Cindigodotcom is in Chicago.

My phone is charged. There is no good reason why I’m not calling.

I am reclining in the blue puffy recliner, laptop on lap. CNN is on in the background. The main focus at CNN is reporting on the fires in California. Geraldo Rivera is standing in front of a backdrop of grey smoke shouting louder and more aggressively than he needs to. He looks like he did when he was reporting from Afghanistan, like he took handfulls of dirt and rubbed them in his hair and on his face on purpose.

Mr. X went to go get pet food out of the van. When he was comming through the living room, CNN was showing a police artist sketch of one of the guys they thought started the fires. He stoped in front of the tv, a pet bowl in each hand, and said…..

“Oh god, what has Jay Leno done”?

…….I the hell out of that guy love that guy.

I am reclining in a blue puffy lounge chair with a laptop on my lap. Murphy the dog is gulping down Daisy the dog’s water from Daisy’s silver bowl. Daisy desperately wants to play with Murphy. Murphy doesn’t understand the concept and only wants to play with people.

We are in Colorado staying with friends. It is cold here. We forgot our jackets. It’s not horribly cold. Just enough to make my body remember that I don’t like it. The wind is blowing furiously and dry leaves and dirt are flying around in swirls with each gust.

Mr. X is outside helping to build a retaining wall. The retaining wall to retain a pine tree from eventually sliding down a hill.

I am almost hungry enough for lunch. I am drinking Chai Tea out of a mustard yellow mug thinking about the phone calls I have to return, and where the hell my phone charger went. I don’t know where my other hair tie is. I wonder if they are almost done outisde? I’m thinking about what I would do if I lived in the path of the fires in California.

On the news they showed burned down houses with charred remains of cars in the garages. It was on CNN. We thought that maybe “that guy” was out of town on business or something. They also showed trees with red caution type tape wrapped around them. When the camera got close enough, you could see that the tree looked like molten lava on the inside. They said that the tree’s roots can catch on fire and burn from the inside.

I will be in Chicago in two days.

We’re alive. I’m eating almonds, sitting next to Mr.X in the brown van. We’re on our way to Bryce canyon in Utah. We just left Mt. Zion National Park. We have discovered that national parks seem to be over rated. They’re nice if you have kids, or are old and want to take shuttle buses around, buy trinkets at gift shops, go watch movies about the nature that you should be out seeing. When we get to Denver and have access to high speed internet, I think we will be changing our plans to go off the beaten path a little more.

Everything we own is packed into a 8′ x 9′ storage unit in Las Vegas. We are officially homeless.

The first night camping wasn’t as fun and romantic as we thought it would be when we were planning this madcap, vagabond adventure. It was noted a few times,in an unsure tone, through out the night that, “we have at least six more weeks of this”.

When planning, we didn’t take into account how much of a pain in the ass a dog and a cat in a van would be. Both animals while getting used to traveling, had upset stomachs. Mr. X and I were treated to a night of the alternating aroma of cat and dog farts. One of us would smell it first, yell, “OH NO!” and we would both press our faces to the open window.Today they seem better.

I was worried about Toonces the cat. She has been an indoor cat her entire life, but she seems to be taking everything in stride. Even her cat collar, which I was sure she would find a way to get out of, she’s wearing with a jaunty sort of pride.

I have two good peeing in the woods story.

One: I got up at seven in the morning to pee. I let Murphy out of the van with me. Murphy, being in a new situation and wanting to explore, starting running all over into other people’s campsites, sniffing tents and making clanking noises with her collar. Since I was just going to run out of the van, run behind a tree, and run back in, I didn’t bother putting on clothes. I was naked and barefoot with a blanket wrapped around me. I was creeping/running around frantically stage whispering “Murphy! BAD DOG! BAD DOG! Get back here!” When a park ranger drove up in a little ranger golf cart to yell at the naked girl and her loose unruly dog. I corralled Murphy, apologized and sulked back to the brown van.

Two: I went out to pee at about three in the morning. This time, I did not take Murphy the dog with me. I brought the flashlight and found my way into the trees. When I was done, I stood up I grabbed the tree next to me for support. The tree was not fully mature. It was stable but very flexible. I went to take a step and promptly fell into a hole. I grabbed tighter at the tree which bent very far towards the ground and then sprung back, with a catapoult like effect. I made a noise something like, “AHHHOHHHHHEEEEEAAAAAAOOHHHHH”, while I was being whipped around and scrambling to get my footing. I found my flashlight, and again, sulked back to the van. No park rangers were alerted.

We’ve decided to stop one more time in Utah before we hit Colorado. I am happy to report that animals seem to have their bearings and don’t seem to have upset stomachs any more. Hopefully, this will extend into the night and make for a much more pleasant and fresh atmosphere….As I write this…Murphy just farted the most disgusting noxious fart yet. And, actually, there was a Murphy puking incident this afternoon, but I blame it on the lunch leftovers. Also, since it was outside, at a gas station, I can’t really count it as an “incident” at all.

goodbye las vegas. See you soon.

I have email on the road peeps….so use it.

There are five girls ages 2-8 pounding on our front door screaming that they are FBI, and to open the door. Yesterday these same thugs washed our van with tire cleaner while we were out resulting in a trip to the car wash.

T-minus two days and counting.

We have taken to calling Murphy the dog, Rudy Giuliani. I don’t remember why we started doing this, but we have, and we find it quite amusing.

Now insteaad of saying, “Murphy, do you want to go outside”, or, “Murphy, do you have to pee”, or, “NO, Murphy, NO!”. It’s, “Rudy Giuliani, do you want to go outside?”, or, “Rudy Giuliani, do you have to pee?”, or, “NO, Rudy Giuliani, NO!”.

We don’t know why it’s funny. It just is.

Mr. X and I have been spending some time at the Las Vegas Hilton. There is a potentially profitable promotional drawing there that we are trying to potentially profit from. My role in the potentially profitable promotional drawing is one of companion/ protigee/ eye candy .

How is it that I am able to spend all day at the Hilton? I am out of a job. Actually, I am temporarily out of a job. The dectetives that go around checking to see that all of the massage therapists are properly licenced, and not actually poser prostitutes, came around. Guess who wasn’t properly licenced for the city of Las Vegas? There was a whole big dramatic story…but really…I’m over it now. There was a reason that I hadn’t done the paperwork yet. It’s a major pain in the ass.

*warning, the next few paragraphs are extremely boring and ranting. Feel free to skip ahead*

I filled out all of their silly forms. I gave them their fast track personal History questionnaire which included,my employment history and places I have lived for the past five years,my birth certificate, passport style photo ($15.00), space agreement from my employeer, certificate of graduation, national certification, health card (complete with TB and Hep tests), school transcripts, attendance records, taxation forms ($100.00), SCOPE clearence($15.00), Nevada Business Registration Form, Child support supplement, plus a processing/FBI backround check fee of $180.00. This is only a for city license, a small fraction of Vegas.

Also, to add insult to injury, the license takes two to four months to process. Three different people gave me three different answers about getting a temporary work card while the paperwork was going through.

To practice in the county, which is where we are moving, I have to resubmit everything in the above paragaph, complete with separate fees plus, submit forms to get a metro work card and detailed financial information. They ask questions like do you have a safe deposit box? Number and Location? Amount of cash in box? Spouse’s employment history and salary. What is your net worth? Cash on hand? Cash in banks? Stocks and bonds? They want to know my employment history and the places I’ve lived for the past 17 years. The lady I was getting my country registration packet told me that this is the same package that people have to fill out if they want to build a hotel on the strip.

If I tried, I could not have picked a worse place to be a massage therapist.

To be a stripper all you need is a work card and have all of your parking tickets paid. Oh the injustice.

*end of digression*

So, we were at the Hilton at the potentially profitable promotional drawing. I was sitting at the bar filling out paperwork while X was playing video poker.

Me: Oh damn!
Mr. X: What?
Me: Well, it’s three o’clock and the big Klingon comes out of Quarks around two, and I wanted to take my picture with him.
Mr. X: (turns towards me laughing) I know we have a seriously bizarre life when you can utter that sentence in all seriousness.

We are half way packed and moved into temporary storage. The van is fixed and in safe, driveable condition. We will be leaving for Denver October 25th.

I’m sick of beaurocracy . I’m angry at THE MAN.

FUCK YOU MAN.

You in your fucking suit and tie and your big fat head. You, fucktard, I’m talking to you. You and your assinine 65 page documents and outrageous fees. You with your no straight answer, long lines, five different buildings, ten conflicting directions, I HATE YOU! You think it’s funny when your lackey front people throw up their hands and shake their heads and say, “Hey, I’m just doing my job here”. You make me want to break and steal, scream and swear. I worked so hard to get out from under your thumb, and now I find out, I’m just under the other one.

I think I might just be a stripper or a bank robber….I can’t quite decide yet.

I am feeling physically sick today and not too sharp mentally. I just went to ebay to read my positive transaction feedback to make myself feel better.

I’m good enough, smart enough….and gosh darnit….people like me.

The funniest thing that happened all day:

Mr. X was playing with Toonces the cat and squeezed her stomach and something came out of her butt and got on his hand. He yelled and ran into the kitchen to sanitize. Then he threw a wet rag at my head from the other room because I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

That is all to report from cindigodotcom.

I am flicking Murphy the dog’s ear with my big toe. flick, flick, flick, flick

It is 4:12 in the afternoon.

I received an express mail, super important, next day air letter in the mail from my step dad on September 30. There were two checks inside. One check was for two thousand dollars, and one for three thousand dollars. The two thousand dollar check was marked pre nuptial, the three thousand, post nuptial.

I called immediately.

Me: Hi….
SD:Helloooooo…..super fantabulous, wonderful, great , fantastic phoenix (He sometimes calls me phoenix along with spewing out passive aggressive strings of positiveness that won’t let you get a word in edgewise.) beautiful, excellent, great daughter.

(general plesantries and small talk)

Me:Yeah, uhhhh, these two checks that you sent. I can’t accept them.
SD:Goes on to say that I have no choice. That “pieces of paper” (marriage certificates, diplomas, certifications of any sort that are sanctioned by big, fat, white republican, right wing, christians) are very, very, verrrrrrry important to him.
Me:Yeah but….
SD:I’ve been thinking about it alot. I think that maybe something happened in Mr. X’s childhood that has really scared him about marriage. Maybe when he was four or five. He doesn’t even know it.
Me:I really don’t think….
SD: I mean it’s so deep and buried. And that damn piece of paper is just so important. (getting more frustrated because he can tell I’m not going along with his plan) So DAMN important.
Me:Well, Bob, I just don’t think that now is the right time. I mean we’ve discussed it and we’re not opposed but we just…..
SD:Well if there’s a problem with cashing the checks, your bank can call my bank and I’ll wire you the money right away. So you can go down to the justice of the peace tomorrow and you don’t even have to tell anyone. You can go down there. Get that DAMN piece of paper and fax it to me and then my bank can wire you the money.

The conversation went on with more of the same.

I called to talk to my mom on October 2nd. He got to the phone first and we repeated this entire conversation with him being more upset and frustrated because he fully expected us to go along with his plan and be married on October 1st. He also called Mr. X on his cell phone and had the same things to say. Mr. X said he sounded upset and angry but still was trying to be polite. He accused us of being evasive.

I am going home to visit in a month. I wonder what will happen face to face. My motto is as long as it’s funny, or makes an interesting journal entry…..it’s all good.