I worked in The Burque for one week last November. When I was here that last time, I splurged and purchased a fine silver and turquoise Pakistani necklace from a Swedish woman with an intense handshake who runs a new-age type crystal shoppe/bookstore. I wore the necklace to my next destination, Chicago, whereupon, the very next day, one of the platelet hinges snapped. Admittedly, this happened while I was dancing super-hard with a bunch of friends in front of a juke box at one of my favorite Chicago beer joints, Estelle’s. Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed, but also, kind of impressed with myself that I was able to break a hundred dollar necklace simply by some crazy booty-shakin’.

Yesterday, I was in Inga’s store again, this time purchasing a hard-to-find book. I re-introduce myself and mention that I purchased a necklace last fall – and that it broke two days later. Inga pauses, looks at me over the top of her bifocals with a gaze equally as intense as her soul-stroking handshake and says very evenly, “You know, dear, zat vhen someting like dis happens, it is because zat necklace has protected you from some-sing.”

“What?” I ask. I don’t really know what I was expecting her to do about the busted merchandise, but I truly wasn’t expecting her to tell me that the necklace saved me from some sort of attack – psychic or otherwise.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s true. Once, I was coming home across a darkened parking lot, and my necklace broke.” She shuddered. “I know it protected me from some-sing!” She smiles. “I can recommend someone to fix it . . . ”

For the record – I do have a tendency to believe these sorts of things, but that belief system certainly has limitations. The only thing that I can’t shake about her explanation is that . . . . OK, let’s pretend that she’s correct and that it did “save me” from some-sing. Why did it break whilst I was dancing, surrounded by friends? I have to hand the prize of proprietary excuses to my local crystal shoppe owner, Inga. I’ll be back to her store; it’s a good store. I just won’t buy any more jewelry there.

I just turned off the television.

In my last post, I alluded to the fact that I’m about to step it up a notch in the tech department. I admit, I’m slow to change, especially in the technological realm. I’ve been handwriting my journals and stories for ten years now. Computers and word processors have helped me greatly, but I haven’t really cared too much for tech gadgets like I-pods, digital cameras, I-phones and the like. My phone won’t accept your picture mail and I only recently acquired the ability to text message. I am, Anna the No-Tech Nanner – proudly.

Start talking about ‘Blue Ray’ and I’m liable to think you’re talking about some kind of marine life.

But times they are a-changin’. My roommate Michael and I geek out on giving one another tips on how to travel well, comfortably and effectively. Through watching him, I’ve seen how a few well-made gadget purchases could be a good investment for an artist adventurer. An I-phone is a great example – you can use the thing to listen to music, call a friend, take decent enough pictures and get a Google map to the closest Chik – Fil – A . . . all within seconds. Amazing.

But, there’s something about that much technology right there in my palm at my beck and call 24/7 that makes me want to stay in the dark shadows of regular life. As crazy as this may sound, I really enjoy figuring out a place by way of intuition. It takes longer, sure, but I’m not in a hurry. Besides, I’ve met some interesting folks along the way.

I-phones, with the constant internet connect would mesmerize me and ultimately, I believe change the way I interact with the world. As it is, I don’t turn my cell phone off nearly enough. I like the meandering way I’ve developed of taking in my world. As long as magical moments continue to happen, telling me on I’m the right track, I see no reason to change.

Yet, there is a pull for me to jump in the river of Tech and get a small, sexy, intuitive and most importantly, singular device to entertain me, give me a constant info feed and keep me interacting with the world through it. Wait . . . OK, obviously, I still need to think on it.

Life moves fast for me – always something going on – moving, doing, going. I’m not sure I could handle the increase in pace and speed if I always had an exact satellite tracked road-map. I might forget to stop and smell those spring daffodils.

Which gets me back to the beginning of my rant. I just turned off the TV. It was all ridiculous commercials geared to hypnotize watchers into buying some MORE shit that they really could live without.

I’m going for a hike. To a place where cell signals don’t reach. To see some spring daffodils. As a Lakota elder once said, “Have you ever seen a shy daffodil?” They’re right there – for a short time – if we don’t ignore them. I’ll try to get a snap. (With my digital camera.)

I hate to keep harping on the whole housing in Albuquerque subject, but folks . . . ! It ain’t easy findin’ good digs in The Burque, yo!

I’ve finally settled into this awesome condo, but it too has it’s definite down side. It’s VERY expensive for ABQ. It’s exactly 35.29% more expensive than my bungalow rent in Venice Beach, California, just six blocks from the water and in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in all of Los Angeles. This sleek, newly constructed place in ABQ is architectural dreaminess with it’s sexy concrete floors and tall ceilings of openness and light, be sure. But this is Albuquerque. No offense to ABQ, but my pad in Venice Beach is sweeter.

The ad said it was furnished. It’s Ikea. Does that count? I’m not sure.

The neighborhood of Nob Hill rocks. I like that, but even though it’s a cool ‘hood and all with a co-op and great coffee shops, there is still a noticeable tweeker contingency. That, and well on Saturday night there was a guy on the street with a high powered telescope, herding everyone who was walking by to take a look at Saturn in the sky. That was fuckin’ cool. It felt very Burning Man like. But also on Saturday night there was some wierd murder down the street. Both incidents are kinda like my ‘hood in Venice . . . in California . . . near the beach. Where I pay 35.29% less. . .

So, why didn’t I go for something less expensive in a dull neighborhood? Well, here in Albuquerque, it’s either some squat, cold adobe in a really scary and especially drab part of town . . . or this trendy part of town, that’s still kinda wierd and rough, which I like . . . sort of. I live in a rough neighborhood in Venice, which I love and feel mostly comfortable in. I’m here to report that so many more white girl alarms trip inside my head in Albuquerque than they ever do in my gun-toting cracked-out Venice ‘hood. Those freak-o’s understand me. Here I’m on guard.

There is no in-between kind of neighborhood here, not unless you want to rent an unfurnished four-bedroom soul-less house out in the vast Intel sub-divisions of Rio Rancho. No, Thank-o.

So, basically – as I throw my hand against my forehead dramatically – I have to live in the lap of luxury. Except, with Ikea furniture. And a sub-standard model TV. Shocking as I proudly have not lived in a televisioned home for about seven years now. I’m going high-tech. More on this later. The TV needs serious updating. Oh, and apparently ‘furnished’ also means you get four sets of silverware, again Ikea, but no cutting board or kitchen knife. I’m a grown-up. I cook. The agent who furnished this place is probably all of 23. I know, I’ve met him. I don’t think he cooks.

Ahh, luxury . . . sort of. Except come on - thirty-five point two nine percent.

Venice. ABQ.

And hey, in Venice, utilities are included.

I have so much to be thankful for on this Good Friday. All signs point to great things. Today I hit my “Re-Set” button.

First of all, today is the Vernal (or spring) Equinox. In some religions and cultures the Vernal Equinox is the new year. I’d like to think that this is my new year. Today is the full moon. Big energy in the full moon coupled with the Equinox and the shift in season to spring and growth also make this a great day.

But today is the day that my life is coming together, congealing and coalescing here in The Burque. By the end of today, I will no longer be homeless or car-less. By the end of today I will be living in a sweet fucking condo in a hip part of Albuquerque with a rockin’ roommate and my cat. I have not been this excited about a place since I found my bungalow in Venice. I pick up my car in one hour, pack my stuff and move in today.

Ahh, and I have today off, so I can move in properly – slowly – relishing the opportunity to truly settle, something I’ve not done in months.

Ahh, it’s been lovely. It’s been strange. It’s been fun . . . I have some interesting neighbors here at the hotel.

On the other side of a brick wall and alleyway, are some older homes, most of them with junk sitting in the back yards. One morning during a pink and orange sunrise, an old lady dressed like some kind of sherpa with a turban on her head puttered around outside in the cold, hopped on an abandoned, dilapidated exercise bike in her back yard and squeaked out a slow five minute ride.

We’ve got agent Barney Fife as security officer. He always stands in the same spot all night long in the hotel parking lot, his thumbs hooked inside his belt loops.

Across the street is some super secret, massively gated government facility with video cameras everywhere and signs literally every three feet proclaiming in no uncertain terms that no one should try to sneak inside.

Then there are those wierd rapper kids next door who like to slam doors. I’ve never seen them, but let’s just say, we’ve heard one another.

But today . . . today is a great day. Today is my last day living the hotel dream (at least for awhile.)

The phone rang at 7:30 AM.

“Uh, hello, Anna,” said the extreme country accent. “This is Bones. I’ll be there in ’bout 15 minutes.”

“Huh?” I muttered, half-asleep. “But you’re not supposed to be here til 8:00-ish!”

“Mah ETA is 7:43, ma’am.” And then the AAA tow driver hung up.

I heard Bones arrive. It wasn’t necessary that he call to announce himself. I could hear his radio blaring some kind of whiny country music throughout the entire hotel parking lot. Bones of Bones Towing was a young man in his early 20′s. His country accent was so thick, I noticed, because he barely moved his mouth when he spoke.

I explained that I didn’t necessarily need a tow, but he couldn’t find his jumper cables, which I thought was sort of odd. He proceeded to try to help me pop the clutch of my car by pushing it across the fairly level hotel parking lot instead of down the hill, which was not only completely ineffective, but also another oddity.

Then I hopped into the Bones Tow Truck and we were off. I’d given the address to AAA the night before, but I knew roughly where we were headed. And when he took a left to go toward downtown Albuquerque instead of a right to go toward the Firestone service station, again, I thought it was a bit odd. “Hey, man, it’s down the other way,” I said.

“Naw,” he replied. “I punched the address here in my GPS, we’re on the way.”

I decided to let it go. I’d get there eventually.

Albuquerque’s morning sky line is filled with hot air balloons. I’ve been wondering why, but haven’t had the chance to ask a local. “Hey, Bones, why all the hot air balloons in Albuquerque in the mornings? What’s that tradition all about?”

“I don’t know. I’m a tow truck driver, not a balloon driver.”

He drove quietly for a few moments, then out of nowhere, flipped a bitch in a church parking lot, exclaiming “Mah GPS fucked me over!,” and headed in the direction I wanted to go.

UPDATE: Here’s my driver and his GPS!

My long week has been interesting for sure. I don’t mind being ‘homeless’ as the Extended Stay America has truly been a comfortable home on the road. I’ve been a bit anxious, but not freaked out or in a bad mood about the whole thing. It’s actually been alot of fun to live in this way. But things have been compounding . . .

On Monday morning, bright and early, my car battery died. That was the same day my camera battery died and the weekend my phone took a dive. With my long work hours, it’s taken all week to get my car fixed. In fact, I still don’t have it back. Again, I’ve not really been too upset by the whole thing so much as I get a kick out of saying, “I’m homeless and carless in Albuquerque, living in an Extended Stay America with my cat.”

Yesterday, when I showed up at the office wearing not a shred of green, someone said to me, “Anna, I’m shocked that you forgot St. Patties day!” Well . . . OK, I must admit . . . . it just wasn’t on my radar this year because of a little shenanigan that happened in mid-December called “SantaCon.”

Take about 150 friends dressed in all various forms of ‘Santa’ , causing trouble at local malls, parks and bars . . . .  . . . and drinking yellow snow lemonade . . . and gettin’ the cops called on us . . .

. . . and about four hours later, you’ve got ‘Santa-AnnaTude’ sleeping at Formosa Cafe, puking behind a plastic tree and squealing, “I just don’t know how this happened!” between heaves . . .

 . . . and ever since that fateful day, my body has said, “Ho means HO! We’ll be having none ‘o that pot o’ gold!”

I’m settled in my hotel room finally, with christmas lights, candles and swatches of colorful fabric everywhere. I just know that when I’m gone during the day that the maids have tours come through my room . . . it looks that good.

Travel well tip - In a hotel room, drop the jizz blanket (you know, those nasty bedspreads that NEVER get washed) to the floor. Replace it immediately with an awesome blanket of your own. Notice the change in blankets from a week ago.

Yes, I had a picture taken of me at work as Wonder Woman. No, that’s not the one posted on this site. I signed a gnarly Non-Disclosure agreement. I’m in Albuquerque . . . on a secret mission.