on a tour of decrepit old cemeteries. i went in search of the solace i suspected i might find in surroundings that matched my feeling of hopeless finality. here is my story:

i should say that hitchhiking as a goth is no easy task. as the vast majority of joe-normal americans think i'm "creepy", more often than not i had a hard time finding a ride. at a truck stop somewhere outside of pittsburg, i decided to trade in my goth uniform (black sisters of mercy t-shirt, black lace corset worn over t-shirt, black a-line mini skirt, black and red striped tights and black platform boots), for more cheerful attire. the truck stop convenience store was stocked with a wide variety of miscellany. i bought myself a white t-shirt that had "that's pennsylvania dutch, thank you very much" written across the chest in fake red cross-stitch, a pair of lee blue jeans in a wash i have never seen before in normal society, a pair of black immitation birkenstocks (had to keep it real somewhere!), and a baseball cap with an airbrushed picture of a golden retriever on it (the shop's hat assortment represented most breeds ... i opted for the golden retriever becasue they are the breed most often found behind white picket fences).

i changed into my new "holly wholesome" outfit in the bathroom. i stuffed my real clothes into my trusty bright yellow pokemon head backpack. at the sink i washed off my black eyeliner and wiped off lipstick. before i re-entered the world as a non-goth (not that a truckstop outside of pittsburg is "the world" per se), i checked myself out in the mirror and experienced a feeling that was part nausea, and part amusement. i crossed my fingers with the hope that my disguise would be convincing.

i decided to get a pack of gum at the restaurant counter. i'm not really much of a gum chewer as i am loath to do anything that might be considered cute or cheerleaderish, but the old lady behind the counter interested me, and i wanted an excuse to interact with her. i definitely romanticize career diner waitresses. they are are a bit like mutant humans: able to perform nearly any act of restaurant service with a pot of coffee in one hand and a pencil and pad in the other, all the while flashing a disconnected yet oddly comforting smile. i like the way they pepper their conversations with "sweetie" and "doll" without ever being personal. they commit the detailed culinary preferences of their "regulars" to memory (over easy, dressing on the side ...), but manage to keep them at an emotional arm's-length. this waitress' name tag said "gerry". she looked to be in her mid to late 60s. gerry asked me how i was doing today, sugar? i tried to stretch my "good thanks" into an actual conversation but by the time she was handing over my change with one hand, she was already ringing up the guy behind me with the other, and jokily thanking him for giving her car a jump last week. i envied him. i wondered what type of car she drove, and what sort of decoration she hung from the rearview mirror.

i wandered away from the counter chewing on a fresh stick of gum. amazingly a seemingly "normal" (really miserable) family (three screaming brat boys, and a bickering mom and dad) felt an instant kinship toward my new appearance, and offered me a ride to vienna, virginia before i even made it to the parking lot!

more to come ...