The best way I could think of spending $100

There are simply no stars like stars seen from the desert. JR and I left friday night at seven, with his brother Billy following, to drive to Ocotillo Wells. It's a lovely drive, first up through the mountains to Julian, (a little mountain town that was originally the center of San Diego during the Gold Rush, before it occurred to anyone that the giant bay would be the future of the city) then over the mountains, winding through starlit canyons while listening to Southern Cross by Crosby, Stills and Nash (what heaven taught you and me cannot be forgotten) and down Banner Grade to the desert floor, which is dotted with the occasionally granite mountain, sticking up like irregular pyramids. We pulled into the state park, where JR's parents where waiting with Daisy (their dog) and Keno (JR's dog) , their new trailer and a couple of quads. So began the sandfest. Good things about the desert. You can see more stars there than any other place (clear air, little to no clouds), beautiful lingering 'dims' at sunrise and sunset, neverending sand for exploring on a quad, warm sand and cool breezes (this time of year). Bad things. The teaspoon of sand that promptly lodges itself in your bodily crevices, the fine sand dust that never stops blowing into everything, causing your nose to run, the snot mixing with the dust to create a paste which is promptly dried by the hot dry air into a cement-like layer in your nostrils. Sitting on a bench that folds down to become your bed and folds up to become a parking spot for a quad. Sitting in a tiny box of a trailer, attempting to have a conversation with your boyfriends mother that somehow ends with the words, "but I'm not a virgin*" and then realizing that there is no alcohol for MILES to ease this moment of silence.
*(note to my Jr. Highers, this falls under the category of 'Stupid choices Sarah used to make before she grew up and pulled her life together' that we've discussed before and is NOT meant to reflect current choices and lifestyles.)
But the good far outweighed the bad, and JR and I had a lovely weekend, racing around on quads and NOT thinking about my mother and the bad Lifetime Channel movie she's making of her life. I'd never ridden a quad before this weekend and was pretty proud that I neither wrecked it nor fell off nor wussed out and got scared. I rode everything but the big main downhill slope in the blowsand, but that was because I got JR's quad stuck three-fourths of the way up and had to ask for help getting it out. I figure fear of ruining a very expensive piece of machinery was an acceptable reason to turn back. There weren't many girls there, the breast to beer gut ratio was about 1-8. Every time I saw a girl ride by our campsite I wanted to yell "You Go, Girl! REP-PRE-SEN-NT!" as I doodled on my sketchpad and thought about which bath oil I was going to soak in the minute I got home. Someone told us that there was a small gift shop about a mile or two down the road so of course, being a fan of tacky junk with names of places painted on it by a chinese child somewhere, I had to go. But when I go there all they had was a bunch of stuff like tank tops and thongs with the words 'Desert Diva' and 'Desert Princess' written on it, and since I hadn't bathed in two days, I wasn't really feeling in touch with my inner diva, assuming I even have one. Not a paperweight or snowglobe to be bought, so when we went back to the campsite where I made my own souvenirs. A large piece of rose quartz, found half-buried near the dumpster, is my new doorstop. A small slab of layered sandstone with flecks of fools gold, found near the fire pit, with a zig-zag break right down it's center, my new bookends. A polished riverstone with a tealight-sized depression in it's center is my new candleholder. And a little 'L' shaped chunk of granite will make a perfect throne for the clay wizard that Bunny's son Peter sculpted for me. And I learned that WetNaps and lotion kept in the fridge make a pretty reasonable substitute for a shower.
The drive back was very pretty, and we stopped in Julian at a yard sale where I bought a copy of 'Walk Across America' and a large print for my wall. The print is of a woman sitting, looking out of a window with a soft, patient expression on her face and it cost me all of a dollar. Score!
When I got back I got a report from Bunny, who actually got to meet 'Bob the Prophet' over the weekend. He just sounds better and better. Apparently he couldn't stop oogling Bunny's sixteen year old daughter (both Bunny and Jessica independently confirmed this, and they're both people with an uncanny sense of peoples' character). He's been married twice and considers those divorces 'totally not my fault'. They weren't 'committed enough to my ministry'. They apparently didn't appreciate being left with the kids and no financial support while he traipsed around the country, 'doing God's will'. Because according to him, God would provide, if they had enough faith. Doesn't he sound like a gem? A good, godly family man? Oh, and a little checking online turned up that he ran for Governor of Nebraska in '98. One of those people who apparently have the idea that you don't need a staff or a budget or any of those pesky little details to win a major election. Working in political offices for all those years, I met people like that. They're utterly harmless to the general public, but capable of causing quite a bit of damage to anyone stupid enough to trust them. I also learned that while he and my mother were in Omaha, his daughter who lives there couldn't find the time to see them or meet my mother. Admittedly, that could mean anything from her being busy to her simply not caring. But it might have some connection with his apparent taste for staring at young girls. Maybe she doesn't speak to him similar reasons to the ones that I don't speak to my father over. And I intend to find out. I'm going to ask her. In fact, I've decided to run a complete background check on him. Cost me a hundred bucks for the premium package at www.anywho.com and I should have results by tomorrow. I'm not doing this for my mother, but rather for me. I want to know what exactly I'm dealing with here, for my safety's sake. Should I tell the 'happy couple' my address? Do I need to be worried or just ignore this ignorant little pissant? See, Bunny and I had a long chat last night and I've decided not to listen to the devil on my one shoulder saying to let Mums do whatever she wants, and also not to listen the angel on my other shoulder telling me to save her. I'm going to remind myself not to care. I wanted better for her, but those are my standards, not hers, and I shouldn't hold her up to them. She asked for my opinion, although she clearly didn't really want it, and after I give it, I'm going to sleep the sleep of the clear-conscienced and never say another word about it. I'm going to run this check, tell her exactly what I think of him and then later when she's left pennyless in some godforsaken state she can't whine (like she always does) "No one told me it was a bad idea!". I'm also going to mention that if she marries this guy, she forfeits any chance of babysitting any child I ever have. Jessica and Bunny might be wrong, maybe never a perverted thought entered his head, but if there is even a question of it, that they're right, then that's too much of a risk as far as I'm concerned.
After that, I'm done.
My new mantra -
I DON'T REALLY CARE.
I DON'T REALLY CARE.
I DON'T REALLY CARE.
Wow, I feel better already.