Oregon

I’m in love with Oregon. Which is perfect, cause it’s where I was born. So it’s already like a magical fairyland where the story of Stephanie begins. And it would be totally unfortunate if I found out that it actually sucked. Which it doesn’t. So that’s ok.

People are super fucking nice here. Like, most places, if you’re sitting outside a gas station with a pack, they tell you (with varying degrees of politeness) to leave. Here they offer to buy you smokes and tell you that they wish they had the balls to do what you’re doing.

And it’s beautiful. Duh. It’s like Washington but brighter green. And covered in blackberries. I mean, fucking covered. I had a friend out here who had a little farm and had a bunch of goats for the sole purpose of eating blackberry plants so that other things had a chance to grow. I can’t even imagine being out here when all the plants have berries on them; there would be more blackberries than you could ever eat. There are blackberry  plants by every hitch-out spot, by every squat, on every sidewalk. I would be making myself sick with them every day if they were ripe.

Oh and hitchhiking is totally legal. No signs anywhere saying “No pedestrians or whatever else past this point.” You can be on the on-ramp or walk down the interstate or whatever the fuck you want and cops will leave you alone. I actually haven’t even spoken to a cop since I’ve been in Oregon. I’m pretty happy about that.

And they make great beer. Like, lots of it. My very first favorite beer when I first started to appreciate beer was Deschutes Black Butte Porter, brewed in Oregon. And they make Rogue here. Have you ever had any Rogue beer? Go try some. They sell it in those fancy 22 oz. bottles in places that sell fancy beer. Everything they make is delicious. We went on a date to a Rogue brewpub in Eugene and drank a bunch of different ridiculously delicious beer.

Ok, and also Portland is awesome. It’s my new favorite. I can’t even explain why. I just really fucking like the vibe there and there seems to always be interesting shit going on. It just feels comfortable, you know? Like a place I could totally belong.

Also, can we just talk about Voodoo Donuts? Just for like a second? Cause I’m really excited about this place. If nothing else, I’m gonna totally come back to Oregon just to eat more delicious donuts. I didn’t even make it into the one in Portland. There was always a line like out the door and around the corner. But their entire outside wall is glitter. Not like it’s a wall with some glitter on it, but the whole fucking wall is goddamn glitter. Their donuts could taste like asshole and I would still love the place. And the donuts come in awesome pink boxes. And don’t taste like asshole at all.

We got a free donut outside the Portland store, just for standing there with packs on not wanting to wait in line. Some guy just gave us one from his pink box. It was a donut with oreos on it. Ok, I don’t even like donuts. Like, I pretty  much think they suck. But this thing was fucking amazing. I mean, c’mon. It had oreos on top of it.

So when we got to Eugene we went to the one there which is the same idea but minus the glitter and the line. We got a donut with Cap’n Crunch on it and one with chocolate, oreos and peanut butter. Like, what? Who does that? Or actually, why don’t all people who make donuts do that? I never knew donuts could actually be delicious.

I even liberated some pink converse from a thrift store in Eugene and started calling them my voodoo donut shoes.

Whatever. That was probably way too many words about donuts. My point is: I love Oregon. This is where I’m from. In this weird, I’ve hardly been here, I don’t know much about it kind of way. But still, I began here. And it’s beautiful and even feels kinda homey. So everything is good.

Why Don’t We Do it in the Road?

Hi. I have nothing interesting to say right now. I just want to brag about how I just had sex on the side of the interstate. Like, basically on the shoulder, behind the little two foot tall guardrail wall thingy. I don’t really think anybody could see us. But it’s totally possible that they could cause I wasn’t really thinking about them at the moment. We were walking down the interstate somewhere around Salem cause you’re allowed to do that in Oregon, and I kept seeing bushes and stuff that looked like places you could fuck. Oh, and we had both been super horny all day. And finally we got to the little wall and I was like, “No, seriously. Come here.” And he did. And we fucked. Right next to a whole bunch of people driving by in cars. And it was super hot. That is all. I just wanted to tell you that I am awesome.

A Story

Ok, so Washington is really cold and rainy. I mean, duh. You probably already knew that. I definitely already knew that. Shit, I used to live there. Sometimes you just have to be experiencing something firsthand to really understand that it sucks though.

I’ve sure been doing that a lot lately: purposely choosing to direct myself into situations which I know beforehand are going to be unpleasant. And then getting there, being like, “Man, this is really unpleasant. I wonder why I decided to do this.” It kinda feels like past Stephanie and future Stephanie are fighting with each other.

Maybe it’s more a response to this new kind of freedom I have. I have basically no responsibilities to anyone or anything. I finally feel like I can go anywhere and do anything I want. So why restrict myself to only doing things which are going to be comfortable?

– I’m free; I can do fuckin’ anything!

– Well, you can’t go into the Rocky Mountains in the middle of winter without a place to sleep inside. You’ll freeze.

– Oh yeah? Watch me! Ha!

– You’re an idiot. You’re going to get us both killed.

– Wheeee! I love doing stuff!

(This is an approximation of my internal dialogue (monologue? dialogue?) with myself).

 

My ridiculously over-inflated response to all the authority and control which I have (which we all have) experienced in life is that I won’t even let myself tell me what to do anymore. Even when she’s just trying to do what’s best for me.

I think I’m also kind of enjoying testing the limits of what I can handle. I think lots of people look at things like sleeping outside when it’s 12 degrees out and just say, “That’s crazy. I could never do that.” And so they don’t. Which is maybe the smart thing to do. But on the other hand, they will never know that actually they probably could do it. I like to believe that humans are better at survival than we give ourselves credit for.

So yeah, I spent like a month and a half in Utah, Wyoming and Colorado in the dead of winter, hitchhiking with no money and only a backpack full of possessions. And yeah, I slept outside in the cold a lot. And I was hungry a lot. And man, it was fucking cold. And fucking dark way too many hours of the day. And I drank whiskey a lot because it made me feel warmer and it made the dark part of the day go by faster.

But you know what? I’m still alive. I never even felt like I was in any danger of not being alive, really. (Well, ok. There was that one time. When we were stuck in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the mountains in Utah and it was about 10 degrees at 4pm and getting dark and getting colder fast and there were no cars at all on the road. I was slightly worried about freezing to death that night. But we ended up getting a ride from the only car that drove by and drinking whiskey  in a hotel room in a town in Wyoming with my super awesome friend who happened to also be in that town in Wyoming for the night. So that was alright.) And more importantly, it was all actually pretty fucking fun. It sure beat having an office job.

And now I get to have the knowledge that I can survive being really cold. Knowing that I can take care of myself is probably my favorite feeling. Even in situations that lots of people whould never dream of putting themselves in. Especially in those kinds of situations.

 

But anyway. Maybe I’m sick of testing myself for the moment. Cause I was headed up to Seattle. To see how well I deal with squatting in weather that is always cold and rainy. I mean, it’s June, to be fair. So not the worst idea ever. But still, 50’s, maybe 60’s and rainy isn’t exactly the funnest weather to hang out outside all the time in (yes, I know that funnest isn’t a real word. shut up).

So I got up to Vancouver (Washington, like 10 miles north of Portland) from Portland with this boy and I swear it was at least 10 degrees colder and it was pouring fucking rain. And cigarettes were like twice as expensive and people were kinda shitty to us and standing on on-ramps is illegal. And after like 3 hours, we couldn’t remember why we wanted to go to Seattle. So fuck it. Now we are hitching back south. It’s not like I have to do uncomfortable shit. That’s just as bad as thinking I’m not allowed to do it.

But anyway. Seriously, anyway. I was totally trying to tell you a story. I’ve been trying to tell you a story this whole time. I think I might suck at telling stories. I get all sidetracked with like, describing how I see the world and analyzing myself. Ok, see? I’m doing it again already.

Ok. So. Washington is cold and rainy and has really expensive cigarettes (seriously, Camels were like $9 a pack. That’s just stupid). So we came back to Portland. Where it was immediately warmer and not raining and hitchhiking is totally legal and Camels cost like $4.30. And, within minutes of getting there, we had been offered a brand new tent to sleep in on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown and a free meal.

I think the official story of what was going on was that people were camping out to save spots to watch this parade which was happening the next day. But it had somehow gotten co-opted by homeless rights/camping rights-type people and turned into a bunch of homeless people drinking in tents on the sidewalk on Friday night. So we ended up drinking PBR’s and having a lot of sex on the sidewalk in downtown Portland, separated from rich bar-goers by one thin layer of fabric. I think I love Portland. I got to sleep naked on the sidewalk. How many cities can you do that in?

And then when I woke up in the morning and crawled out of the tent to spit, there was a family with a bunch of kids about 3 feet from my bed, all decked out with flags and lawn chairs and parade-watching gear. Awesome.

 

So there. That’s my story. Now I’m headed back south, with landing in the middle of Texas in July on my agenda. Let’s see how you do with 100+ degree weather, future Stephanie…