CHAPTER VIII: THE DISAPPEARING ACT

The drive from Seattle Washington to Southern California was gorgeous, but there were some weird vibes. 

Brian Laundrie had just murdered his girlfriend Gabby Petitio while doing social media nomad life. I followed Gabby Petitos murder investigation on TikTok while on the road. I overheard van lifers at rest stops say things to each other like “babe please don’t murder me tonight.” My ex Levi was living in fucking a van, so I couldn’t help but think, that could have been us! 

In the past my friends and family members urged me to find a partner to travel with me. People have stopped suggesting that since Gabby’s famous news story broke. 

I was looking forward to swimming at the beaches in Orange County again. Indiana swimming holes filled with snakes did not have the same appeal. 

Of course there was a horrible oil spill right before I arrived in California, so all the beaches were shut down. It was heartbreaking to see all the wildlife wash up on shore. I heard that they could have stopped the oil spill sooner, but it would have cost the company too much money. The way humans treat nature and animals is truly fucked up. We have destroyed our planet and the lives of so many creatures. So many animals are extinct because of us! 

My mom’s neighbor got shot in the chest by her boyfriend during quarantine. Her silver Tiffany’s heart necklace caught the bullet which saved her life. The boyfriend got shot and died. I’m not sure if he killed himself or if she did it in self defense, but that story lowkey felt like an ad, because it made me want to buy that necklace. Another neighbor hung himself during the pandemic. His family found him hanging in their garage. 

The pandemic took such a toll on the town and people while I was gone. Most of my favorite local spots closed down. Parts of the beach turned into homeless encampments. The ocean was polluted with oil, trash, and dead animals. 

I sensed a surge of chaotic negative energy when I arrived back home. My mom looked like she was losing her mind. She came up to me full of rage with a tiny spoon in her hand. She kept asking me what it was and why she found it under the bed in my room. Then she started hysterically yelling and threatened to put me into a rehab facility. I was stone cold sober and had never seen anyone do spoon drugs before. I told her that it wasn’t mine, but she didn’t believe me. 

She repeatedly asked me who I thought the spoon belonged to, so I said one of her ex boyfriend’s names. She said that he never did any drugs. I laughed in her face and told her that he looked like drugs. 

How the fuck would I know who was in her house while I was gone? Why was she snooping through my room and stuff? Was that spoon really used for heroin or was it just tarnished? The sky was always falling in her messy chaotic house. 

My mom worked with abused and neglected children, so she was used to seeing the worst of humanity. Her strict tendencies and hatred for drugs came from a loving place, but it was too much. Her style of parenting gave off an authoritarian dictatorship vibe. She couldn’t handle the fact that I was independent and had different viewpoints from her. My mom and her friends were such basic prudes. They’re all anti drugs, anti alcohol, anti tattoos, anti piercings, anti bi, anti gay, anti trans, anti fun, fucking ableist. They wanted me to go to college, climb the corporate ladder, get married to a man, and have babies. Ew fuck no! I’d literally rather die. The American dream sounds like a total fucking nightmare to me. 

I love being alone, because I can’t handle hanging around weak minded people who project their stupid insecurities onto me. Taking my own path and forming my own opinions was seen as dishonoring the family. 

Whatever. Strict parents deserve rebellious children.

My mom kept making rude comments about how she thought psychic spiritual people were crazy. She was constantly diagnosing and judging others. I doubt she’s ever taken the time to pause, reflect, and look inward. 

Of course she was the one with the real fucked up issues. Since she was so scared of COVID, she didn’t leave her house for years, which made her a crazy fucking bitch! 

My mom and I have been through a lot together. We’ve been best friends and worst enemies. Some nights we drank wine and watched tv shows like true besties. Other nights we wanted to rip each other's heads off. When I was little I glorified her. 

She was obviously the better parent, since my biological dad was completely absent. Over time I realized that my dad physically abandoned me while my mom emotionally abused and manipulated me.

When I was little I was overly obedient. I eventually realized that I wouldn’t get anything out of that. My friends bonded over parties and events that I wasn’t allowed to go to. There were no rewards for being perfect and there were no real consequences for being imperfect. The rebellious independent path looked much more fun and rewarding. I went from being the golden gifted perfect child to being the black sheep outcasted weirdo real fast.

My thoughts, ideas, and goals were often shot down. I got into hosting and writing because I wanted someone, anyone to listen to me. My parents were both alive, but I identified as a magical orphan. At least I grew up with Harry Potter, so I could kinda romanticize it.

When I performed how I was programmed to, my mom would praise me. If I rebelled by simply just being myself she would withhold love or give me the silent treatment. For the longest time I didn’t know who I was because I had to act the way she wanted me to. 

I loved my mom, but I love myself more. I’m the one who’s actually living my life, not her. So, it’s up to me to call the shots. I’m never going to live my life according to other people's limited viewpoints or expectations. If people can’t see my talent or potential that doesn’t mean I don’t have any.  

While I was in Huntington Beach I hung out with my old friends from childhood. It was trippy catching up with them after all that time apart. When I told my friends about my adventures they would say things like “THAT’S NOT YOU!!!” As if people aren’t allowed to change. Their brains completely malfunctioned when I told them about the compost outhouse toilets in the Lost Woods.

Most young people thought I should settle down, while most old people wished they got the chance to travel and adventure like me. When people tell me that I’ve changed, now I thank them, and take it as a compliment. 

I learned to accept that I have evolved and would continue to do so. Why would I stay the same if I could keep growing? There’s always more room for plot and character developments. 

Even though Huntington Beach was an amazing place to grow up I couldn’t imagine living there again long term. It sparked too many memories that I wanted to leave behind. I didn’t want to run into any ex friends, ex family members, or ex employers from the past. 

I told my mom that I was done being accused of doing things I didn’t do. She acted confused and then completely denied the whole heroin spoon accusation. She said that I must be mentally ill and told me to stop making things up. Why would I make something like that up? It’s not like I want to have shitty parents. I can’t control how people treat me, but I can control when to leave. 

Driving through Mexico could be dangerous, but worst case scenario I would die, and I was already feeling suicidal. Death by cartel or shark attack kinda sounded like a sick end to my story. 

People talk about suicide being selfish, because it can hurt the people who loved that person, but we have no idea what other people are going through. It’s insanely selfish, narrow minded, and narcissistic to take someone’s death personally. Dying is part of living. It will happen to all of us eventually. 

After some extensive research I decided Puerto Vallarta would be a great fit for me. I started studying Spanish and read travel horror stories in hopes of avoiding scams on the road. Then I set up new car insurance, updated my cell coverage, and booked a place to stay. I was so stoked to get the fuck out of Orange County again to embark on another epic road trip adventure.

People thought that I was crazy for traveling alone, but I wasn’t just going to wait around for other people. If I did that I’d probably be waiting around the rest of my life. Plus I’m not really alone, my cat Lando is always by my side. 

I realized that I needed to let go of my past dramas and victim mentality. I was still upset about things that happened with people who were no longer in my life. I leveled up spiritually to a higher level of consciousness. Why did I care so much about the opinions of people who had no consciousness? 

Hitting the refresh button felt so good it became addicting. Lando and I hopped back in the car and hit the road without saying goodbye. I couldn’t stand being back in my hometown any longer. Adios bitches! 

My friends called me just before we crossed the Mexican border. They had just bought a farm, so they offered to let us stay there, while we figured things out. That’s how I ended up in Georgia. 

Who doesn’t love a juicy plot twist?

CHAPTER XI: CABIN FEVER

Hawaii taught me the importance of safety, family ancestry, native lands, and spirituality. I learned how to release expectations to avoid heartbreak.

Hawaiian cultural practices inspired me to move back to Northern California, my family's native area. The volcano Mauna Loa erupted right after I left the island. Maybe Pele got pissed that I moved away.

My grandparents owned a cabin in Lake Tahoe when I was young. For some reason I felt a strong urge to go back to those beautiful mountains. Paradise doesn’t have to be tropical.

When I arrived in South Lake Tahoe I got a call from my aunt, asking me to go to the hospital in Sacramento immediately. My grandma was dying. I got a rental car and booked it down the mountain as fast as possible. 

Even though I hadn’t talked to my mom in six months I decided to call her to tell her that her mom was dying. It’s kinda crazy that’s how and why we started talking again. Death brings people together.

By the time I got to the hospital my grandma had a stroke and couldn’t even speak. She was naturally a comedic storyteller, so it was hard to see her go nonverbal. Unable to use her voice, humor, and opinions. She died the next morning. 

My mom arrived after she passed. By that time I was already back up in the mountains, because I didn’t want to see that bitch. She sat there alone with her dead corpse in the hospital. My mom was pissed she was the last to find out about how sick my grandma was. For some reason she expected to get one of the first calls, even though she wasn’t close to any of us in the family. My mom never got along with me, my aunt, or my grandma. She should’ve been grateful we even called her!  

I loved spending time with my grandma in Lake Tahoe, she was so excited to hear that I was moving there. It’s like I was spiritually drawn back to her to say goodbye. The timing was wild. She died right after I arrived! 

My grandma was the center of attention wherever she went. She was a star who had the natural gift of gab and popularity. It’s rare to know someone so funny, smart, and attractive. Her nails and lips were perfectly painted red when she was younger. She had bright blonde hair and only wore the colors black, white, or red. 

My grandma was raised on a small chicken farm and started working hard at a very young age. Her tough upbringing inspired her to live a fabulous life. All of her travel experiences gave her an incredible eye for art, beauty, and fashion. 

Sometimes she would suck down a cigarette in one long drag, for dramatic effect, to emphasize part of whatever story she was telling. When she first got sick she screamed and cried for her eyebrow pencil while being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. She didn’t want any of the doctors, nurses, or neighbors to see her without eyebrows. It’s safe to say that drama runs in our veins. 

Even though she could be a total diva at times, she was extremely giving towards others. My grandma was always there to help all of us out with whatever we needed. Our age gap was annoying, because we could’ve been besties. We loved drinking margs and watching comedy together. Whenever I asked her how old she was she would say “twenty nine” with a smirk. She was truly an unforgettable legendary character. I miss her so much!

My grandparents were creative, funny, smart, and adventurous characters. Their homes always looked like modern art museums in magazines. They owned fabulous cars and airplanes that took them all over the world. When they were home there were always cats in their laps. I remember them showing me stars and planets through their telescope in Lake Tahoe. 

My grandpa was always looking up into the sky because he loved to fly. He enjoyed walking around nature while taking pictures of birds. I thought of him when I saw Blue Jays by the lake. If my grandpa could choose how to be reincarnated he would return as some sort of flying creature for sure. 

Both of my grandparents came from humble beginnings, but changed their lives to be full of art, travel, and luxury. So iconic. I’m lucky I got to have them in my life!

Even though I was extremely close to my grandma, I seemed to handle her death better than the rest of our family. Probably because we shared some morbid discussions about life, death, suicide, and murder. She outlived all of her friends, lived a full life, and felt ready to go. Of course I missed talking to her and wished she was still around, but so it goes. 

My mom accused my aunt of killing my grandma because she accidentally gave her COVID. It was so wrong. My aunt was the person taking care of her. She would never intentionally hurt anyone!

After my grandma was cremated my mom took her ashes back to her house in Huntington Beach. My aunt still lived in my grandma’s house and worked at the cemetery burying people for a living. The ashes should have been left with her in Sacramento, where she was supposed to be buried. My psycho control freak mother took them and refused to meet up with us to bury her! It was so selfish. 

My grandma wasn’t even invited to my mom’s house while she was alive, because they hated each other. It pissed me off that her ashes were held hostage in my toxic childhood home. She would be rolling in her grave, if she had a grave to roll in. Actually she’d probably think it was funny. She’d roll her eyes, scoff, and laugh while muttering something like “Good Lord.”

Since my aunt worked in a cemetery for years, I asked her if she had any ghost stories. She told me about a young man who died from a Fentanyl overdose. Hundreds of people showed up for his burial, so he must have been pretty popular. During the funeral a big Native American chief gave a memorial speech that turned into a ritualistic chant. A hawk circled over the grave and landed on a branch next to everyone. The bird watched the entire burial while making eye contact with all the family members. My aunt totally thought that the bird was the chief’s pet, but it was a wild animal. Everyone talked about the hawk after the ceremony. They agreed that the bird had to be their dead loved one. It made all of them believe in reincarnation. 

Blue Jays are known for being funny, bold, bright, smart, creative, and powerful. They know how to face adversity and help others in need, just like my grandparents. I couldn’t help but think of them when I watched the Blue Jays fly around the lake. 

If reincarnation is real how does that explain ghosts and mediumship? How could a psychic communicate with the spirits of the dead if they’ve gone on to live a completely different life? Many spiritual people believe in ghosts and reincarnation, but how could both those options exist simultaneously? 

Of course I had to look up all the local Tahoe myths and legends. One native tribe believed there were newborn babies with tadpole tails swimming in the lake. People said that the babies cry to lure people towards the lake so they can drown them. I also heard tales of an eagle with the face of a man who ate people. There were also rumors of a long necked nessy living in the lake. I heard that the mob disposed of their murder victims there too. Despite all the horror stories I still wanted to jump in the water. 

South Lake Tahoe had such a chill laid back stoner vibe. It suited me better than most other places I lived. Mountain people enjoy outdoor activities like skiing, snowboarding, hiking, biking, swimming, paddle boarding, and scuba diving. It was easy to meet fun like minded people that appreciate nature. 

I got a seasonal gig working as a liftie and rented a cozy little cabin nearby. Of course I needed all new clothes to match my new snow bunny aesthetic. It felt good to have a temp job with a month to month rental. Where you are does not dictate where you will go. Everything is temporary.

When I walked into my liftie training group I couldn’t help but ask “AM I THE ONLY FUCKING GIRL?!?” The room was filled with stoner snowboarder bros. Luckily they laughed and accepted me as one of their homies, even though I was an elderly female skier. Hot boxing the ganjala before hitting the slopes brought us all closer together.

Working as a liftie was a strange mix of being bored and stressed out. It’s kinda like being a lifeguard. You do nothing most of the time, but when shit goes down, you better be ready! I wanted that job for the ski pass and ride breaks. It was nice to be up on the mountain away from it all. That was a pretty chill job as long as there weren’t too many Jerrys or Karens around.   

I got paired up with a Hawaiian boy named Makoa for training. We shivered in the lift shacks while reminiscing about the tropics. Moving from summer in Hawaii to winter in Lake Tahoe was sure a shock to our systems. We needed all the water, lotion, and chapped sticks in town. It took us both a while to acclimate to the high altitudes and low temperatures. We missed knowing our neighbors and talking to strangers. 

When Makoa moved to Tahoe he knocked on his neighbors door to introduce himself and they acted like he was insane. On the mainland families seemed like strangers. In Hawaii strangers seemed like family (sista, brotha, auntie, uncle). 

In Hawaii there was no night life, so it was exciting to live near the stateline casinos. My tropical friends got such bad fomo. They wanted to follow along or meet me on the ninth island. Vegas Baby!

My snarky black cat hated the snow. He missed playing with the cockroaches and geckos back in the jungle. Moving Lando to Hawaii was such a tedious paperwork process, but he loved it out there. We both got a little seasonal depression when we moved into our snowy log cabin. 

Over time I began to notice how I remembered things differently at different times. I romanticize island life, even though that chapter was gnarly to say the least. Even though I had a hard time in Hawaii, it was harder to adjust back to life on the mainland. I’m just grateful I survived living in the fucking hood of a psychedelic volcanic jungle. 

Some of my coworkers were surfer bros from San Clemente. I couldn’t keep up with them on the slopes but we had fun hotboxing their cars after work. They taught me that bongs can explode in cold cars at high elevations. It was refreshing to work with nice funny men. They said I love you to each other when hanging up phones and walkie talkies. 

Most of the daytime lifties smoked hella weed and most of the night time snow makers snorted lines of ketamine. Driving snowcats and snowmobiles through the dark mountains while fucked up at night sounded like a great plot for a horror movie. 

I loved when we got to smoke joints and take ride breaks with our friends. Some days we spent all day shoveling snow instead. Hawaii didn’t seem that bad during the brutal avalanche storms. The grass literally wasn’t greener. 

My first real winter was like the most brutal winter of all time. There were record breaking levels of snowfall. It was a difficult adjustment to say the least. 

I missed seeing stars and hearing jungle noises at night. Hawaii is such a incredible place with some weird ass fucking people. Guess I could say the same about most of America.

Experiencing different seasons is magical if you have the right supplies. Lake Tahoe California was much safer than Pahoa Hawaii, but of course I still kept getting myself into dangerous situations. 

Part of being a girl liftie was being hit on all fucking day. Of course I loved it when the hot funny guys flirted with me but there were too many old creeps. 

Since I still didn’t have my own car I ended up hitchhiking and catching rides during desperate times. Everyone knew where I lived and worked. Privacy is a luxury. 

One day it was dumping snow and the power was out. A guy in a hummer pulled over and offered me a ride. Since we were in the same work uniform I hopped in his car. We drove about a block away and picked up more girls in the same ski uniform. Both girls were from Costa Rica and they assumed I knew that guy personally. They flipped out when I told them he was a total stranger and that we hitchhiked. For some reason they thought he was my boyfriend.  

I ended up becoming great friends with one of those girls, it’s crazy that’s how we met. I told her about strange American traditions like Groundhogs Day. I loved hearing all her stories from back home. 

Hawaii and Costa Rica are both known for having happy chill vibes. Aloha! Pura Vida! Unfortunately paradise isn’t always safe. There are way too many dangerous men EVERYWHERE. 

My friend Aria and her family took me on a fabulous trip to Costa Rica when we were teenagers. It was epic! The margs were strong, the plants were lush, and the sloths were adorable. We went jet skiing, surfing, snorkeling, atving, rafting, and zip lining through jungles. I can’t wait to go back! Costa Rica has amazing biodiversity. I could totally see myself ditching the states to live there someday.

The ski job was such a sausage fest and most of the dudes were thirsty as fuck. One of my coworkers straight up told me that his new year's resolution was to get laid more often. Cool story bro!

There was a cowboy liftie who gave me rides regularly. He was missing his front tooth and drove around town in a truck with a hound dog. We kinda bonded over weed and our past farm life chapters. He also had a Hollywood show biz phase filled with douchebag narcissistic egomaniacs. I liked him as a friend, but he wanted more from the relationship. I just wanted to get to and from work in one fucking piece. 

There was also an old former firefighter liftie who gave me a few rides. Whenever men offered to drive me around it seemed like they wanted to turn the ride into a date. Luckily I was able to make real friends with cars.

The ski resort was in the mountains above the casinos. I got to meet snobby rich people and broke ass ski bums from all over the world. Tahoe tourists usually go there to party. Some people would try skiing or snowboarding for the first time while coked up and wasted. They never let their inebriation or the weather get in their way. Total fuckin bombers. 

There’s nothing scarier than watching a fucked up beginner adult barrel down the mountain at full speed. We often had to call ski patrol for the party people. One of my coworkers said he saw more dead bodies at ski resorts than in the military. 

When I first moved to Lake Tahoe I kept eating shit. I told a British coworker that and she looked at me in disgust as if I literally ate shit for breakfast. 

One of my coworkers got chased by a bear while walking down the street with carnitas fries. He just ran into his cabin and shut the door to escape. That same dude drunkenly fell asleep while making snow angels and his neighbor reported him as a dead body. 

Another one of my friends kept falling asleep in nature while tripping. One time he fell asleep on a surfboard in Hawaii while shrooming and woke up in the middle of the ocean. Another time he passed out mid rafting on shrooms and woke up when he hit white water rapids. He was also reported as a dead body after falling asleep in the woods during a little snowboarding weed and shroom break. One day he called out of work to ski around the resort, but our manager caught him trippin while doing tricks on the slopes. They didn’t fire him, but they begged him to be less of a fuck up.  

Nature always wins. Weather can destroy even the strongest people. One of the most advanced skiers on the patrol team died while cutting through the forest post storm. If you ski or snowboard, watch out for tree wells. 

It’s crazy how many people bought lift tickets without buying or renting gear. They would walk up to the lifts ready to hop on with no skis or snowboards. How the fuck did they expect to get down the mountain? Common sense is uncommon. 

Snowboarders often broke their arms or collarbones, while skiers were more prone to knee injuries. Lots of people got head injuries from falling on rocks without helmets. Most of my coworkers rode through ungroomed woods, but I stuck to the blues and greens.

One time a girl got fucked up at her bachelorette party down at the casinos. She ditched all her friends to hit the slopes with her snow and snowboard. After doing lines in the bathroom all day she finally emerged ready to shred. We told her we were closing, so she had to get back down the mountain. She refused to leave the ski resort and gave her number out to most of the male lifties. They eventually had to shove her onto a gondola. While it was leaving the station she attempted to prey her way out of the doors and her arm got stuck in the process. She got arrested and banned from the resort when she reached the bottom. Later she texted some of my coworkers to let them know that she was newly single because her wedding got called off. She ruined her friendships with all the bridesmaids and groomsmen too.

Another time a lady wanted her own chair lift. Instead of simply asking for what she wanted, she jumped off the lift while it was leaving the loading station. She landed in the middle splits and got dragged by the next chair. The liftie hit the stop button and popped off her skis to help. She cried, screamed, and accused him of assaulting her before she got arrested.

There were some horrible storms that prevented us from working. Plus there were still gnarly viruses going around. All of us were financially fucked and scrambling to find work. I needed to break back out of the rat race corporate day job scene for my spiritual and creative sanity.

My coworker Jack talked about how God wasn’t in charge of our finances, but then he got paid double! He returned the money back to the company, but I totally would’ve pocketed it. 

He asked me if I thought my black cat brought me bad luck over the years. I couldn’t blame my precious kitty boy for our misfortunes! It was time for me to take accountability for my actions and decisions. Sometimes karma has to balance shit out.

Jack’s brother Terry told me stories about seeing ghosts around Lake Tahoe. One time he was waiting to order at the Burger Spa. He turned around and saw a bunch of dark shadow figures waiting in the line behind him. After he ordered he looked back again and they were all gone. 

Jack and I ended up dating for a couple months. I’ve always had a thing for hot snowboarder surfer dudes. That was my first time being a total cougar. I had to look up what his texts and slang words meant, because I don’t speak young or snowboarder. He never got any of my “old” references. We actually took things slow which was refreshing. It felt good to have a crush and open up to someone again. 

Jack often talked to his friends and family on speaker phone. It was hard to get him to open up to me, but I overheard his friends asking him about his manic bipolar mental health problems. He was prescribed some antipsychotic medications. Since I struggled with similar symptoms and I was dating him I wanted to hear more about his issues. 

Whatever led up to his diagnosis embarrassed him. I couldn’t get Jack to open up to me, so I knew our relationship wouldn’t work out. Who was I even dating? What did he do in the past? Maybe I could have understood him better if he gave me a chance to. He had no desire to communicate. I overshared while he under-shared.  

On the night of my birthday we ate some magic mushrooms with friends. We climbed up Cave Rock and watched the sunset with some blunts and beers. There were baby bunnies in the snow, which is a sign of good luck in most cultures. Once again the mushrooms eased my problems and inspired me to dramatically change my life for the better. 

Isolating myself in the woods, jungles, and mountains made me kinda socially awkward. I got comfortable with my solitude and forgot how to interact with people. 

The Lake Tahoe ski crowds gave me major anxiety. I felt claustrophobic working with hoards of tourists. Maybe anxiety and stress are our body’s ways of telling us that how we are living is wrong. It’s natural to want and need space, but maybe I dramatically isolated myself away from people for too long. 

I knew the liftie job wasn’t the right fit for me, even though I loved my ski bum friends. My purpose is to explore, create, and help others! 

I need to explore more of our beautiful planet. 

I need to create art and keep trying new mediums. 

I need to help as many animals and insects as humanly possible. 

My adventures showed me that I’m naturally a nomadic creative person. I could always keep moving or traveling to seek better alignment elsewhere. 

After a huge storm we had to shovel out all the chair lifts and magic carpets. I was bitching about the cold hard work when my coworker yelled “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK THEN FUCKING QUIT!” 

I quit and walked out on the spot. Fuck that place. Impulsively leaving jobs and places while PMSing has been such a trend throughout my life. I kept repeating history, but at least I was self aware?

Or was I? Maybe my PMS problems were the real problem! I needed to get my hormones checked out before officially getting diagnosed with autistic manic bipolar schizophrenic borderline personality depression disorders. It seemed like I couldn’t keep a fucking job no matter what it was. 

I didn’t have the money or health insurance needed to deal with any of my issues at that time, but that’s exactly why I needed that help! If I could get a diagnosis then maybe I could qualify to get financial or medical help, since I couldn’t hold a fucking job. I just kept boppin around while raw doggin my mental illnesses. The resources needed to help me weren’t readily available, so I kept putting off dealing with my problems.

The storms in Tahoe were gnarly to say the least. Some locals told me it was the worst winter in over thirty five years. I got mad cabin fever and chopped off all my hair. It was down to my ass and damaged from all my adventurous traumas. 

My short natural brunette hair didn’t feel right to me. My soul is blonde! My personality is blonde! But I had to get rid of that dead old hair to make room for some natural healthy growth. I’ve officially mastered the art of letting go. 

I told Jack that I wanted to ditch Lake Tahoe to explore more. It didn’t make sense for us to be in a romantic relationship since I was planning on leaving. He asked if we could work something out and thankfully I agreed. 

Since I couldn’t afford rent I found a van with a great loan. I got everything all lined up, but there was a problem with the license plates. The company wanted to send them to the address I listed, but I was moving out of my cabin and into the van. When the car company found out that I planned on living in the vehicle they revoked all their loan offers. 

I was homeless, jobless, carless, and fucked. Jack invited me to move in with him for as long as I wanted, so I stayed with him for a couple months.  

Lake Tahoe taught me the importance of having people. Jack was my best friend there and if I didn’t have him I would have been out on the streets in a fucking blizzard with my cat. Donner Party Vibes. I was so over the gnarly winter storms and eager to bail on mountain life. Independence is important, but so are friendships and relationships. I held onto some good people and we all helped each other out! 

I stayed outrageously optimistic about my goals. I switched gears, got shit done, and made moves. It was time to take control of my fucking life. 

The day the van plans fell through was surreal. Every store would only take cash or was closed. I kept seeing 555 and 1010 everywhere. It felt like the universe hit the brakes on my plans. Maybe I was unintentionally rushing her. For some reason I was trying to force things to move faster. Guess I wasn’t quite done there yet. I kept thinking about Big Sur and Santa Cruz, so I felt like I needed to visit the coast next for some reason. I hadn’t seen the ocean in so long.  

My intuition told me to finish up creative projects and move forward. The synchronicities encouraged me to deepen my spiritual practices and share them with others. It felt like the right time to write down more stories. 

I wanted to make the worst shit that has happened to me the best shit that has ever happened to me. Maybe our problems are super powers.

A few days later I was hanging out at Tahoe Bagel, stressing over what I should do, and where I should go next. I was totally zoning out, but then I realized that I was staring at Big Sur & Santa Cruz bumper stickers. Next to them was a smaller sticker that said “Don’t worry. It’s going to be ok.” I wasn’t sure if I was going through another spiritual awakening or losing my fucking mind. 

Divine guidance is psychotic, if you’re a muggle. You have to believe in the magic of the universe for it to be real. Muggles think that Harry Potter is a weirdo freak orphan, because they don’t have the abilities to recognize his powers or perspectives. Thankfully he escaped and found a magical place filled with like minded characters who loved or hated him for who he really is! Only magical people can experience magic. Of course it all sounds crazy to people who can’t see it. That’s why they call it “SPIRITUAL PSYCHOSIS.”

I was so fucking broke. I walked around town wondering if I should really be focused on writing. When I looked up I saw paintings of deer all around me. The art felt like confirmation that I was on the right path. I trusted myself and the universe. I assumed my creative endeavors would eventually pull through. Some breakdowns lead towards breakthroughs. 

I couldn't help but think about Maggie from my Chelsea Lately days. She trusted in the powers of the universe and her manifestations which led to her being homeless. I wondered if I was making the same mistake, but did it anyway. She eventually got back on her feet, so I knew that I could too. 

Did I reach a whole new level of enlightenment or psychosis? Was I about to receive real substantial positive change? Or was I about to get thrown into a loony bin for a fucking lobotomy? 

Even though I liked Jack I knew we wouldn’t last. He always had a screen in front of his face. I noticed that most people adventure through video games and movies instead of exploring in real life. Once again I realized that I need a vehicle and my own clean private creative space near nature to thrive.  

Traveling around felt way more fulfilling than artificial fantasy media. That stuff can be fun sometimes, but I didn’t want to get sucked back into that broke ass couch potato lifestyle. NorCal was known for natural hippy vibes. Maybe I could find a nice tribe of spiritual vegan nature yoga freaks nearby. 

Jack preferred fishing over drag shows. His love for hunting and lack of hygiene bothered me. Jack confessed that he put fish through trauma from catch and release, but “AT LEAST THE FISH HAD A GOOD STORY TO TELL!” 

Maybe that’s how God sees me! A creature to traumatize for the sake of a good story with lessons to share. God would totally do something like that. 

My friends and family encouraged me to speak to a professional, but that shit’s expensive! Going to therapy could ruin my artwork. Working through trauma creatively was therapeutic. Plus western medical professionals kinda scared me. What if I’m too honest and they throw me into a psych ward for a grippy sock vacay! What if their drugs suppress my spiritual superpowers!

I wondered if I subconsciously kept putting myself through shit for my art. For the sake of a story or cathartic creative release! It’s healthy to use art to heal, but it’s toxic to keep going through bad things on purpose in hopes of creating better art. I had so many photos and stories to share. I just needed to get over my crippling imposter syndrome and put my work out there already. 

If I wanted to be an artist, I would need to create art. If I wanted to be a writer, I would need to write. If I wanted to be a photographer, I would need to take photos. 

That sounds so simple, but self sabotage was my daily routine. Having a manic identity crisis was very on brand for me. Chaos became addicting. 

My lack mindset kept me stuck, borderline homeless, jobless, and unable to level up. Obsessing over the past and my mental health made things worse.     

Mountain life was magical, but the storms were way too intense. I missed being around creatives in my favorite cities. Ditching my mountain flannels for blue hair and red lipstick was such a move. I edged up my image to look more like a “real artist.” Bye clean mountain girl aesthetic, hello angsty emo bitch. 

I ended up leaving Jack the same way Levi left me. I planned on traveling before we hooked up or lived together which made things complicated. He was so kind, welcoming, and generous towards me. I didn’t want to hurt him after everything he did for me, but I needed to be single and free to roam. 

Levi’s past actions made way more sense to me after I was put in a similar situation. I was so heartbroken over him back in the day, but I legit forgot that he existed. Part of me wondered if I blocked him out of my mind due to trauma, but I think I just naturally healed over time. Moving is a great way to move on. 

Looking back I wondered why I let his words hurt me so much. Every person I have dated provided valuable lessons for the future. I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy. I’ve taken an independent path that doesn’t make sense to most other people and that’s okay. I’ll accept more love into my life when I meet the right person in my own time.

My experiences in Hawaii and Lake Tahoe were completely different from what I expected. Paradise was not calming or relaxing. Running from hot lava and avalanches left me in panicked survival mode. Now I understand why people go to those types of places for vacation, instead of living there.

The winter storms in Lake Tahoe were so bad, I barely made any money up there. Most of the town closed down. All the smart rich people got the fuck out of there before the roofs collapsed.

Just before leaving I saw a wild bobcat roaming through the neighborhood. Bobcats are curious, stealth, independent, and self reliant. They enjoy being alone and know when to leave a situation.

I drove down the mountain in a moving truck with my kitty boy and bags. We escaped the winter storms and survived! I was able to get a car before our next chapter. It was such a relief to be able to drive around freely again. BYE BYE BUS LIFE!

CHAPTER XII: VAGABOND

I never planned on being such a nomadic person, but if the rug keeps getting ripped out from under you, you’ll learn to jump before it happens again.

After Lake Tahoe I had the hardest time finding a place to live. The rentals were astronomically expensive all over the country. My credit score, lack of funds, and unstable track record disqualified me from renting most places. I ended up traveling all over America AGAIN while being borderline homeless. Luckily my generous friends let me couch surf, while I bounced around from state to state again. 

My favorite places in America were Seattle, Big Sur, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, The Rocky Mountains, Yellowstone, The Grand Tetons, Cascade Mountains, and The Napali Coast. 

Everywhere west was best! At least for nature loving stoners like me. 

People from California and New York usually talk mad shit about the rest of the country. They call everything between LA and NY “the flyover states.” The areas I used to judge and avoid ended up being surprisingly beautiful. 

The Colorado Rocky Mountains were incredible. Drive through dispensaries, next to drive through coffee shops, next to fabulous ski resorts? Yes please! The rocks, trees, rivers, and mountains were insanely gorgeous. Part of me wanted to stop and settle down there instead of traveling through. 

At one point I pulled over to take a picture and my car got stuck in the snow. Lando meowed and cried while I dug the tires out with my hands wrapped in trash bags. Neither of us were prepared for the harsh winter storms.

I couldn’t believe how much I liked Utah. It’s such a beautiful underrated state. I have to go back to Park City for a ski trip someday. I couldn’t get over the epic mountain views, rocks, and farm lands. Everyone looked kind, healthy, and attractive. I didn’t see any sketchy mentally ill homeless drug addicts in that state besides me.

Some random Karen bitch cussed me out at a gas station in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Utah. She was mad that I quickly ran inside to use the bathroom while my car was still filling up. When I told her that I was trying to multitask and keep my cat in the shade she threatened to pull a gun on me. That cunt had furs and leathers covering her carnivorous body. It blows my mind how little people care about others, especially animals. As I drove away I yelled “BYE BITCH! HOPE YOU GET SOME WEED OR SOME FUCKING D!” She for sure wanted to murder me. 

Lando and I almost got sucked into a tornado while driving through Kansas. I saw it in the distance approaching the freeway, but it was hard to tell how far away it was. We passed by just before it hit our path. All the heavy winds and static electricity in the air made my hair and Lando’s fur stand up.

In the middle of bumfuck nowhere North Dakota I stopped at a gas station. Luckily I locked my doors when I got back in my car, because a drugged up psychopath tried to break in and attack me. He crawled onto my dashboard and started licking the front window while meowing. I turned on my car and started driving. He rolled off the car like a tumbleweed. Of course he had a gun and only one fuckin tooth. I’m shocked we survived whatever the fuck that was.

Life on the road was not as fun as creators make it seem on social media. I loved all the adventures, but it wouldn’t be enjoyable for most people. There are epically beautiful places all over America, but people rarely share stories about the dangers and hardships that come along with nomadic lifestyles. 

Horror stories lie behind pretty pictures. 

I weirdly enjoy talking about all my fuck ups and bad experiences. Nobody wants to hear me or anybody brag about being an amazing person. People like that are annoying as fuck! Also what are we supposed to get out of that? You were an outstanding employee? Cool story bro! I’d rather hear about the juice and the drama! Entertain me with stories or lessons. Please don’t bore me with perfection.

Lando and I traveled throughout the entire pandemic and it was wild to see such a dramatic increase in crime and murder cases. All sorts of crazy shit was going on everywhere, especially in America. It was hard to know where to go and who to trust. 

There are dangerous predators in cities and the wild. Having a variety of flashlights came in handy more than anything else during our travels. I wanted to be able to see what was around me at all times. 

Some say that hyper independence is a form of trauma. I think that sounds about right. Most of my life I felt like a misunderstood black sheep outsider. That’s why I have a long history of being a quirky, insensitive, weirdo. Plus I’m an Aquarius. If you choose to be authentic you have to accept that most people will not like you. 

If you’re a woman traveling solo, it’s best to avoid being out alone at night. Owning a dog or cat helps scare the creeps away. Having pepper spray, wasp spray, or bear spray is smart for self defense. Just make sure that you don’t aim for yourself. Some of us like learning things the hard way. 

Whenever I slept or went to the bathroom in my car I covered the windows with black trash bags or construction papers for privacy. That’s also a great way to hide valuables, because it just looks like tinted windows from the outside. Having a small portable camping toilet came in handy, since most public restrooms were closed during the pandemic. Baby wipes helped me stay clean if I didn’t have anywhere to shower or wash my hands. Having extra water on hand is always a good idea. 

I love my ride or die kitty boy more than anything else. He was cage free for all of our US road trips. Lando and I stopped and rested at the big 24 hour gas stations. They had security, lights, cameras, bathrooms, food, blankets, and pillows. 

Lando loved the car’s seat warmers. He sat in my lap most of our journeys. I gave him treats and water along the way. He eventually got used to moving and traveling. I doubt other cats would be so well behaved. I had a plastic cage with the bars taken off in the back seat that was filled with toilet paper for him to use as a litter box. It was easy to clean up, because I always had supplies ready to use nearby. Lando isn’t a fan of traveling, but he adjusted to life on the road overtime. Don’t worry I made sure to spoil the crap out of him the whole time.

After our Lake Tahoe adventures we bounced around Norcal in search of housing. Since I couldn’t find an affordable rental in Big Sur I considered joining the Esalen Institute, which is a rich hippy yoga wellness center that offers employee housing. Super exclusive, reservation only! 

Unfortunately, they don’t allow cats, so we got disqualified from their program. I kinda wanted to join that famous NorCal hippy “cult” just for the plot and experience. Maybe someday I could just visit Esalen for some sort of workshop, instead of trying to make it my entire fucking lifestyle. 

The commune life sounded a bit intense anyway. I don’t think I like people enough to pull that off. If I couldn’t handle having roommates, boyfriends, girlfriends, or coworkers the commune lifestyle probably wouldn’t really work out for me long term. 

I dramatically went the opposite direction. I found a modern minimalistic tiny home isolated away in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The landowner told me I was their finalist, but then he ghosted me. I told him that I was staying in hotels, but he still didn't have the balls to tell me that he chose somebody else instead of me. I wasted so much time and money waiting to hear back from that fucker. 

After some shitty pretentious job interviews and rental nightmares I realized that Big Sur and Santa Cruz were not the right options for me at that time. Everything was way too expensive! Plus everyone in Santa Cruz was like a little baby college kid or an old as fuck senior citizen. 

I was technically homeless while living in a series of cars, tents, and airbnbs. It was kinda like taking a vacation at rock bottom. When people asked where I lived I would say “I’m a nomadic artist!” It sounded way better than saying “I’m a homeless jobless loser!” I delusionally romanticized my fucked up life until it actually started to get better. 

If you lose everything, all you’ll have left is faith. 

That’s why so many people meet God at rock bottom. 

My friend Kali had just moved to Seattle. I really missed the arts, nature, and culture up there in Washington. It sounded like a civilized safe haven after my adventures in the woods, farms, volcanos, and mountains. Kali let Lando and I stay with her while I looked at home and job options there. Just another attempt to dig myself out of a hole I created. 

At first it was such a relief to be back around some smart, hot people, with amenities. Then I realized just how hard it would be to jump back into the rat race matrix city life after living so remote in nature for so long. 

I would check things out in the city, but run back into the woods after any minor inconvenience. It was hard for me to go out to bars, restaurants, and concerts again. I became so socially awkward after being trapped in a cabin during the harsh winter storms. I was still recovering from the never ending pandemic. I was numb yet hypervigilant.

Kali and I struggled with PTSD from our adventures. One day we passed by construction and a nail gun went off. Kali screamed and ducked while I had no response. Both of our reactions were equally concerning, but they kinda paired well with Seattle’s vibes. I was so emo and angsty. I was like dead inside. Maybe we were both still recovering from getting haunted in Hawaii. 

I got a job as a photographer at The Space Needle, but all the hordes of tourists overwhelmed me, so I quit immediately. I looked at apartments all over town, but they all sucked. Anything tolerable was out of my budget. 

At times I worried about not having a steady home or job, but I remembered that flexibility is my superpower. My life never really had stability. Everything is constantly changing. Luckily I have generous creative nomadic friends that totally get me and let me stay with them. I knew that I would figure out how to survive, because I always do. 

Even back when I had my own place and a job I wouldn’t fully settle down. There’s no need for furniture if you want to keep moving. I was always able to do freelance photography gigs and little side hustles all over the country.

My social battery did not last long in Washington. I kept ditching human friends to hang out with plants or animals instead. I ended up spending a couple days on Orcas Island with my mom and her friend Dee. The island was absolutely magical, but hanging out with them sucked. It was like an interrogation vacation. 

It was blatantly obvious that my mom and Dee had been talking mad shit about my mental health issues before meeting up with me. Out of nowhere Dee said that as a spiritual person it upsets her to hear people talk about spirituality when they are really describing psychosis. She made comments about how she used to help out her brother, but stopped because he does drugs. All the stories were very pointed and judgmental. I felt so attacked.

I can’t handle listening to alcoholics judge stoners. Dee always had a gin martini in her hand. I can’t even drink gin, it makes me a snarky fucking  bitch. She saw me smoke a joint years before and judged me ever since. I assumed she would be chill with that considering she was a Seattle based artist. Isn’t everyone a stoner in Washington? If not, they should be. They have the best fucking weed in the whole country!  

When I first cut my mom out of my life she gossiped about my mental health to anyone who would listen. She didn’t tell people that I cut her off, she just continued to project her narrative of me being an insane problem in her life. 

The truth is that she was an emotionally abusive and manipulative parent. She continued to gaslight me into believing I’m a mentally ill problem while lying to me and about me. At a certain point I had enough.  

I let her back into my life briefly, but she was walking on thin ice. The only reason I started talking to her again was because of my grandma's death. I wanted to stay on good terms with her while we figured out memorial and burial plans. Maybe my mom hijacked my dead grandma's ashes as another attempt to control me or drag shit out as long as possible. 

Before my grandma died my aunt called me ungrateful for never thanking them for all the money they sent me. I had no idea what she was talking about. My aunt and grandma had sent me thousands of dollars through my mom for Christmas and Birthday presents, but she pocketed all the money. We confronted her for stealing and she said that I didn’t deserve it, so she was saving it for a rainy day. Whatever the fuck that means.

My mom stole thousands of dollars from me, spread lies and rumors about me (like a full on smear campaign), ruined my reputation, and she got away with it! She could no longer control me, but she found a way to control the narrative about me. Most people knew that she was full of shit, but some dumb fucks totally believed her, without caring to hear my side of the story. 

When I was borderline homeless after the Tahoe avalanches my mom helped me out financially, but it wasn’t worth the price. She used money as a way to breadcrumb, dangle the carrot, and manipulate me. She played the victim by crying to her friends and family about me being a horrible burden. 

According to rumors my mom “bought me a car” and “gave me sixty grand.” BULLSHIT! In my dreams. The only way I know how to cope with pain is to learn how to find the humor in it. I mean it’s kinda funny that she’s such a fucking loser. She has to lie or steal to get any ounce of love or attention, because she’s such an insufferable bitch. Actually it’s really sad that all of her bad qualities drown out the good ones. My mom is extremely talented and beautiful, but she’s more focused on tearing others down than building herself up. Worst of all, I know that my parents suck, but recognize that I’m just like them. I love myself, but it’s hard sometimes, when I remind myself of the people that I resent or hate.

My mom never liked me for who I am. She constantly hounded me with negative comments about my weight, health, career path, and choices. She attempted to control every single aspect of my life! Thankfully we had some amazing pets to distract us from our shitty relationship when I was younger.

After our trip to Orcas Island I texted my mom and explained why I felt verbally attacked. She didn’t respond to my messages. The next time we spoke I told her why I wouldn’t be going on any more family “vacations” with her. She insisted that the intervention interrogations never happened, because she didn’t remember them. Just because she is a bad listener that doesn’t mean conversations never happened! It was a great trip from her perspective. She accused me of being dramatic and asked me to stop making things up AGAIN. What a fucking gaslighter! 

When I directly asked my mom if she thought I needed help she told me that I was perfectly healthy and that there was nothing wrong with me. She kept bullying and gaslighting me over and over and over again. Whenever I would confront her or stand up for myself she would accuse me of making things up or being too dramatic every single time.   

By the way, I’m not denying mental health problems. I just hate when my mom and her friends judge me without hearing my side of the story. They have no idea what I’ve been through. They also aren’t qualified to diagnose anyone! I think they’re the ones who need to get fucking diagnosed. They’re lead poisoned baby boomer bitches suffering from creepy dementia stares.

I literally can’t with the intense eye contact. It was like they were going to jump down my throat to snatch my fucking soul. 

My baby boomer haters love to judge me and call me psychotic. They never really got me or saw my potential anyway. Dare me to give a fuck. I don’t have to like anyone and nobody has to like me. If you constantly have to explain yourself you’re with the wrong people. I refuse to be manipulated into doing things I don’t want to do. I don’t care about what they think. I care about what I think! Those prude old fucks are going to die out soon anyway. 

Maybe people should focus on bigger global issues instead of worrying about what other people do or think. The state of our beautiful planet concerns me way more than keeping up with the joneses. 

My mom begged me to stop manically posting on social media. She told me that I was embarrassing myself, but I was really embarrassing her. Then she asked me to work on my mental health by getting evaluated. 

Whenever I brought that stuff up to her as a kid she denied me needing help. I asked her if I could get evaluated for ADHD when I was twelve and she said no. Her way of dealing with me was to keep me as busy as possible to get rid of my hyper activity. No time for rest. DANCE MONKEY DANCE!

I also asked her about bisexuality when I was around that age. She told me it wasn’t a real thing, it’s just something sad, confused people do, when they don’t know that they’re gay yet. 

If you were raised by an emotionally immature single parent who didn’t listen to you, I know that your needs were not met. Let’s be real. I raised myself with help from my generous friends and extended family members.

My mom kept comparing me to Maggie. She said I recognized issues with her, but not within myself. Pretty bold of that bitch to think she knows what I’m thinking about. I noticed similarities, but there were also big differences. 

Maggie dreamed of being a rapper, but never released any raps. She refused to get a job or leave LA for the longest time. That’s how she ended up on the streets. She had to figure out other creative ways to make money, which got her back on her feet. If she could recover from her rock bottoms I could too. 

I had big goals that also seemed delusional to people, but I worked towards them and focused on making money. I’ve spent years writing, taking pictures, and creating art! My mom always acted like I had no intelligence, income, or talents. Being around people who put me down was detrimental to my mental health and wellbeing. The people who complained the most about my depression and anxiety issues were the ones who ignited them.     

Comparing me to the woman who used me, by making me work her job, while she collected the paychecks was such a low blow. I know I can be a crazy bitch, but I’ve never taken advantage of people like that. I’ve been working hard my entire fucking life! That’s HOW I reached burnout. She’s the one who’s like Maggie. Both of them pocketed money that should have gone to me! 

It was horrible having my mother smear campaign me to all of our mutual friends and family members. Luckily, my time at TMZ taught me that people spread rumors about people that they are jealous of all the time. My mother can gossip and lie about me all she wants. I’ll stay unbothered like a famous celebrity dealing with tabloid rumors. Most famous people ignore rumors or they address them through creative projects (like tv shows, books, podcasts, blogs, tik toks, or movies).

My biggest hater and my biggest bully has always been my mother. She has isolated me from my friends and family members. She has gaslit and lied to me. She spread smear campaigns against my name and character. She has refused to respect me or my boundaries. She even stole money from me!

Her smear campaign against me was brutal, but it showed me people’s true colors. Friends that I considered family were haters and enemies in disguise. Now I refuse to hang out with those close minded unintelligent old ableists. 

I read through my journals and made a list of all the things my mother has said and done to me over the years. Seeing everything written out on paper made me realize just how horrible our relationship had been. I cut my mom out of my life for good, blocked her on everything, and never looked back. 

Realizing that my mom was the evil villain in my life took a really long time. She had provided me with food, an education, experiences, and a roof over my head. She never hurt me physically, but the emotional damage was real. I had to banish that bitch from my life for good. 

Cutting shitty people and places out of my life was an amazing decision. No more forced holidays, parties, or any of that bullshit. I finally had the true freedom to be myself! Whatever the fuck that means. 

Seattle was not working out but I tried to force it to. Kali was kind enough to let us stay for longer than expected. My friends offered to let me move back to their horse farm in Georgia while I figured things out AGAIN. 

I kept on repeating patterns within patterns within patterns.  

The hardest part of moving around was saying goodbye to all my animal friends. I missed all the bears in Tahoe, all the pigs in Hawaii, and all the crows in Seattle. I was happy to be reunited with all my horse friends back on the farm again. 

It was difficult to find jobs or rentals anywhere. The car I bought wasn’t running well so I sold it back to the company I purchased it from. My entire life was like a dumpster fire that needed to be shoved into the ocean. I was so fucking lost. Such a fish out of water, especially in the south. 

I photographed a few all black weddings while I was in Georgia. The people who hired me obviously expected me to be black. That’s happened so many times throughout my life. When I walked into the first wedding I went up to the bride and was like “Hey, I’m Danica, your photographer.” She drunkenly yelled to her family “THE PHOTOGRAPHERS HERE. HER NAME’S DAN-ICK-UH NOT DUH-NEE-KA!” Her brother immediately ran into the room like “Oh shit, what up snowflake?!” Then he was like “Actually, Imma call you Elsa.” They asked me to take pictures of all the food, except the Bojangles fried chicken bags in the corner. They smoked me out and gave me some watermelon and cognac before their super serious religious southern baptist ceremony. It was so intense. The preacher was like “Thou shall not sleep in a bed without one another for the rest of your lives! Praise Jesus Hallelujah!” After the event I took some family photos and the bride invited her eighteen children and nine baby daddies up on stage. I thought, yeah she’s not going to be in the same bed as that dude for the rest of her life. 

One of the other all black weddings I shot was for a throuple! Only two of the men were able to get married legally, but everyone knew their unicorn, who was very involved with the wedding. Their reception was so much fun! One of the grooms was a Jamaican dancer, who insisted I twerked with him while taking pictures. I had the best food, made some new friends, and got to dance with a bunch of fun queer stoners. 

I love traveling and learning about different cultures. I really enjoyed and appreciated experiencing southern black culture, food, music, and dancing. I fucking love Jamaicans, they know how to have a good time! Even though I was the only white girl in many situations, I felt welcomed. The jokes about my race were playful and silly, even when I got called DAN*GGA instead of DANICA. I witnessed a lot of racism in the south, but experienced the most directed towards me while living in Hawaii. Haole life! 

Overall I enjoyed the south way more than I expected, even though it’s not the right fit for me long term. 

Back in the day I couldn’t wait to leave California, but my travels made me really miss and appreciate it. I had no idea just how privileged I was, until I left all my connections and resources behind. 

Even though I love spending time alone and solo traveling, I learned that having quality friends is so important. In fact, it’s essential to my mental health and wellbeing. Spending too much time in isolation made me really fucking weird. 

I missed being creative with my favorite people! Don’t even get me started on how homesick I got for good quality weed, beaches, and Mexican food. I even missed Hollywood show business! My celebrity gossip media break was much needed at the time, but I wanted my hobbies back. I ended up binge watching so much trash tv it was like opening up a floodgate. Back to being a Bravo Bitch after going full monk mode. Instead of doing a complete 180 I did a full 360 and got back on my bullshit. As if I would miss Scandoval!

My friends that own the horse farm also own apartments all over Orange County. They hooked me up with a place in Huntington Harbor and they gave me a car! It was such a beautiful reminder from the universe that family doesn’t have to be blood. 

When I was leaving their farm in Georgia I saw a bunch of dead deer right by where I hit one with my car years before. Was it just a coincidence or a sign from the universe? I took it as confirmation that I need to help animals and move on to the next chapter.

Adventuring the United States made me grateful to be from Orange County, but returning immediately reminded me why I left it behind. My first night back I balled my eyes out, because I couldn’t see any stars in the sky. 

My new apartment was close to the fancy waterfront house that I grew up in as a kid. When my parents got divorced, we lost everything. My mom and I moved to a trailer park in the Newport Back Bay, which was right by my new beach job at Newport Aquatic Center. We moved into a house in Huntington after some trailer, hotel, and house hopping... but I basically grew up on the beach. Being back there was such a walk down memory lane. Back to being a beach bitch! 

While I was back in the OC I decided to meet my biological father for the first time. My mom smear campaigned and villainized him, which I totally believed for years, until she did the same shit to me. Meeting him tripped me out, because we were so much alike. We had similar faces, eyes, hands, mannerisms, and personalities. He loved talking about planetary alignments, astrology, energies, and other healing modalities. Meeting him felt like some sort of full circle moment and it answered so many questions I didn’t know I had. I didn’t expect him to have such a grounded woo woo astrology vibe. It made sense that my mom was triggered by my spiritual beliefs after meeting him. 

My dad told me a story about when he was a football player. He was face down in the mud and he didn’t want to get up. When he finally summoned the strength to get back up he scored a fucking touchdown. He reminded me not to quit right before things get good! I always want to give up just before my manifestations come to fruition. Trust me it’s best to power through. 

Both of my parents have good and bad qualities like most people. Neither of them are angels or demons, they’re just humans. Good or bad it’s probably smart to decenter your parents from your life. Live your life for yourself, not for other people, even if they’re blood. There’s no need to live under control. 

Working in the boating industry felt like being a half ass lifeguard half ass sailor. When I hoisted up chains and ropes or rinsed things off on the wash deck I heard the scores of Spongebob and Pirates of the Caribbean playing in my head. I curse like a fucking sailor, so I might as well just be one.

It was my job to rent, maintain, launch, clean, and steer a variety of boats like surf skis, kayaks, or canoes. Being around a bunch of outriggers gave me a little taste of aloha. I kept meeting Hawaii loving haoles there, that only lasted six months on the islands too. We strived to live aloha, despite living in overcrowded Orange County.

My coworkers were a bunch of fun, young, hot college aged dudes. Part of me kind of wanted to run a train through the place. I had the fattest crush on one of my coworkers who was way younger than me. It totally reminded me of my cougar days up in the mountains of Lake Tahoe. Once again I was accepted as a homie, even though I was the only elderly female. Most of my coworkers were stoned surfer dudes, but some of the guys were competing to be in the fucking Olympics. 

Being around driven competitive people was so inspiring. They reminded me that most humans are scared of going after their goals, so there isn’t really that much competition out there. Especially if you’re in a niche art or sport. 

I had so much fun cruising around the back bay in launch boats with hot dudes. It was like being in an episode of Outer Banks. I considered leaning into the look by going platinum blonde and getting bigger boobs Baywatch style, but that was out of my budget. I thought about finding a yacht daddy, but quickly remembered how much I hate people. Especially creepy old men. 

Even though I loved hanging out on the beach all day with hot young guys, that job wasn’t the right fit for me. No job is the right fit for me. I can’t hold a fucking job. I’m a nomadic artist that needs to explore and create! Why be in a fucking city when I could immerse myself in nature? Instead of swinging between lifestyles I should learn to find balance. Journaling made me realize how many times I need to relearn something before it fucking clicks. I knew that I wanted to be an artist and stop working dumb ass jobs, I just needed to fucking do it already. As soon as I stop standing in my own way, it’s over for you bitches. 

When I first ditched Orange County I was afraid of leaving my childhood friends and family behind. The new friends that I made there and on the road ended up being way more compatible with who I really am, compared to who my mother raised me to be. Going back to my hometown made me realize just how much I had changed over the years. I completely outgrew most of my past friendships. I didn’t know how different I became until I saw some people from my past react to the new me. “Why are you dressed masculine? Why aren’t you wearing any makeup? Are you okay?” Why don’t you shut the fuck up and mind your own business. People think Californians are assholes and now I understand why! It’s because we are. 

I’ve experienced more homophobic and transphobic comments in my hometown Huntington Beach than anywhere else in the world! And I’m not even trans! I’ve just had to hide my femininity to protect her.

Some of my childhood friends went in different directions, but we landed on similar paths in the end. The Catholic schoolgirl to drunken party slut to new age spirituality pipeline needs to be studied. My friend Emy and I both went through those cliche series of events, which ignited spiritual awakenings, health problems, and creative endeavors. For the longest time Emy didn’t drink alcohol or have sex, but she finally ditched Catholicism for reiki and mushrooms. She still believed in God, but in a more spiritual way. Over time she developed some magical abilities like remembering past life memories, reiki energy healing, psychic visions, manifestations, and numerology. Our friends from the past judged our beliefs and questioned our sanity. Even though we both outgrew many past friendships, we were lucky to have each other. It’s nice to have some friends with like minded beliefs and interests. In our spare time we went to yoga and breathwork classes. We also got to explore some plant medicines, healing modalities, and spiritual conspiracy theories without passing judgment. 

Emy was also raw doggin some undiagnosed ADHD. The western medical industry sketched both of us out, so we started trying out different herbal remedies to help tame our symptoms. 

Mushrooms are magical! Reishi, Lion's Mane, and Psychedelic Mushrooms have helped me control my mood swings, anxiety, and depression issues. Some mushrooms can even break down heavy plastics that are destroying our planet. Even though I was able to cure my health problems with nature, I decided to visit a professional doctor anyway, just to hear them out.

I got a psych evaluation from a psychiatrist who works with people that have  schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. He told me that I was completely normal. I didn’t believe him, there had to be something wrong with me. He assured me that my parents were the real problem, not me. I wondered if I masked too hard in front of him. By the time I got help I was fine, it’s not like I was in the middle of a psychotic breakdown while I was talking to him. I wasn’t completely stable, but I also wasn’t unhinged. I could be crazier!! FOR THE SAKE OF ART!! FOR THE SAKE OF THE PLOT!!

Most of my friends, family members, and co-workers thought that something was wrong with me. My doctors said that there was nothing wrong with me, except for the fact that I sounded like an anxious hypochondriac that was surrounded by the wrong people.  

I decided to learn more about healing plants like Traditional Chinese Herbs, Ayurvedic Medicine, Ayahuasca, Weed, and Magic Mushrooms. Consuming plants deepened my connection to my higher self and the nature of our universe. 

Disorders and mental illnesses are created by humans. People are inventing new ways to diagnose, drug, and take advantage of others. There is no right way to be human. We need to embrace differences and enjoy being original. 

In my typical fashion I poured green hair dye all over my head and manically quit my job soon after starting it. I wondered if my art career would ever take off or if I’d be job hopping for the rest of my life. Tiktok comments reminded me that colorful hair is autism in denial. 

My generous family friends helped raise and support me throughout my life. They fed me, put a roof over my head, bought me a car, and so much more. Unfortunately they remained friends with my abusers, even after I explained what they put me through. Relying on people who entertain my enemies was not good for my mental health or wellbeing. I didn’t realize how fucked that situation was until I had to explain my circumstances to someone else. I felt like I had to get the fuck out of there as fast as possible, even though I had just arrived. Moving back home was a huge mistake, but it was the closure I needed to fully move on. It made me realize who my real friends and family are. Generous and loving people aren’t necessarily the best to be around. Be careful who you accept gifts from, because they might secretly be grooming or manipulating you. Sometimes generosity can come with ulterior motives. 

Once again I packed up my things, grabbed my cat, said some goodbyes, and hit the road. I had barely any money and nothing lined up. Just some faith in myself, my skills, and the universe. Part of me was low key terrified that I made a horrible mistake. I could’ve really fucked myself over. I could have easily ended up homeless on the streets. For some reason I continued to follow my intuition even though she’s messy, impulsive, and reckless. Of course I was also following guidance from the universe. While I was leaving Orange County I called my adoptive dad Clark to say goodbye and tell him about my situation. He gave me a thousand dollars which immensely helped me move on to the next chapter.

Throughout my life I’ve always felt drawn to Big Sur. Whenever I had a bad show or audition back in my Hollywood days I would drive up the coast with some black coffee, weed, and a pack of cigarettes to get away from it all.

Living in Big Sur seemed like an unrealistic fantasy. It’s remote nature, with no cell service, and some lonely billionaire glass mansions. I doubted that I could afford to live there, but I went anyways, because why the fuck not? 

I slowed down to the pace of nature and spent time with her. I played in the river, hugged trees, and touched some fucking grass. Then I prayed to God for a fucking miracle to pull through. 

When I got to Big Sur I stopped at a cute little campground with cabins that was nestled in the redwood forest along the river. I asked the manager if he was hiring when I pulled up to the gate with Lando riding shotgun. I told him I was interested in work that provides pet friendly housing. Long story short he gave me a super chill job and a cute little cabin in the woods. It had epic nature views that were filled with wildlife action. Lando and I loved watching the foxes, skunks, and mountain lions roam the hills behind our back porch. 

My new job was to sell firewood, marshmallows, and hot chocolate at the camp store. It was fun, easy, and had tons of down time. So I got to work on my own personal art projects while I was on the clock! 

Having a job with free rent gave me the opportunity to fully get back on my feet and break out of survival mode. I paid off debts, got insurance, booked doctors appointments, and launched an online art shop business. I was able to completely turn my life around for the better in just a few months. All of my health problems disappeared once I fixed my finances and removed the toxic people from my life. 

I stopped ruminating over the past. I quit self diagnosing and replaying old stories. I refused to hang out with people that make me feel like shit. Then suddenly my health got better. I was genuinely healthy and happy for the first time in a long time. 

Big Sur is a sacred, magical, healing place. I buzzed off all my hair, ate a bunch of magic mushrooms, went skinny dipping in the river, and finally finished writing this shit. Of course I want to tell you all about the local myths, legends, locals, and lore… but I’ll leave those stories for another chapter, because I’m still enjoying experiencing it!

I’m grateful for our magical universe filled with entertaining characters. I’ll continuously keep falling in love with nature all over our beautiful planet. Big Sur is an amazing home, but I’ll continue to go wherever the wind takes me.