Tag Archives: stories

The Story of How Diablo Got a Little Too Involved


Midway through July, I got the news that my girlfriend would be back by the fifth, my birthday. Imagine the excitement that burst from my womb like a laughing, blood-covered baby when I heard that my girlfriend would be in St Paul for my birthday. Also imagine the sadness as I finally realized that the House of God would be coming to an end in short order. I promptly logged onto my Facebook page and began furiously typing.

Twenty minutes later, I had composed the very last event invite for the very last rager at HoG. It would be a birthday slash going-away party, and it was time to confront Diablo about the entire situation.

Having lost his job and started considering a career traveling with the Renaissance Faire, I was hesitating to tell Diablo that he had literally no future in the Renaissance because he had literally no applicable skills. I had to sit him down and talk to him about a very important matter.

A little background about Diablo before we begin. I met him through my best friend, who ended up dating him. My very first conversation with him happened while I was still living in small town Wisconsin and it happened in a very strange, marijuana-induced phone call. Alice, who had met Diablo at an Anime Convention (I think) had been strangely attracted to someone who was only described to me as ‘a small, very excitable, Mexican boy’.

I introduced myself as God. The next five or six conversations I had with him were also over the phone, and I was always God. It was, to this day, one of the least funny running jokes I have ever had with anyone in my entire life. It wasn’t until the summer after our first phone call that I was introduced to the boy (and he WAS a boy).

Diablo, Diablo, Diablo. The shortest boy over the age of eighteen I had ever met. The bounciest, fiercest little man anyone could imagine, the…naked drunk?

The very first time I met Diablo, it was late August and I was at the first Anime Convention I had ever attended. It was getting pretty late on the second night of the Con and everyone (except for me, apparently) had already started to make their fair share of regrettable decisions. I was ushered into a bad decision when I was told where to go find a nice, cold beer.

Knocking on the door, I had no idea what was in store for me. Behind that door stood only one thing I knew of for sure: some kind of shitty beer that had been purchased for a bunch of under-aged kids at an Anime Convention. Yes, that is an interesting enough thing to be behind door number one, but wait…there was more.

The door flung open. Scene: A totally naked Alice stands petrified (or drunk, one of the two) as she tries to focus on the person who is looked at her wide-eyed. Next, a shocked Telea is asking if Diablo is naked in there, too. Alice finds herself responding that yes, he is, but he is covered in blankets and passed out, so it doesn’t matter.

How many spoiler alerts and foreshadowings does one blog need? Diablo was, indeed, totally naked, but he was not, in fact, covered in blankets. My first glimps of Diablo was a totally nude image. A drunken artist’s sloppy portrayal of ‘paint me like one of your french girls’.

It was horrifying, to say the least. I’m not going to say much more but…a penis that big on a guy that small is blasphemy. He proceeded to awaken from his coma, run to the toilet to puke, and then slap a now-crying Alice in the face. A year later, this would be one of my best friends. In that moment, I swear I hated him.

Now I was living in his house, while he struggled to keep the house without a job, and he was trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Furthermore, his cousin (who owned the house) had dropped by that week and cried over the state of it. What Diablo had failed to tell anyone was that he was supposed to be fixing the house. We had, effectively, ruined it. But that is a story for later.

I sat the dear boy down and opened with a simple conversation about the day he found out who God was. I made a clever segway into following the lord, and finally told him he should go on the road with me. We’re going to say that’s what happened in any future conversation about those moments. I was clever, mature, and collected. Now, here’s the real story.

I ate a lot of shrooms and told him he was a worthless pile of shit if he didn’t go on the road with me, mostly because he had nothing at all in his entire life going for him. To which he responded: I’ll pack a bag. Diablo was now guest number two on a reckless journey into the abyss that is the train-riding culture.

If I could paint any picture to describe what we looked like, I would paint a picture of one of those motorcycles with a fancy little side-car. My dog would be driving, my girlfriend would be a translucent head in the sky calling out to us like Jesus, I would be in the sidecar, and Diablo would be pushing the entire contraption, which I just now decided to mention was made entirely out of a refrigerator box. Actually, could someone draw that for me?

In other words, what kind of fucking mess did I get myself into?

From Home Bum to Homeless Bum


Well, it has been a rough few days. I found out only today that it is June now and I am so stunned and taken aback that I’m not sure how to express my feelings on the matter.

The other night, my friend Meg and I hung out with a guy named Charlie and we made beautiful music and chain-smoked and ran around in the rain. We also hung out at Hard Times and drank coffee and made more music and had a generally great time. We stayed up until five am and then slept in and drank coffee and then returned to the Hard Times for lunch and board games.

It was a good day. After that I traveled by bus to Northtown to pick up a backpack for my homeless adventures and hang out with some lovely people and a cute baby and a REALLY cute dog named Ghost. I was gifted sour gummy candy and got to sit around without having to put much effort into interaction, which can also be nice sometimes.

Today is my first official day of homelessness. Isley came over last night and helped me clean my room and throw most of my things away and now I am sitting at a McDonald’s with my whole life in a backpack. I am drinking really shitty coffee and spending too long on the wifi and waiting for something good to happen because I’m really exhausted and tired of trying to make good things happen just this second.

I feel lucky through all of this that I have amazing friends who meet me at pizza shops and give me bus money. I feel lucky I have amazing friends who buy me cheap cell phones so they have a way of making sure I’m safe. As unlucky as my life is right now, I feel so lucky I have friends who are worrying about me and listening to me and doing what they can to give me happiness.

I only hope I am doing as much for them. As sad as I feel right now – because the first week of losing everything is always the worst – I have so much hope for the future. And even if the future doesn’t turn out, I have enough love and support to be okay.

I hope you can say the same. Always sending all of my love to all of you,

Telea

The Terminal


Wow, it sounds like I’m about to launch into a review about a really bad movie or explain that I have cancer or something. This, my dears, is not the case. Let me tell you the story of ‘the trip’.

As most of you know, when I started blogging on this site in October 2011, I met a girl who was also a blogger and also from Wisconsin. We bonded over a mutual love of zebras, being over-dramatic, and dumb tv shows. We long-distance helped each other make good and bad decisions and, at the end of the day, decided that it was time for us to see each other.

We plotted an intricate plan in which she would drive from where she lived to where I lived (about three hours) and we would hang out for a weekend and have cute picnics together. This, sadly, fell apart for numerous reasons, including the inevitable crushing end of our friendship/romance. It seemed, after she blocked me on every social networking site known to man, that it was simply not meant to be.

Time passed. We both got older. We both moved to different states. We missed each other and just didn’t know it yet. Then, one fateful day, we ran into each other on the internet once again. On a site just as obtuse and obscure as WordPress was back in 2011. Surprise, delight, and tears ensued. Topless Telea allowed tears to pour down her measly chest onto her curved stomach. Too many adjectives.

Reconnecting, we began Skyping every day, for hours on end. She told me about her life in New York and I did Skype topless cooking just because (are you seeing a theme here?). We talked and talked until we were both sure there was nothing more to talk about. We then found something to talk about and life resumed. 

Again, we found ourselves making fanciful plans. We both had decent jobs and thought that we could support a trip to see each other in New York City, six hours from the place she had come to call home. We tentatively planned it for the first week of February, even advance requesting a room on AirB&B. But it was not to be. I fell into a financial and living crisis while Lex…helped me out of said crisis. 

We abandoned our dreams. She began saving up money for a laptop again while I scraped together spare change to try to find a new place to live. I began couch-surfing; we stopped talking as much. I was busy and she was alone. Call it Heartbreak Hotel or whatever you’d like but what it came down to was not enough time or energy to keep up our friendship. We thought it might be the end…again.

Dun dun dun. 

Too bad we’re both too awesome to allow something beautiful to fall apart. I started getting my shit together and we began talking again. It was a challenge at first. We were both in places where we needed to butt heads with something, and me not making time for her was an ultimate betrayal of trust. Basically, we had some shit to work through.

Time passed. We continued to get older, cuter, and maybe wiser. Her boyfriend turned into the ultimate piece of shit. Mine didn’t ever really exist. He was back in Wisconsin and my ability to commit is…vapid. The situation took a turn for the worst when Lex realized she couldn’t live with her man anymore. Emotionally damaged and needing a friend, the two super-buddies reached out one more time into the recesses of the internet in the hopes that someone would fuel their jet (ha. hahaha.).

Somehow, it works. VS (Not Victoria’s Secret) hopped on board the Telex train and powered it all the way to the airport. A confirmation email arrived in my inbox with booked times to fly from Minneapolis to Philadelphia to Erie, where Lex and her friend would pick me up. The flight was scheduled for the very next day. Getting my best panties in a twist, I packed for my adventure. Early the next morning, you could see me walking down the snow-covered streets of Minneapolis with two small bags and my best summer dress. 

Don’t ask me why, after 19 years of living in the Midwest, I still feel it necessary to dress like an idiot during the cold months. I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried.

We take a short break in our story to inform you of some key information you might need to know for this next tidbit. Two months ago, I lost my ID somewhere. Being a couch-hopping, Minnesota resident now, I was incapable of finding a way to renew it or get a new one altogether. So I was left with an 8.5×11 sheet of printer paper with my photo ID photocopied onto it. 

This is something I advise against having when trying to fly somewhere. It is not considered an acceptable form of ID and you will be subjected to a TSA standardized validation process. Basically it’s a whole extra screening. When I read about it, it seemed pretty mild. They would look through my bags, pat me down, ask a few questions about my mom…

Sadly, that is not what happened. Kudos to TSA for still making it an expedited experience but comfortable and easy? I think not. They asked me the date of birth of my mother, my father, and one other close relative. They required maiden names, social security numbers, phone numbers, state of birth, etc. After the questioning was done, they screened my bags, testing the clothes and items with little strips tests that I think were meant to find chemical traces?

After this was all said and done, I was patted down and then strip searched. Yes, my dears, a nineteen year old cute while female was subjected to airport humiliation and crossed boundaries. It happens sometimes. 

Finally, I was cleared to fly. I excitedly walked to my gate, ready to take off into never-never land…only to find I was three hours early for my flight. Having come prepared with a book, I settled in to enjoy the fine company of Terry Pratchett. Finally, it was 1:48pm. FINALLY I was going to leave. Set off to see Lex’s face in person for the first time. I hurried to the bathroom to dispose of my nervous urine waste and then hurried back to the terminal.

Forty-five minutes later and no airplane in sight, I begin freaking out. Full-blown panic-attack mode. I’m brow-furrowed studying my ticket for inconsistencies. Maybe I went to the wrong gate. Maybe I’m in the wrong terminal. Maybe the flight is tomorrow. Instead of being a logical person and, you know, asking someone, I make the executive decision to just wait at my gate and see if the plane decides to suddenly show up two hours late.

Tee-lee Dodge, will you please come check in at Gate E-4 to discuss your flight information?”

Uh-oh. Maybe I’ve been denied passage into Narnia. Maybe Armageddon has arrived. My mind must be diseased and I’m probably just in a dream where all of my worst fears are coming true when it comes to air travel. I’m going to look down and realize I’m not wearing pants and my luggage is in India and my ticket has been canceled and I’m stuck in Iowa.

 Nay, none of this happens to be true. I walk up to E-4 and address the flight attendant and she informs me that the flight was so delayed that I would miss my connecting flight in Philly and so they – US Airways – switched my flight over to United Airways and I was on a plane out at 6pm. At this point, I think this is the worst news I’ve ever heard in my life.

I have a panic attack. I cry in front of hundreds of people. I call my mom…twice. I am full-blown raging with fear and lunacy. Finally, I calm down. I reason with myself. The flight is going to be only two hours later. Don’t panic, man. Life is good. I am sent to Gate E-8 to pick up my new boarding passes. I stand in line for one hour only to be told that since my flight is at six and it’s only four…I’m going to have to come back.

Again, I snap into panic mode. To a girl who has never flown solo or had to deal with any airport situations on her own at all, two hours is NOT enough time to get boarding passes, get to the gate, and successfully board a flight. My solution is to go get some food to pass the time.

Here comes another side-story filled with wretched anger and indignation. If you’re going to put a Burger King…in an Airport…you should do it with the same prices you charge not in an airport. This will get you booming business and everyone else will suffer except you. It’s beautiful. What you should not do is charge seven dollars for a chicken sandwich and then serve me a poor excuse for a chicken nugget on a soggy bun. That is highway robbery and I will not stand for it. Except for six hours ago when I totally stood for it.

I finish my food and return to E-8 for my boarding passes where I am told by an older woman who calls everyone ‘babe’ that “That flight has also been delayed due to weather and so you will miss your connecting flight if you board it.”

Oh. Fucking. Joy.

“Here, I’m going to turn you over to Wendolynn who will work on a new flight with you.”

Thanks, Patrice. You’ve been a real help to me in my hour of need. At this point, there are tears silently streaming down my face as Wendolynn searches for new flights and comes up with nothing. After 20 minutes, I’m ready to call it quits and kudos to her for looking for so long for a flight that probably isn’t there…just because a cute, desperate, crying girl is being cute and desperate and also, well, crying.

I ask her if there’s any way she can issue a refund and she says yes, but tells me to hold on a minute.

“I might have found something.” My hear soars into the air the way I should have been hours previously and then sinks again. I am not prepared for the false prophet even one more time. Please do not do this to me. Please let this be real.

“I can get you on a flight to Chicago at 7 pm. From there, you’ll catch a flight to Cleveland, Ohio tomorrow morning at 6:30. After a layover in Cleveland, I can get you on this flight to Erie. You’ll be there by 2. I can book it right now.”

Now let me hear you say AMEN. 

HAIL WENDOLYNN, EVERYBODY.

We book the flight and I call Lex to make sure it’s okay. She informs me that, hell or high water, there will be someone at the airport to pick me up. I cry again. I find a place to plug in my laptop. I get my boarding passes. I charge my phone. I make continuous strange eye contact with an older gentleman that bears a haunting resemblance to Mr. Bean. I sit next to a cute guy who keeps almost talking to me. I act like a fifteen year old girl and chicken out on talking to him. We’re both going to Chicago. He gets on the other plane. I pout.

Finally, I am boarding my plane. Finally, I am sitting in an airplane with all of my stuff. Finally, after 10 hours of sitting at MSP, I am going somewhere.

The flight takes off, as flights do, and in just over an hour, I am stepping off an AA Airplane onto Illinois land, blessing the very ‘O’hare Airport’ terminal grounds that I walk on. I have arrived at my first destination. I’m actually on the way. It’s not a pipe dream, I’m really going to Narnia…or Jamestown, New York.

After buying another book, walking forever to find terminal one, and confirming my flight details, here I am. Sitting at a Wifi port that I paid too much money to connect to and typing out this glorious story. I am 408 miles closer to Lexi. I haven’t cried in at least four hours. 

As I sit in this mostly-empty terminal, I reflect on the day. Mostly by writing about it and posting it on the internet. Despite all of the stress, the panic, the bad tickets. Despite my literal airport shop of horrors coming true, I am here. I am on my way. I am, again, a traveling, wayward soul in search of something possibly greater than me, possibly just kisses and pizza.

I am ready for whatever challenge I have next. I am ready for the next fourteen hours in and out of airports, the two hour drive back to Lex’s, whatever comes next. I forgot that my fear of bad things happening is my defense mechanism against my flight mechanism. I am reminded that, at the end of the day, I can get my head together. I can make it. And I will. Today Chicago. Tomorrow Ohio, Philadelphia, New York. Later, the world. Bring it on.

With many hugs and kisses from wherever in the world I happen to be next, I love you all…and safe travels.