RV vs LAX

The wretched ProFlowers gig was finally over and it was time for festivus part 2.Joshua Tree Music Fest, followed but a 3 day break, then Lightning in a Bottle. So first things first, drop Gatita off at another sitter, arrange supplies, dump the RV refill it head for wonderland. I was en route to LAX to pick up Salah. A friend of a friend (Aisha), who I met while working at the Envision Festival in Costa Rica, that was supposed to come live with me in my RV and travel around the country. We had all these grandiose plans, that started with me, her and Salah going to Joshua Tree, but then she ditched us both and got some dream job in Hawaii. Blah blah blah, who does she think she is!? I kid, I kid, I would have done the same thing in a heartbeat!! But I digress…regardless of not knowing anyone at the Joshua tree festival, I was super stoked. It was still great to get out of town, go to a music festival, make some friends and maybe even earn some money!

Halfway to LAX, I get a phone call from Salah saying that he was going to be a couple hours late. So that was fine, gave me time to go kick it at the beach a little. Got to Huntington, cleaned up the RV and myself, take a little siesta, gave myself a medicinal head change and off I was, back on track to LAX. Now, RVs as it turns out are not at all welcome at the airport, at least not in LAX. They hated me there. First, before I even got into the airport, I had to drive through a police check point. They were letting all the other normal cars go right through, but when I came up, they all threw their hands and freaked out, telling me to pull over. So being a proper, cooperating citizen, with zero contraband, I obeyed. The lady-cop was mean mugging me as she asked me some basic questions, then looked inside the RV and said “Do you live in this thing ma’am?” “Why yes, yes I do, do you like what I’ve done with the place?” She gave me a sad, I feel sorry for you, pitiful look. Or maybe she just was disgusted with my hippy tapestries and feathered flair. The other 2 cops looked inside, saw that I wasn’t smuggling in Mexicans or drugs and that my closet was just full of shoes and sent me on my merry way.

Next step ideally, would be to park, and wait for the arriving passenger. So I pull up to the parking garage. Nope. As it turns out my RV is a bit taller than 7ft. I smashed the air vent and scared the shit out of myself as well as a parking attendant. As I jumped out to look at the damage, he came running and yelled at me with his broken Indian English, that “this car too big, you cannot drive this here! Why you bring this car to airport?!”  Thank you sir, I am now aware of that, and I decided to bring this car, because I don’t have any other options at the moment, thank you for asking. Now where should I park this beast? He instructed me to park on the side lot, which happens to be a security lot and informed me that maybe they’ll let me stay for a few minutes. Nope they didn’t. Lady security kicked me out in seconds and told me to go pull in where all the other cars were waiting. So I cut across a median and like 4 lanes and get to the passenger loading and unloading area and actually do get to wait for like 5 min. Even got a peanut butter and apple snack in me. Until another kind LAX employee shoos me off and tells me to just coast around until my passenger gets there. Does he realize what a pain in the ass that is? Not to mention how much gas this thing eats? Clearly not. So I then decide to stop at another drop off/pick up zone. I bit farther back in the international arrives, where I figured there was plenty of space, I could just hang back for a few minute. There, another brilliant gem of an attendant tells me that I can’t park there, but technically, I am a bus, right? So I should just park under any of the green shuttle/bus signs. I knew he was half-retarded but, fuck it, he told me to do, I’m go with it. So I park under a green sign and 3 min later, my old friend that just shooed me away at another place, laughingly tells me that I can’t park there either. I tell him that his buddy over there, another employee just told me that I was a bus and I could park here. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me to keep coasting and that this is clearly marked for shuttle buses, and the other guy “lied” to me. While I know he didn’t lie to me, he was just tryin to help a sista out, this one just wasn’t having it. So I coast about 4 more times until finally Salah gets off his plane and we are full steam ahead; 25mph in LA traffic, music full blast on an iPhone. I hear this is what they call “living the dream”.

Logistics, Decompression and Recreation

Before I moved to my work parking lot, I would still parked elsewhere, like the beach for instance. I mean, that’s what RVs are for aren't they? Recreation? Of course my situation is a bit tricky, and in the RV world, I’m considered a “full-timer” meaning I live in my RV full time, and don’t just take it out on weekends and holidays. I have to plan things out a bit more accordingly. Like how much electricity and water do have remaining, and will my kitty have a safe place to run around. It takes lots of scoping out and moving at the right times of the day to make this all happen. But it does, and I've had the pleasure of beach front property without the costs many a times. Of course, so do bums...

There are challenges that go with every perk in this life. Charging the thing, for example; it needs it every one in a while however, and I, for that matter do as well. I have to find friends...or strangers with a front yard so I can drag my extension cord in through and use the facilities. Things like bathing, are often taken for granted when you live in a house, with walls and stuff. I had an overwhelming response on CouchSurfers for people offering me to park by their houses, or just showering and letting my cat run around in their yard. However a lot of these wonderful souls were way too far out of the way, and for $100 a tank, I can just drive up to Escondido for shits and giggle. I do however welcome these down times though. It’s good to have some quiet decompression time. Clean up, relax the mind, body and soul.

After being gone for a 10 day festival adventure, I pick up Gatita from the sitter, and what a pissed off kitty she was. She wouldn't look me in the eyes for first night and ran away outside to play for 2 nights straight. She hates being indoors all day, but who does?! You can actually see her slim down when she gets back into nature and back to the wild kitty that she is. But there was also no way I could take her to a festival. She would freak out and run away, or worse, some hippy would find her and think she’s the new great messiah or something and she would never be seen or heard from again. 

Another problem with living in an RV is that the fridge doesn't work unless it’s plugged into a wall. Well that’s not the only problem with THIS particular RV, but it’s a big one. And if you're all fancy and shit, and have a generator, you don't have that problem either. Not I, said the fly. So not only do I have to move my RV all over town, chasing an electrical outlet and a shower, there are times where I have to get all of my modes of transportation all into one sport, in which case, I get to play musical cars/bikes/RVs with myself. You think I’m crazy, but let me give you an example. I parked and recharged at my friends Alex’s house for a night, and then, during the day time when everyone’s at work, I drove my RV to my old house on PB drive. Parked there, biked back, locked the bike up at Alex’s and drive back Kate’s car to the PB house. Then in the morning, I would rollerblade to Alex’s and then bike back with the rollerblades in my backpack. Sounds like fun doesn't it? I’ve had to do variations of this many a times, to the point where I've gotten it down to a science. There’s a certain time for parking to be available, and when traffic is good and bad, certain roads to take for an unregistered RV, just little things to take into consideration.

When all of my modes of transportation are at one house, I can relax and chill for a few days. Look for jobs, yoga, read a book. I had a prime spot at the PB house. I could plug in and charge, do laundry, get my mail, bike ride, see my friends, and be close enough for work and play. Sadly it only lasted a few stints and now there’s a whole new crew living in that house and I can no longer take advantage of the amenities. More on that later. The one thing that sucks about PB drive is that it’s a busy street and there are tons of cars constantly going back and forth disturbing my peace. How dare they!?. If you've ever slept in a car, you can understand that when other cars drive by, it shakes and rattles you and everything in it. It wakes you up, and kind of scares you. I mean, what if they get to close and hit you? Usually that’s about when I start looking for a new spot.

Next!

Home on the Roam Repairs

Since I’ve gotten her, in March, I’ve been a lot of repairs into Big Bessy. She first got a brand new battery for the interior lights, followed by some repairs on the fuel pump, the high beam lights, and the electrical gas lighter so I could charge my phone. She also got some new breaks and a new mini fridge. I then got a bike rack for the back bumper so I wouldn’t have to bring my bike inside every night. Then came some beautification, of hanging tapestries, a clothing rod for my top bunk, which is now my closet. Am also still working on fixing my real closet, as it turns out there’s a weight limit and the rod that the hangers went on, and it sort of fell off. So if anyone knows how to install a hang of sorts to plywood and it will actually hold some stuff, please, be my guest, I’m all ears.

But is she drivable? Sometimes…most of the time. She passed her test drive when I started it and drove it around the block, so I assumed so at the time. However the seller failed to mention that it stalls out 3-5 times every morning on average. That it definitely stalls out if you’re stopped at a red light going up a hill.  The carburetor makes all sort of popping noises. The seller also didn’t smog it and now poor Bessy can’t pass a test on her own. He told me it was being sold as is and had me sign a contract stating that I understood that. This is a “hobbie” vehicle, he said, not for someone that doesn’t understand cars. Yes, more like full-time job in my case. So, 3 months later, I went to legit smog place and they told me that legally, I was allowed to sell it back to him. Or try to work out a deal where we could spilt the cost of the repairs enough for it to pass a smog test. I called him and told him all of this. And he’s from NY, and doesn’t really know the rules of CA smog. Plus, he told me, and I quote “I’m actually a little bit retarded, and so if you try to sue me, I’ll have my doctors and lawyers and stuff win, on account of that I didn’t know the law here in CA.” Yes, that’s right ladies and gentlemen, he played the retard card. I was speechless. I mean what can you even say to that? Sorry you’re retarded; sell me this piece of shit back? Or help me fix it. It was like talking to, well, to a retard. I had to have the smog guy talk to him and even he felt bad for me and gave me discount on my smog. My silly retard already used the $2000 to buy a minivan and he can’t afford to give me money. He also informed me that he was getting food from the food bank, government cheese and everything. Mother fucker, don’t talk to me about government food. I came to America as an immigrant, we got government cheese, and corn flakes and peanut butter too, I didn’t have clothes from anything but salivation army till I was in high school.

 But to pass a smog test it boils down to is most likely is my carburetor. Who even has a carburetor anymore? Do they even make those? I was looking around for a mechanic to say it passed when really it didn’t, just so I could finally register this beast. But to no avail. I kept getting the runaround. All I got was missed appointments and no answers when I called, so I gave up. So I’ve been driving around not so legally, but slowly and inconspicuously. Nobody can see that giant silver RV, it totally blends in…I did get a little nervous when I drove up to festival land, but that didn’t stop me from having the best time EVER!

Some of the other little minute details I’ve had fixed, was the gas gage; turned out to just be blown fuse. The gas tank was lifted and screwed into place. The water tank exploded one day when I was filling it and can no longer hold water. So things like showering, brushing teeth and washing hands become more challenging. Thank God for friends, yoga studios and jobs with showers. Otherwise I’d be a filthy bitch. So I had to get that repaired, and as soon as I did that the tank sprung a leak on the inside. I came back one day and the floor was all wet. Awesome. Pretty soon the floor is going to rot and mold and its going to smell like shit and I’m going to not be able breath and die. So ya, I fixed that. And what do you know…the sewer tank sprung a leak. And apparently you can get a ticket for that. They tend to frown upon leaking poop on the streets. Maybe if I lived in India, it’d be ok. But I live in America’s Finest City! And we can’t be having any of that.

            I’ve also upgraded my sleeping arrangement quite a bit, that my bed is now the most comfiest thing I have ever slept on! After about 4 months of living on the streets, I noticed that all curbs are not created equal. Some have a very big curve down angle. So much so, that I’d sort of roll off my bed and after a while and the fold out table/bed, old, dingy cushions become super flattened out. So my back was starting to hurt…a lot. Not to mention everything was constantly sliding off on a lean. So when I was helping my friend Sarah move into her new loft, and the old tenant was moving out he left his giant temper-pedic memory foam mattress pad and ever since that I’ve been sleeping on a cloud! Back problems are gone and its even curved under so its like sleeping in a crib. Live is much more comfortable, I must say. But there is always work to be done, as in Bessy, if its not one thing, its.

Work

When I finally made it home from my 10 festi-field trip safe, sound and itchy, I couldn’t think about doing anything but showering and sleep for a few hours before going in for my big girl job. With a head, full of festival “after-effects”, I was thanking my lucky stars that this “job” only requires a high school equivalent and/or the mental capacities of a trained monkey. Plus this whole job thing is something I haven’t had in almost 8 months! Teaching yoga and Zumba in Costa Rica doesn’t count. I start my training for my 4 week, $10 an hour, seasonal stint at Proflowers, and let me tell you…it’s pretty intense! There are all sorts of rules and shit. I find out they have a gym, showers, giant refrigerators, a 24 hour, secure parking lot, and they’re going to feed us breakfast, lunch and dinner for a week. Fuck ya bitches! I’m moving in! My cat can play in the parking lot, eating me out of house and home and grow big and strong to defend me against snakes and coyotes on the canyon that the job is on. But seriously, the cat eats everything, coyotes got nothing on Gatita.

When I finally started working, it was the most dreaded, unrewarding, mundane job I”ve ever had, in my life…ever. 80% of my fellow co-workers are morbidly obese. Thanks to the vending machine snacks and buffet meals 3 times a day, everyone is 300lbs+ and growing. I guess they didn’t get the memo about the gym. It’s really and truly sad and disgusting sight to be honest. To be handed a free cupcake by a 400lb man with saggy titties, has a very “filling” effect on you. Very inspirational to help me loose that extra 15lbs I gained of rice and beans in Costa Rica. The job itself sucks too. Here we are, trying to make Mother’s Day special and send them a pretty bouquet of flowers, then after a very pleasant 5-10 minute conversation of them choosing the flowers, the card and vase,  they get to the bottom line. The price; and because the shipping and handling is almost doubled the cost of the flowers, guess who gets yelled at and accused of false advertising? This girl. Me. Over and over and over again. The week after Mother’s Day is even worse. This is all of the people that want their money back when the bouquet came back wilted and brown and dead and smelly. Happy Mother’s day mom!!! Here’s some dead flowers J Sure I excel as professional customer service over the phone and listen to people from all over the country bitch and moan, about this, that and the other. I empathize, sympathize and then roll my eyes and take the next caller. At the end of the day, after 8 hours of being yelled at, you just want to crawl into a hole and cry, or get really high or drunk…or eat a big fat cupcake.

 I count down the days till my last day of that wretched job. And truly, only 3 good things came out of my ProFlowers experience. I got some money to pay for some much needed repairs on the RV, I got to workout at a real gym, with weights and showers and stuff, and I met Jessika. Jessika is a fellow vagabond kid like me, who saw me in my RV one day and inquired within. She was so impressed with my open-road life, she took me out to a fancy dinner at whole foods to pick my brain and decided to give her place a 2 weeks vacating notice and do the same thing… but in her Subaru station wagon. Poor thing had all these plans of going to school in San Francisco and just living in that for a while…but it broke down half way up when she got there and didn’t get to fulfill her car-living dream. But don’t worry, she’s fine, she’s plenty cool and smart to get by, but later, when I refer again to the homeless girl who lived in my RV…this is who I will be referring to.

To Lucidity and back

Lucidity was Big Bessie’s first festival. With me at least; who knows how many festivals this thing’s been to? More than me, I can tell you that for sure. We load her up and set sail. I drop Gatita off at a friend’s house and head to Santa Barbara. Kate in front commandeering. Sarah and Blayne sleeping on my RV bed and its raining and gross out. As we get closer the rain starts dripping onto my lap from the windshield. Sarah tries to bust out my caulk gun and caulk the crack mid-driving. And apparently caulk doesn’t stick to wet plastic…who knew. Duct tape, though, duct works. Yes, it really does fix everything, and then some.  They taped a towel to the windshield and that’s how we drove the rest of the way. Not bad, interesting look for the big V.

We get there in one piece and I get a phone call. I finally found myself a job! Not a great one, not even a permanent, one, but it’s a job! And it will pay for festival season…or at least the gas. My friend Joel that I've known for a years from San Diego, works at ProFlowers and they were hiring seasonal customer service help. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. I start the exact day I come back from my trip #1 and the last day I would be working would be the day I leave for Joshua Tree/Lightning in a Bottle. Perfect time! Again with the coincident!

Lucidity was an incredible time. Small and quaint festival. Even though they said it was 4000 people, it felt like 2000.  Saw lots of people I haven’t seen in a while. Enjoyed mind-exploring opportunities, danced, walked and mingled. Experienced every kind of weather. What with torrential downpours, followed by hail, then sun, then a rainbow, then some more rain, then a DOUBLE rainbow!! Oh ya…it was Fing magical! And cold, really cold, then hot, then perfect. And they say California doesn’t have weather.

Having big bertha has made me so spoiled. I will never again have a tent at a festival. Sleeping in there when I want and having some place to call my home, quiet time and all of my clothes to select from is definitely a luxury. Aaaaaannddd there’s a bathroom! We arrive in the mud and park where we get stuck. Sort of sticking my butt in the way, but its all good. After about 8 strapping young men come running to try to rescue me, we all decide its fruitless, and this is where I lay, we decide to have a drink and fuck the bad parking job. I mean, I’m already here aren’t I? The silver beacon of adventure.

From Lucidity I was on my own. Driving up to Oakland to do some trim work for a friend, but also see Oakland and San Francisco. The drive took me about 7 hrs. Going 55 the majority of the time, listening to my ipad on the loudest it can go because there’s no stereo….yet. I made it! And now I’m in the lap of luxury, with a bed, and a shower and stuff. That’s right, I’m moving up in the world. I had an incredible time being a tourista for a few days too! Golden Gate Bridge, the Mission, the Fisherman’s Wharf, a Japanese spa house, Height and Ashbury on 420 and an STS9 concert to boot! It was truly an amazing chain of events that lead me there that it couldn’t possibly have been an accident.

Sunday afternoon, I leave to go back to San Diego to start my new fancy job training on Monday. I fill up and realize that that gas gage didn’t move. Soooo, the gas gage doesn’t work anymore. Nice. I decide to guesstimate, that from San Diego to Santa Barbara it took us 4 hrs, and that’s about when I got on E and got stuck in the mud. So that’s how I made the rest of the journey; counting hours. Sunday also turned out to be a hot one, really hot. I start driving and my engine block starts blowing hot air on my foot….the whole 10 hrs I’m in the thing. Normally when its cold, this is a welcoming effect, but when its 95 degrees out, its not quite as pleasant.  I have a burn scar on my ankle to prove it. Not only is it smoldering outside and in. I must have stepped in some poison ivy at Lucidity and itched my knee/calve area with boots, because my legs have some crazy red, itchy bumps all over them, the sweat making them burn and now its crawling up my thigh. Yuck. To anyone worried for my safety about people mugging me, or kidnapping me or something, there is no way a rapist/murder would even want to touch me that day. I was a hot, sweaty mess. Drunk, Mexican bums at a Victorville truck stop, looked at me squeamishly and quickly looked away avoiding eye contact with me. Ladies, take note.

The drive through desert and Bakersfield was not only hotter, but hillier. I must have been a sight, because I was down to boxers and a wife beater, windows wide open and hot air blowing at my foot, some crazy forest rash on my legs, a curtain flying out my passenger window that I can’t reach to pull back in and all in an ugly silver RV that goes about 35 up hills. Have you ever had speeding cars and trucks coming up behind you, and have to swerve around to avoid hitting you? Scary #3. And every 4 hours, I have to fill my gas tank. You think it would be a piece of cake, but no, not in Big Bessy. The gas tank is not secured very well and you actually have to reach in there, grab the tank, sit it on the plastic part then fill the tank. Oh and it blows smoke and gas fumes in our face first. Goooood tiiiiimes!!! 

My Car2Go experience

When I didn't have Kate’s car I had Car2Go...and still do, but don't use it quite as often as you soon shall understand why. Getting a membership to the fabulous car 2 go is great, as long as you stay in the operating area. Once you step out of the operating area, watch out. Shards of glass come flying at your windshield, there are snapping crocodiles, and lions and tigers and a freaking moat, with poisonous snakes in it. Ya, it’s bad. Not only do they charge you like double rental time, you have to make sure you don’t run out of battery juice. I was convinced that they were hybrids, with both gas and electric engines…nope. Not the case. I go to an interview in Rancho Bernardo, and I’m at 20% juice left, halfway there, probably due to my heavy foot. Apparently if you press the pedal to the floor it drains it faster, who knew? So I arrive to my destination but I’m defiantly NOT going to make it home on this amount. I hit the SOS button, yes it has an SOS button, and a teenage customer service girl, informs me that the closest charge station is 7 min away, and I have to assume the risk going back that way because I might not make it. Cool, thanks. So if I'm stranding on the side of the highway, it’s my fault. I suppose I could still hit that SOS button, and we could sit around an chat about the Kardashians or something. I leave my job interview, get in the car, say a little prayer, cross my fingers, and DO NOT press the pedal to the medal this time. Scary. #2 Trucks coming up behind you, going 70, while you’re a 2-person car going 50 and literally feel the car blowing in the wind, and there’s the dash say “3 min remaining”. Ya. I make it there barely, and still have time juice left to drive around in circles around a college campous looking for the damn thing. When I actually find the charge station with this girl's INCREDIBLE direction giving skills. I plug in thinking it would just take a few minutes, and walk around this college campus looking for a bathroom. Come back and in 15 min, it’s barely made a dent in the charge. Fuck. I go for a walk around to the plaza. Walking comes very natural to me now, having been walking for months in Costa Rica, with no car. I kind of like it now. No body walks in the U.S, at least not in CA. I kill some time, go get some food, go to Kinko’s, print off tickets for Lucidity Fest. When I come back to the car, after like 2 hrs, it had enough to get my home, so I go. I park on Imperial Ave, which is the boarder of the operating zone and have to walk back to Amy's a couple blocks. Well, the car doesn’t let you leave until you go plug it in at a charge station, because again, it’s low on fuel. So I go, try my damnedest to find a damn charge station. And can’t. So my SOS now an angry rant rather than a cry for help. They release me from my car 2 go captivity and I get reimbursed for my 3 hrs that I had to use their silly car. 

Big Bertha was starting to come together. Bed, earring, tapestries, and a brand new fridge that came with stickers! Candles in an RV give it such a classy feel! I took it and the kitty to its first mini-fest at the Emerald village organization in Vista, invited by my friend Yuba. It made it up there great, 45 min drive and a whole gas tank later. We have arrived. The cat ran outside right away and that’s how I knew I could always trust her to come back. She made sure to sniff around the door to know where she was going. I to my festival, saw friends, and had fun. She, off to chase flies and birds and climbe trees and whatever the hell else cats do outside. Bertha made it back fine and stopped at a Vons parking lot just cause Im driving and learned about the free WIFI.

            I seem to have outstanding karma because I get so many awesome things handed to me at the exactly the perfect times. For example, I meet the wonderful Kate. Who is one of Amy’s roommates, and she just so happens to be a flight attendant. This means she is never home. Like 2 weeks out of each month. Leaving her car, open and available for use. And guess who needs a little errand/job interview car?! ME!!! Thank you Kate, you are a miracle. Occurrences like this happen quite frequently to me. Somehow the universe just puts in the right place at the right time, every time. Or meeting just the right person to lead me to something great. Life is full of abundance, you just have to know where to look.

How it all came to be...

It all started off as a joke. I was in Costa Rica on the phone with my dad, and it was a couple months or so before I was due to return to the U.S. He informs me that my Uncle Lev in Los angles has an RV for sale for $2000 and that I should just buy it and live in that! And “HAHAHAHA wouldn’t that be silly?” Well I took it very much as serious suggestion. “That’s a great idea dad! Thanks! Let your gypsy daughter be a gypsy for a minute.” I’ve been changed to a desk job since I was 23 and after 5 years, I’ve had enough. Not only do I hate cubicle corporate jobs, I hate their schedules, the people that take it SO serious and the amount of over weight individuals out that just eat their lives away and sit all day. It’s sad really, but enough about that. I was moving back to America, with no car, no house, no job, with kitten. Yes, maybe I was a little crazy, but damn it, it’s going to work out. The universe has a way of opening up and pointing me in the right direction. I’m a survivor, highly adaptable and pretty low-maintenance for a female. Living in an RV would be perfect! One in better condition would be better, but beggars can’t be choosers. Thank God, I have tons of amazing, wonderful friends that have helped me in so many ways. Without them I wouldn’t make it. From the drives to the showers, to the laundry, electricity, and much more; I am forever grateful.

 I arrived to San Diego March 7^th and couch surfed, here there and everywhere. At my old house sometimes where I used to live in PB a few other friend’s houses. But of course the cat couldn’t be there because people had allergies or they wouldn’t be allowed by the property owners, or people just plain hate cats. Its so crazy to me how some could hate a cute little kitten. They’re just mad because cats are smarter than they are. Cats are much smart than dogs and many humans out there as well. So the cat would crash at other people’s houses on her own sometimes, I somewhere else. Only had one accident really, at my friend Kevin’s house. She ran circles around his apartment, peed on the bed and shit under it. Needless to say Gatita is no longer welcome there…and no Kevin, my cat is not part lynx. Although she is rather long…

            I started looking at RVs right away. I looked at a conversion van from like 76, rusty and decrepit. I also looked at a bigger nice RV, but shit didn’t work and it wasn’t registered yet. Then I saw this 82 Chevy Winnebago, silver, with a black stripe around, a warrior chief decal on the door and playboy bunnies on the door locks. And I was sold. It was small, only 19ft. and drove like a big van. I was assured there was nothing wrong with it but the fridge and that was easy to fix. It was $2000, and with a little love, could be a great little place to live. Just enough room for me and the Gatita. Cozy, like my own little cave on wheels.

            So I bought it. Not sure I really thought it through very well. I didn’t getting it checked out by a mechanic or anything, nothing, just went with it for the color really. Ya, don’t judge me. Here’s $2000 cash. I didn’t really realize what I was getting myself into yet then. As it turns out, a lot goes into owning an RV. Like getting it registered for one example. I’ve had for almost 3 months and its still not complete. I’ve definitely had a night or two there in the beginning where I cried, freaking about what the hell I was thinking buying a freaking piece of shit RV. With a cat, what if she runs away? Or someone thinks shes a stray? I can only imagine a kitten meowing out the window, trapped. Looks like some evil animal cruelty to on-lookers. But with a little help from some friends I got by just fine.

The first thing I did was clean the shit out of the damn thing and tried to get it to stop smelling like exhaust and other wonderful car fumes. Then there was tending to the mechanical issues. It stalls out an average of 5 times when I would go to leave in the morning. When I come to a stoplight or a red light and just give out. Especially going up a hill. Scary, let me tell you. The brakes also sucked so I would coast backwards, if there was a car behind me I was just roll right back into it. Sooooo….fix that $400 issue and another $168 for the brakes and I’m good to go! Ride those wheels of progress and momentum into the sunset!!! Start moving my clothes in it. And finally got a new battery, so that I could at least have lights on without the engine running. Having a space heater is key, let me tell you. It gets cold in a metal box!! But that requires having an outlet. So you need to plug-in something, can’t just park on the side of the road. I was also told that cops will shoo you if you stay parked too long in place. So for that, God created Walmart. Among other things, you can park there 24/7 (although some of them are now banning it) A lot of parking lots like Vons and CVS even have free wifi you can just play with in your home on the roam.

            For the first month I stayed parked at my friend Amy’s in the Barrio Logan. If you’re not familiar with San Diego, it’s just on the outskirts of downtown. And doesn’t have a very good reputation. Because if I ever mention to someone that I am parked there, they freak out and ask me what they hell I’m doing out that, and don’t I know that’s a dangerous area?! Well honestly it’s not that bad. People are just racist against the Mexicans. Yes, there’s a bum here and there too. But they’re friendly bums! Church going families that sell goodies on the sidewalk. The other not scary bonus was that we lived across from a warehouse where they had 24 hr security. We did get some weirdoes out there every once in a while. But where don’t you?