To say 2023 was one for the books would be like saying Uncle Jesse is mildly cute.
Uncle Jesse.
The year started with an epic heart break and multiple health scares (to the tune of $7,000 and counting, no less), a trip to the E.R. with my bestie, and sending out 304 job applications, which resulted in six interviews, three job offers, and two recinded job offers (based on last minute organizational changes).
It also involved going out with 36 different men.
And thus, I give you, my 2023 Dating Year in Review (if the embedded video doesn’t play, you can watch it here):
When I moved to Bend, Oregon in June 2019, I knew there’d be an adjustment period. (See: #NeverInNewJersey Round 1 and Round 2.) What I didn’t realize, but probably should have given that I lived in New Jersey for 37 years, was that my people prefer clothes more than your average West Coaster that adjustment period would continue well into my second year in Bend.
#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT H – Finders Keepers…Or Not
These photos are just from this summer – that’s how common this central Oregon phenomenon of being…what’s it called…honorable…is. Lost glasses, keys, jackets, and water bottles are constantly placed in logical, visible spots, clearly with the hope that their owners will return. I’ve even seen a $200+ bike helmet.
And things like this [on a local community Facebook page] are far from uncommon:
#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT I – BEHOLD ALL OF OUR RULES…Or Not
I just love this sign so much. This is where my mind went as soon as I read it:
A group of stodgy, suited stiffs enters a windowless conference room, each taking a seat around a long, mahogany table.
“THIS MEETING OF RULE SETTING FOR CENTRAL OREGON IS NOW IN SESSION,” the woman at the head of the table booms, while her assistant jots down her every word with quill and ink. “RULE ONE: NO ONE MUST PARKETH AT ANY NATIONAL FOREST SITE WITHOUT A PASS.”
“RULE TWO: NO ONE – I REPEAT NO ONE – MAY MAKETH A PEEP ONCE THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN P.M.,” another councilperson adds.
“RULE THREE: CANINES MUST BE KEPT ON A LEASH AT ALL TIMES,” a third man continues, frowning. “AT. ALL. TIMES!” He clears his throat. “You know…except if the sweet little boofalicious doodle-y wonderfulness gets hot and needs a wittle drinky poo for his wittle mouth oh yes who’s a good boy he is yes he is.”
See what I’m saying? So. Great.
Uncle Jesse agrees.
#NEVERININEWJERSEY EXHIBIT J – No, Really. It’s lawlessness here.
Look at these rogue cows, on hiking trails, giving zero f*@%s:
Not unlike these these cows:
This parking spot shouldn’t be allowed:
This beach-all-to-myself definitely shouldn’t be allowed:
And who does this frog think he is?
#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT K – DON’T YOU PEOPLE WORK?
I noticed something strange as soon as I moved to Bend last June. No one seemed to follow a schedule. “It must just seem that way,” I told myself. “Because it’s a tourist town.”
But then I started seeing lots of these:
That’s right. Mid-week yard sales. They’re everywhere out here. They’re everywhere, and I don’t understand. In New Jersey, yard sales happen on Saturdays and Sundays. You know. When people are…available.
#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT L – That family inside a new picture frame? They live here.
I was scrolling through Instagram the other day and did a double-take. “Wait. Do I know these people?” I thought.
I had to stare at the gorgeous family for several long seconds before realizing it was an advertisement.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Do you live in a place that catches you off guard? Are these examples surprising or commonplace to you?
It’s okay, Dakota Rainbow Cloudjumper. Uncle Jesse and I forgive you. (In all seriousness, Dakota and his wife, Chelsea, are two of my biggest cheerleaders and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.)
Based on Dakota’s prompt, I wrote a blog post within minutes. Before I could hit ‘Publish,’ SOMETHING MAGICAL HAPPENED.
I think we should all take a moment to reflect on how far my PowerPoint skills have come since this.
This is the part where I could have put up photos of B-Man in drag, but I’m a good friend.
And it looked like not much had changed: HE WAS STILL INSIDE MY HEAD. So, I’ll let him cover the quarantine goals category, and I’ll gladly move on, my party hatslap bracelet firmly in place. (Although it’s worth noting that I already had the rest of this post written as part of my original draft, including the retro B-Man shout-out.)
When bloggy BFFs collide. After a run. In the rain. …Whose idea was this anyway?
Acquiring new skills seems kinda hard, anyway. Besides, if these are end times (and who says they aren’t?), what are the most marketable skills we already possess? How can we prove to our quarantine comrades that they shouldn’t eat us first? I’ll take a crack at it, and then I want to hear from you!
Go Jules Go’s Quarantine Survival Skills
I…
1. …give fantastic compliments. Did you know you’re the only person I write this blog for?
6. …know how to say 1,000+ words in French. None of them go together, but never mind that.
Pain! Chouette! Chapeau! …See?
7. …write excellent thank you notes. This can only help our diplomacy efforts with neighboring communities.
It’s the thought (and not the penmanship) that counts, right?
8. …know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Wait, we’re talking about fitted sheets, right?
It was a whole thing. What? You weren’t here in 2012?
9. …understand the ancient art of numerology. Sort of. I’m pretty sure we can stop worrying about 666.
Toldja.
10. …am a follower. Even though my head was clearly made for a crown, I’m most comfortable standing in someone else’s shadow and won’t upset the group dynamics.
We are all in this together.
11. …don’t really understand the ancient art of numerology and think that ending on #11 means we won’t die. (My superstitions could save us all.)
“Oh nooooo,” I moaned, slapping a hand to my forehead.
“What?” my sister, Lori, asked, her knuckles bone white against the steering wheel.
“I left my phone on top of the car!”
“Stop it,” she said as we rounded another butt-clenching hairpin turn.
I would have driven but my vision was, ah, obstructed.
At the last scenic overlook, I had been so distracted by taking pictures and picking up Uncle Jesse’s poop that I’d forgotten to take my phone off the roof, where I’d placed it as I’d loaded the dog back in the car.
Lori pulled over at the next viewpoint, and by the grace of Chipmunk Gods, my rubber phone case had had enough grip that my phone had stayed in place instead of flying into the Crater Lake National Park wilderness.
Mom. I’ve said it before. Get your s*&@ together.
“Should we check out the lodge?” Lori asked.
I nodded, my heart still racing. She and my niece were visiting me in central Oregon for the week, and we had decided to spend a day and night exploring the iconic landmark.
Oh, you wanted to see more of the lake? Sorry. There was this chipmunk.
While they went to the bathroom near the gift shop, I inspected the Crater Lake Park brochure. The next day, I was planning to hike with Uncle Jesse while they went on a non-dog-friendly boat tour.
These trails are gonna be so great, Uncle Jesse!
I was excited to possibly tackle Union Peak, the park’s toughest hike, or at least scale Mount Scott, a 4.4-mile trek with a respectable elevation gain.
I simply cannot wait, Mom!
I flipped to the brochure’s hiking section and my stomach dropped. Of the 16 listed trails, only three were dog-friendly. Around parking lots. Less than a mile long.
Um…
“Looks like I’ll be going to Plan B,” I said to Lori when she got back to the car.
AND I can’t get high?
With an afternoon waterfall hike now out of the question, we decided to continue driving the heart attack-inducing, 33-mile Crater Lake Rim Drive before checking into our motel, 18 miles away.
The view from our motel.
Whispering Pines Motel was the sort of place where Betsy at the front desk scolds you for even suggesting she send an “e-lectronic mail” confirmation. Betsy handed us our key, attached to a giant log…
and…
…we were very, very glad we had packed extra wine.
Since it was nearing 5 o’clock, we decided to tackle dinner plans.
“Betsy said there’s a place with great pizza at Diamond Lake and we can sit outside with the dog,” Lori said. “She also told us we could come and pick out some movies on VHS. You really need to go look inside the main office, Jul.”
One of the items for purchase in the main office.
When we got to the pizza place, Uncle Jesse and I manned the lone picnic table in the yard while Lori went inside to order. She soon returned looking triumphant.
“Well, their pizza sauce has meat – which is so weird,” she took a breath and shot me the we’re-from-New-Jersey-and-know-our-pizza look, “but they said they could do refried beans [for you] as the sauce instead.”
“Awesome, thanks,” I replied, my vegan-beggars-can’t-be-choosers hat firmly in place.
Ten minutes later, a large man bounded down the hill holding a giant red can.
“I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about in there!” he grumbled, beginning to read the ingredients on the can. We quickly realized he was the chef. “They’re trying to give you refried beans with lard instead of this tomato sauce. Last I checked vegans don’t eat lard.”
“Wow, good looking out!” I grinned.
I assured him that he was indeed correct and deserved to win whatever episode of Vegan Kitchen Wars I had inadvertently triggered. Forty-five minutes after my sister and niece had finished their meals, my food arrived.
It was totally decent until the gnats arrived.
We spent the following hour surgically removing picnic table splinters from our hands…
…and arrived back at the motel in time to enjoy some company right outside our door…
…a refreshing shower…
…and some of that new-fangled telly-vision.
Ah, well. At least Uncle Jesse wasn’t holding a grudge.
Not pictured: My giant bed. With me in it. And no doodle.
Before I make the big move out west next week, two of my closest friends and I decided to spend Memorial Day weekend in one giant love fest.
We picked New Milford, Connecticut because Jenn told us to and everyone should listen to Jenn. Apparently I’ve never actually spent any time in the place just two hours from my home state, New Jersey. With Mother Nature on our side, I was shocked to discover Connecticut had it all.
“Excuse me,” a tall, voluptuous woman with bleached blonde dreadlocks beckoned the uniformed man over with her elaborately manicured finger.
Her voice was playful and husky and I noticed an Adam’s apple. She held up the slip of paper in her hand.
“It says my boarding group is ‘basic.’ I ain’t basic.”
Mine says the same thing and I’m pretty sure I am.
“No no no,” the Delta employee laughed. “Don’t worry, ma’am. You’re not basic.”
They joked around for a few minutes while I thanked my lucky stars that I’d managed to score a window seat, where I planned to use my winter jacket as a pillow.
When you decide to fly to northern Minnesota in May.
Hang on, Shawna. You don’t get 12 hours of sleep a day?
In between seeing fantastic local musicians, we subjected her three-legged, one-eyed dog to all kinds of unbidden “fun”…
…saw the sights…
Don’t you love the endless sea and sky vista behind us? Apparently your mind would have been blown had we arrived exactly 13 minutes earlier. Also, I’d just like to point out that you’re looking at not one, not two, but THREE left-handed vegans.
…ate so much plant-based foodie goodness…
…and of course, went on oodles of hikes.
The best part of the Duluth Homegrown Festival -a 20 year-strong, nonprofit tradition that features local musicians performing all over town for an entire week- was the close-knit community vibe. For eight straight days, like-minded music lovers united to support their fellow Duluthians, shouting, “Happy Homegrown!” and sharing smiles at every turn.
Hi there! …What’s that? Why are my eyes so bloodshot? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m fully committed to the fine art of weekly blogging. I definitely planned ahead for this one. It’s gonna be a good one. Hoo boy.
…Are you ready? Today’s post is called, “Caption This!” I came up with it all on my own. Here’s how it works. …Are you sure you’re ready?
Okay.
I’m gonna post a bunch of pictures that may or may not be from last night’s 37th 25th birthday celebration -and- (oh my God this is so exciting) YOU GET TO CAPTION THE PHOTOS YOURSELF.
I stared at the form on my lap, heart racing. Was my handwriting even legible?
I hadn’t been planning to fill out such a form so soon, but as had been the case with most things recently, an opportunity had arisen out of the blue. In fact, the minute I had decided to take inspired actions towards my dream life, chance meetings and synchronistic events tumbled forward like coins from a lucky slot machine. The more I acknowledged and embraced them, the more followed – all like little winks from the universe.
Let it be known, however, that stepping down Fate’s path isn’t always easy, even when all of the arrows are neon pink and screaming your name.
I mean literally. I find things like this all of the time now.
Usually after I acknowledge a coincidental opportunity, panic sets in and I think of all of the seemingly logical reasons to stay firmly planted in The Known. Then, a familiar internal battle begins: C’mon, Jules. This is how this works. If you want a different life, you have to do things differently. DO NOT LET FEAR WIN. This has been on your bucket list for fifteen years!
I took a deep breath and handed in my form to the spiky-haired woman behind the counter.
With that gesture, my tight, sweaty grip on Control released by another inch, allowing my frenemy, Flow, to take over.
I’m really doing this. At 36 years old, I’m really letting a 5-foot-2 man named “Pop” drive a needle through my nose at 6pm on a Thursday. What are his qualifications? Did he go to school for this? Why does he want to stab women with sharp objects? Wow, he really does seem excited about this…
After marking my nose with a purple pen -twice, to get it juuuust right- Pop told me to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Wow, that was a good one!” he said.
“I’ve been doing yoga,” I replied. “Is it in?”
“Well, the needle is.”
I clenched the sides of the chair and decided, for what seemed like the 20th time in two minutes, not to pass out.
Pop deftly finished up and then dabbed a tissue at the corner of my left eye.
“Everyone always sheds a tear. Here, have a look!”
He handed me a mirror and I smiled, surprised.
“It’s hardly even red!”
Normally prone to rashes at the slightest irritant (or out of thin air), it was as though my body had been waiting for this new accessory. Within two hours, it seemed like it had always been there. Every time I glanced in the mirror, I felt like I was seeing the real me.
The great part about doing things that scare the pee out of you is that it DOES get easier each time. And I’m now something of an expert at homemade saline solution.
…Oh, what’s that? You wanted to see a picture? I didn’t take any of th—
Next up? Pink highlights. Stay tuned.
(Psssst – I just added a new The Vegan Dollar video featuring my new face jewelry tiny house tour! #shamelesscrosspromotion)
In early 2019, I hinted that it was going to be a jaw-dropping year. What I didn’t yet realize at that point was just how far one’s jaw could drop.
And I suspect we’re only just getting started.
Because.
I’M (ALMOST) HOMELESS, JOBLESS, AND ABOUT TO TRAVEL THE WORLD TO WORK ON MY PASSION PROJECT.
By approaching life from a mindset of, “How do I want to spend my life?” instead of, “How do I want to spend my dollars?”, over the past several years, I eschewed convention, made big (tiny) moves and created the runway to chase my dreams.
THERE ARE SHIRTS AND EVERYTHING.
I’m so excited to share all I’ve learned via The Vegan Dollar’s forthcoming YouTube channel, where I’ll review hacks and practical tips, and talk about the mind-blowing lessons I’ve internalized when it comes to spending, saving and turning the status quo on its ugly little head.
Do I know what I’m doing? Not really. Does it feel “too soon” to take the leap? Absolutely. Am I scared? Um, YES. Do I let those things stop me anymore?
HECK TO THE NO.
At the risk of sounding saccharine, it’s been both a bumpy and beautiful road to get to a place where I feel comfortable honoring my soul’s gentle (and sometimes not-so-gentle) nudging, and through The Vegan Dollar, I hope to empower others to explore and actualize their dream lives.
Starting March 13th, Uncle Jesse and I hit the open road. While there are so many exciting unknowns ahead, I DO know the coming months will include…
Uncle Jesse stealing the spotlight (…literally).
Vegan croissants and French lessons.
Rollerblading in San Diego whilst blowing bubbles.
Before I make the big move out west next week, two of my closest friends and I decided to spend Memorial Day weekend in one giant love fest.
Go Jules Go 