Friday, April 8, 2011

All this from a white castle late night crave

Earlier tonight I remembered there is a white castle on my way home that I actually once picked up the only friends from high school in the OC who've ever visited me (besides last year's LDR Alex) Nick W and Amy (now requesting to be called "Charlie") from when they were building rafts and hopping trains and like, joining the goddamn anarchist gypsy circus 25 years too late on the wrong continent or something... this white castle (also near a building that once contained the salt factory where my mom had a job at in the 70's and saw her car get broken into and stolen out her office window but couldn't do anything about it but watch it happen and call the cops) is where I picked up Amy/Charlie and Nick W's big wiry bearded stinky soot from coal train covered asses from at 2 in the morning. It's ok, I was out dancing anyways.

I wish I had a camera then, Amy took some great pics of their shanty river town (some of which I've actually posted before) but I wanted to take a pic of them all grimy bc they were like "everyone was looking at us bc we are so WEIRD!" and I was thinking like "uh no it's bc you are covered in blackface from the coal train and you smell like a jam band." 

The next morning they woke up on my comfy futon in my apartment in my beautiful south city neighborhood next to a huge awesome park and a top notch botanical garden and they were all like "where are all the 'young people'? Do you know of any mandolin repair places?" and I was thinking to myself, "Uh, first of all, you sound like me when I moved here and famously asked my schoolmates Kate and Eugene, 'is there a juice bar or smoothie place within walking distance of here?' and after a minute of 'are you serious?' blank stares and subsequently several minutes (and years) of ridiculing laughter, caught their breath and said, 'oh honey, that's real cute but you're not in CA anymore.'" I finally realized why Kate and Eugene still talked about this incident and sort of went, "Oh, you mean you want me to drop you off at the anarchist commune type house here? I'll take you to the bolozone house near Cherokee street, I know my friends that live there will let travelers stay!" 

So since they were kind of acting like hanging out and visiting with me wasn't cool enough, and my then boyfriend was being a big baby about my unexpected guests dropping in to stay with me with so little notice, (even though he had his own goddamn house and could've just been like, "see you this weekend, I've got a lot of work to do this week and can't party with guests!") dropped em off and kind of let them be until further notice. Don't worry, I'd already been given a lesson in what "freegans" were and Anya and I made them a beautiful and delicious vegan pesto from her parents' organic basil backyard coop crop (complete with impromptu but effective extra salt and nutritional yeast as a better-than-it-sounds Parmesan cheese substitute) with gnocchi and asparagus, and some sort of rad gourmet vegan mini cupcakes Anya was really into baking at the time, so I'm not an asshole, I promise. I was an excellent host, they were just looking for more adventure than my quiet neighborhood, which is not all that quiet if you go about a football field in ANY direction. Or it's a scary quiet, like a lot of industrial spaces 'available for rent' ie abandoned. Either way it's not really warranting of bad guesttiquette and a demand for something more their scene. So I dropped them at bolozone and told them to tell Ralph and Jason H-Teeth hello and drove off a little bit annoyed that I wasn't cool enough for my own old friends. Keep in mind this is still only about a half hour walk or ten minute bike ride from my apartment, so if they wanted to come back, they could just make the call or walk on over and knock on my door.

Then they found out they were kind of in (what was at the time) a ghettoish neighborhood and walking the house dog meant black people were verbally scared of the dog or wanted to steal it for pit bull fighting rings, and getting lost was a real scary experience. This is the part of the story where you gasp in shock and cover your mouth because Amy got assaulted (with a hammer in an alley apparently, I didn't learn untilYEARS LATER via my friend Lara) by a really bad guy that was attacking women pedestrians in South City until my friend Lindsay (or is it Lindsey...I should be more sensitive about this spelling issue since she and I were also mistaken for one another more than a few times back then, since we are both tall, thin, bright eyed smiley loquacious Geminis and we both had short dishwater blonde hair) got attacked but fought off and gave a successful description of the perp and got the fucker caught and incarcerated. 

Amy (wanting to be called charlie) left without saying goodbye (understandably after I learned what had happened to her) and Nick stayed for a bit longer and his gf at the time Vanessa came to join him and then I picked them up from Bolo and met their friend from Santa Cruz (that ended up later moving to STL for a while off and on and lending me and acclimating me to my first turquoise road bike--the Lotus...still Japanese; how I like my wheels to be--and sort of moving away bc of some sort of north city urban farming off the grid squatting gentrification confusion going on that had him running from the cops more often than anyone would like) and I took Nick W and Vanessa up in the good ol gateway arch and museum of westward expansion with Vanessa's family's military discount to any and all national monuments, and then directed both to respective bus and metrolink connections to the STL airport a few mornings later. I didn't run into any of them until I ran into Nick at a basement/cellar level OC restaurant/bar/venue called la cave when Mariah and I first saw one another after alex invited me to one of the surf band's shows two Xmases ago. 

I except Konstantin from this "not running into them until years later" thing because he ended up staying in STL for a while and became my friend that I'd drive around to places like trader joes and REI to dumpster dive and would wait in the car around the corner because even though I did not mind that HE did it, I was not going to be caught doing something like that at a national chain in a neighborhood that's nice enough for the cops to be bored enough to really come down on that kind of behavior...although I guess the cops didn't appreciate that kinda behavior in super ghetto hood north St Louis either as I mentioned before...but eventually STL gave Konstantin enough unintended legal trouble to stay away for possibly a lifetime and I haven't heard from him in a while, which is very surprising since we are both very well versed in the Internet. Maybe I'll track him down and see if he's still riding his bike by abandoned lots throwing water balloons filled with seed bombs to sprout neighborhood beautifying indigenous plants and low maintenance veggies or if he became an extra on IFC's Portlandia or something. 

Did I mention how snug I am in bed with my pulled pork slider, cheeseburger slider, sweet potato fries, 3 mozzarella sticks, and bottle of water in bed watching an episode of Portlandia? It's been a long day, I probably needed the late night junk food binge decision. They fucking forgot my pulled pork slider.  I knew they seemed drunk when they forgot that they were fetching my order and started ringing my car up for the next car's order. Lame. I'm checking my receipt tomorrow.

Oh, PS- Later this month another friend from high school is coming to visit St Louis for a weekend. He and I got "most unique" together in our senior superlatives in the yearbook, leaning up against a cactus mural and looking pensive in a Scarface tee, as shown below. If you notice, they spelled my middle name wrong but whatever, people do that all the time and it's my own goddamn fault for not just going by Heather all the time. I wish I still had those pants, they were my favorite. I washed and wore those pink converse from the pic the other day. Also, that belt was made for Jesse James by an inappropriately older male friend of mine at the time but was too small for him so I got it and it says FUCK YOU on it so they scribbled that part out with a sharpie. This is why I have a tag on my blog that says "you were SO punk once"

I think it is actually kind of cool that I got this superlative even though people were weirdly scrambling to the point of kind of campaigning for whatever title they wanted you to vote for, like no joke, "Who are you putting for 'Stuck in the 70s'? You're putting me, right? I haven't been wearing this leather headband for a full week before the superlative voting sheet came out just so you wouldn't put me down for that one!" and I'd be like "Uh, but don't you know about 77 punk? I'm way 77." (just kidding I didn't do that, but I did say that's what kind of punk I like) but my friend Kellee was vying hard for everyone to vote her most unique, and I wasn't doing anything and I still got it.

Also a fun fact: the girl above John's senior portrait was the same girl that was in my art class and on "senior skip day" (which I attended to be unassuming from all the fake notes I was writing to get out of class on regular days for things like awesome concerts in LA or who knows whatever else I was up to in secret...I know better than to blatantly skip on a day where the adults are all making a big fuss about specifically not skipping that day) came to school to ask for directions to Tijuana, Mexico. I'll give you a hint at how easy those directions take a freeway that has an entry about a mile and a half away from out high school, and then you take that south until you get across the border. Then you buy butterfly knives and fireworks and drink at señor frog's and buy cheap shit like silver and velvet elvis paintings and whatever illegal human growth hormone your parents asked you to buy. I've never even been to TJ before and I know this drill.

Another fun fact...the Stefanie right above other Stephanie was on this VH1 reality series called "I Want to Work for Diddy" and reached the final 3, only to accidentally racially offend Puffy in the final episode (it's a little tongue in cheek only because she and I were in the same school group called TAP, which stood for Tolerance Among People) and be the only one out of the final three not to be asked to join the sean jean empire as an employee. He didn't look very fun to work for anyways, and he kept talking about how being his employee looked super good on a resume, implying that he might actually know something about how awful it looks for him to boss people around. Alright, I'm going back to sleep.


  1. Ok I'm very disappointed those first few pictures aren't showing up. If they have anything to do with the Nick/Amy story and the gypsy circus coal train I really want to see them, too.
    Nick and his girlfriend (I think it was Vanessa?) visited me when I was living in New York four years ago, they must really get around on the gypsy circuit!
    Also, I'm pretty disturbed by the rape story you just threw in there, not gunna lie.
    So basically fix those pictures, please. Thank you Lindsey "Most Unique" Donahue!!

  2. You'll have to tell me this story. I couldn't read that much.

  3. Leah- the first two pictures are just of white castle, but I meant to link to Amy/Charlie's beautiful photos on flickr, which in a previous post I'd talked about how I think even though it says summer oh eight i'm certain that it was before that, because summer of 08 was a WAY different time in STL (and all our train hopping friends were kind of either settled here or had mosey'd to NOLA or idk, but it wasn't 08) and hadn't linked to it yet because I wrote this on my phone in the middle of the night, and I still can't find it. The assault south city rapist story is disturbing, I agree, I was very sad that I didn't learn that that was why she didn't say goodbye until a full two or three years later.

    Jeff- This story is long when it's both written and when it's spoken, maybe I will do for you what I do for our dyslexic friend Joe which is read books out loud on voice memos and text them to him so he can read a book I want him to read. The trouble is that he says my voice puts him right to sleep. I told Jake I did this for Joe one time and he was laughing and I couldn't tell if he thought it was cute and endearing or totally strange and overly zealous so I was like "no I don't really do that"

  4. I would far prefer a long spoken story.

  5. it's hard enough for me to pay attention to the write ups the writers on my team do and give me to review.


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