One Month

Desert Sojourn round two just never quite materialized the way I intended it to. To sum up, week two in Barstow was much the same as the first, minus the gale-force winds and with a lot more topography and cans. I did end up spending my birthday in a dive bar in Barstow (there aren't any other kind there, as astutely noted by a coworker), but I was able to score a few bottles of Sierra Nevada while the bartender guzzled down some Bud Light and gave us weird looks. We wrote several things on the bar's ceiling, as encouraged by our helpful barkeep. We made sure everything we wrote included the word "bitch" or made some reference to oral sex so that we didn't stand out as high-falutin' outsiders. I am now immortalized on a ceiling in Barstow--"Kathryn is a Hot-Ass Psycho Bi-atch. And How!" I am thrilled.

And now, some photographic highlights for those of you who don't like to read all these damn tedious words.

Khaki-clad Kathryn and Tamara enjoying tasty lunchables in a sandy wash, and blending in beautifully with their surroundings.

Russ modeling alternative hat-wearing options

Horny toad hiding under a bush after I nearly stepped on the poor thing--sometimes camouflage can be a disadvantage when you can't outrun the bipeds.

Cute little flake tool made out of chert. We didn't find very many interesting things such as this; mostly just a bunch of modern garbage and boring historic churchkey cans.

After I got home from the Barstow job, I celebrated my birthday with a group of friends at Lips, the local drag-queen cabaret. Yay for drag queens! We had a blast, of course. Look how happy everyone is! Since it was my birthday I was taken up on stage and had a crown put on my head while the host made fun of me. S(he) called me Tickle Me Elmo because I was laughing so much--this was after they told me that my hair was way to conservative and teased it until it was a foot high. I am not kidding. See? Afterwards, a few of us went to the Red Fox Room, and I left my crown on with its crest of teased hair. I am not easily embarrassed. The funniest thing was that a nice young man actually gave me his phone number when I left. He was very polite and sincere and I am sorry to say that I laughed when he gave it to me. I felt bad for hurting his feelings, because I wasn't laughing at him, I was laughing at the fact that anyone could think I'm attractive wearing my fishnets and blue eyeshadow and big hair and silly paper crown. He wouldn't have liked the real me, anyhow.


I was home for one week and worked at the brewery for a few days, then went back out to the desert, but this time we were in Calipatria, a pungent one-gas-station town 1/2 hour north of El Centro. Thankfully, we were working quite a bit northeast of there--in the Chocolate Mountains--where it was much more scenic. There is much to tell of our trip, but that is going to warrant its very own post with accompanying photos and lots of adjectives.