Battered suitcases, higher ways

Kayla — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 15:57:28 +0000

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” – Jack Kerouac

NY peeps

Kayla — Mon, 31 May 2010 16:07:59 +0000

Some piccies from the grand ol’ NYC taken with the love of my life – holga.

And from Oregon…

11 days

Kayla — Mon, 31 May 2010 03:42:33 +0000

Plane, Phoenix, a burger, Burbank, coffee, a friend, sleep, driving, Santa Monica, driving, the beach, a couchsurfer, Santa Barabara, hula hooping at sunset, walking, busing, drinking, drunken walking, sleep, hangover, coffee, driving… It’s gone by in a blur of planes, trains, people and sights. Time goes so fast that I completely lose track of it, what I’ve been doing and who I’ve been doing it with. My memory is shot – I know, grasshoppers, I know, I didn’t exactly have a stella mem before – and I’m forgetting really basic things, like the name of the casino in Melbs, my fave coffee haunt on Main, my mates last name… eek!

Thankfully I’m a trigger-happy beast and can use my piccies to chronologicalise my expeditions. Apparently I went to Vegas, lost my wallet at the airport and then traveled with 3 Eastern Europeans. Thankyou Canon!

So I’m currently sitting at a plastic lined table at the ‘CrawGator’s Bar & Grill’ in Venice Beach, southern Louisiana, looking out over the harbour of boats that are soon going to be hit by the oil spill. Some old crooner is on the radio (how I miss Triple J!) and I can’t really understand the guy talking a lil way away from me. Such is the south.

11 days.

Being a Maverick Rebel

Kayla — Mon, 31 May 2010 03:42:01 +0000

Stu described me as a maverick rebel since I’ve been traveling. Sweet term and I spose kinda true. Not the maverick part, while that would be super nice it reminds me of Tom Cruise and Top Gun and I’m not naïve enough to think I’m as special as a pre-scientology Tommy – that was special stuff. No I am infact talking about the rebel part. Coming off of a 3 week roadtrip with 3 Eastern European guys that I met on Couchsurfing (sorry fam, don’t freak!) I’m starting to realize that that was a little crazy. Good, but crazy.

Igor, Sasha and Artem (“it’s ARTEMMM not ATOM you Australian! Speak English!”) are not Canadian. They have been living there for 10 years but they are not Canadian. Silly me, I thought they almost would be. I happen to like Canadians. They speak as if they have a perma cold and they’re also not American, two obvious pluses. But no, these boys are certainly not anything other than Serbian, Siberian and Kazakhstani raised Russian (Borat jokes aplenty, I can assure you).

We roadtripped through LA, Santa Monica, hung with the crazies in Venice and then chilled up the coast to Santa Barbara, where we met the delightful circus performing wunderchild Fabian, before hitting San Francisco. There we lost Sasha and I made my way to Santra Cruz to see the lovely Gabriella, I tricked the boys into eating – and liking – tofurkey, before heading inland to Yosemite. We there perfected the art of the sleeping human sandwich in the car before undertaking an epic jaunt of rock climping, leaping and jumping. We then missioned it to Vegas, arrived at 4am along with the hookers in Maccas, slept in the car on the strip (pure class!) before doing the Vegas thing and getting drunk and going to the casinos. Some nudist hippies awaited us in the hot springs of the Boulder City canyon, before heading to Flagstaff, we karaoked, missed the Canyon, went back to Flagstaff, back to the Canyon, then drove through the Mojave desert like stealth in the night. I don’t remember what happened next… I think we arrived in the O.C. That’s right, we met the ‘colourful’ Liz and partyed with her CS buds before we all missioned it to the airport for our next, solo, destination.

I’m glad I went with them. I’m not going to lie, it was a hella pain sometimes. Eastern Europeans are not exactly laidback Aussies when it comes to traveling, and no amount of Borat jokes can get them to show those pearly whites at the best of times. However they have some serious Spidey skills when it comes to climbing rocks, and made even tree-hugging, nature dwelling, toful loving me apprectiate the mother a whole lot more. Thanks to all the climbing, my impressive backpacking biceps are even more steely and fear raising than ever before.

Needless to say, with all that drinking, car sleeping, starbucks and more drinking I was in desperate need of a break.

Only I arrived in Minneapolis to be told we were driving the 2 and a ½ day journey straight to Southern New Orleans to cover the oil spill for the news.

Naww shucks.

Piccies for you, Piccies for me

Kayla — Tue, 04 May 2010 00:24:40 +0000

Some general photo love from along the way.

Pimpin’ Coachella

Kayla — Mon, 03 May 2010 23:54:01 +0000

Where the desert meets a polo field, nestled in a little nook known as Indio, CA, is a place which should be referred to as heaven. Lip-smacking heaven. Think: the BIGGEST names in music, hippy vibes and jives and a whole lotta substance abuse. Bliss.

It’s taken me a few days to recover from the sheer awesomeness and alcohol induced haze of Coachella to actually write about it, but as I would like to inject jealousy and loathing in the most pure of music-hearted souls I’ll give it a go.

Coachy involved rehashing the hippy moves to groove to the delight that is Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (you could not find a happier looking 10-some -they were giggling with the look of children on a candy high). There was repeated swooning at the pure godliness of that who goes by the earthly name of Julian Casablancas, and then pure awe at the stage presence of Florence + the Machine. Muse was practically a religious experience, and then Thom Yorke topped it off with a surprise gig with his new band Atoms for Peace with Flea and some dude from Beck (when your in a band with Flea and Thom Yorke, you’re always going to be reduced to ‘some dude’ I’m afraid). Deadmau5 was absolutely. in.sane. and my girl-crush on Zoe Deschanel has become full-blown love after seeing She & Him.

Inbetween these transcendental gigs, we whittled away the hours at the arts-and-crafts tents with feathers, a needle and thread and tales of music folklore. There was face painting and screen printing, outdoor yoga, pizza of inhumane proportions, chillin at the site with a couple of tinnies and celeb spotting. It was a long weekend of raving, ripped denim shorts, boat shoes, babes and beats – an exquisite level of awesomeness on all fronts.

people. people. people.

Kayla — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 03:00:40 +0000

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

- Jack Kerouac

FOUND #3 (need tissues)

Kayla — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 20:17:05 +0000

A letter to my dead girlfriend – m4w

Date: 2009-10-25, 1:36PM CDT

It has been a rough year darling. The ethereal power of Craig’s List will get this message to you I am sure, like in some sort of cheesy 80s movie.

Well back to the last year, you of course died at the beginning of it which put things to a sour start. I spent last night with your mum and dad, we went to that Italian place in Wicker Park, who on the surface seem to be coping. I had everyone get together for my 25th which went well, your ladies are on top form and I think some engagements are brewing. Ellen is turning up the heat on Steve who will soon be forced down to one knee as you predicted.

Last weekend I finally took the step of cleaning out your clothes from the closet, which is very barren now. I invited your friends over to take your what they liked, it was an awkward session. I think they took them more as a favor to me than anything else. Liz cried when we pulled out all of your shoes, Miranda joined in and then Catherine broke down. It was strange to stand in our bedroom surrounded by three crying girls. I made a joke about them crying for joy at the prospect of some free Manolo Balhniks which they didn’t seem to find very funny.

A few girls have put the moves on and as you know picking up women is not a forte of mine. It seems the grieving boyfriend seems to be a good angle. Who knew! I went on one date and spent it talking about you, the poor girl. You would have found it quite witty I think. No other dates to report, I am going against your orders to move on for now.

I found one of those hair tie things that somehow managed to squeeze into every crevice in the apartment. It was under the bed. I sat on the floor holding it and cried. Until then I had held everything together but it just all came flooding out.

Every morning when I wake up I forget for a fraction of a second that you are gone and I reach for you. All I ever find is the cold side of the bed. My eyes settle on the picture of us in Paris, on the bedside table, and I am overjoyed that even though the time was brief I loved you and you loved me.

Love,

Location: Michigan and Wacker
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PostingID: 1437101323

FOUND #2

Kayla — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 20:14:04 +0000

Drunk girl wrangler

Date: 2009-11-10, 9:40AM CST

Muscular man closely resembling Hugh Jackman needed to take care of 3 or more drunk girls this weekend. Duties may include but are not limited to drink orders, store runs for cigarettes, fix it kits for inflatable devices, breaking up girl fights, holding hair during any puking, and keeping the dudes off of the 2 married chicks. Experience in CPR and a psyche degree helpful. We don’t mind perverts just don’t get it on us. Applicants with pics will be considered.

Location: Downtown Austin
it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
it’s OK to distribute this charitable volunteerism opportunity for inclusion in 3rd party web sites that have been approved by craigslist

PostingID: 1459489908

FOUND: ON CRAIGSLIST.

Kayla — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 20:10:18 +0000

To the diminutive lesbian who slept in my bed last night

Date: 2010-01-01, 4:40PM EST

Hey it’s me, the random guy you followed home like some sort of drunken puppy dog.

First of all, thank you for not stealing my stuff while I was asleep. I woke up this morning and you were gone, but you left your North Face vest. Email me with your name and we’ll figure out a way to get it back to you.

I’m also curious as to why both pockets are filled with beer bottle caps. Are you going to glue them to a table top, or do you just hoard things?

And I’m still kind of mad at you for preventing us both from going home with that girl we were making out with. I mean, that shit was in the bag til your drunk ass ruined it. sigh. Anyway, I’m giving your vest away to the shortest girl I know if you don’t find this and message me.

Good luck!

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PostingID: 1533106287