A Tale Of Two Garths. Chapter Sixteen – Pancakes and Sweaty Balls.


Ahhhh, July was finally here and Garth was getting closer to moving to LA. I was getting so excited. Being away from him was making my heart ache and making my mind wander. I was tired of living the life of a taken woman with none of the perks. No one to hold me, no one to kiss good night, and most importantly no bow-chicka-bow-wow. September was right around the corner and so was full time with Garth. And it couldn’t have come at a better time.

It was July 2nd and I had just come back from my second appointment with my adopted Middle Eastern dental specialist family. I have never had good teeth. Neither had my mother. It must be genetics. Damn genetics. I had needed two root canals because of bad teeth mixed with lack of funds and the ability to go to the dentist on a regular basis. After being told off by my regular dentist Dr. Cho in a language I’m not really sure was English (What the hell did she just say to me? Did she just call me a pancake?), I was sent to a specialist in Woodland Hills.
“Your teeth are very long,” Of course they are. “Which means that if I do the entire root canal in one visit you’re going to be in a lot of pain. So we’re going to have to do two visits per tooth.”
“Whatever,” I told him. I was just happy it wasn’t Dr. Cho who was going to be digging that far into my mouth. Before long I not only loved my specialist but I wanted him to become my regular dentist.
“But why can’t you be my regular dentist?”
“Because I don’t do that kind of dentistry,” he told me as he tried to marry me off to his 10-year-old son.
”Please don’t make me go back to Dr. Cho. She’s the only dentist in my area that my insurance covers.”
“You’ll be okay sweetie,” my dentist’s wife assured me as she gave me a hug and told me they would miss my smile and me. Or at least what was left of it.

The first root canal didn’t hurt and I got by on Ibuprofen. The second one didn’t go so well. It was the night before I was supposed to drive to San Diego to meet up with Garth and my old roommate KC and fly to Colorado for the 25th annual Pig Roast. What is a Pig Roast you ask? Well I’ll get into that later. I was sitting on the couch with my roommate Hung after the completion of the second root canal when all of a sudden I felt a pain so sharp in the bottom left hand side of my mouth that I actually fell off the couch.
“Stacy are you okay!” Hung asked as I just knelt on the floor with my left hand desperately clawing at the bottom of my jaw.
“WOOOOOOO!” I moaned like Frankenstein shaking my head back and forth.
“Is it your tooth?” God she’s good. Nothing gets by this kid.
“Woo haf ho call mi denis.” I said to her reaching for my wallet searching for the specialist’s card. Hung called the emergency number on the card and explained to the specialist’s very sweet wife that I was on the floor and was a lovely shade of green.
“Stacy, they are going to call in something for the pain,” Hung assured me.
“Yell yem yank you.” was all I was able to muster. Hung drove me to the pharmacy and I took whatever it was they gave me and went right to bed. I had a plane to catch the next day and didn’t have time for this shit.

The next morning I woke up bright and early and grabbed my suitcase along with my awesome brand new hiking boots I had bought especially for Colorado. If I was going to Colorado to meet Garth’s family for the first time I didn’t want to look like a city slicker. I drove my ass down to San Diego at break neck speed and made it to San Diego with time to spare. Once I saw Garth my heart jumped. That man just had a power over me that was undeniable. KC, Garth and myself all smoked a couple of bowls and then headed for the San Diego Airport. Not wanting to go to Colorado empty handed we decided to bring a rather large sack of pot with us. After a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors KC was the one who won the honor of drug mule. Lucky KC.

The three of us boarded the plane without a hitch and KC made it onboard with our magic bag of California kind safely tucked in his undies. We were off for the time of our lives. Garth and I sat on the right side of the plane with KC sitting directly across the isle from me. The three of us ordered some cocktails and sat back and enjoyed the flight. About an hour into the flight I feel asleep and was awoken by the all too familiar sound of KC’s earthquake inducing snoring. *Sigh* That man will never get married with that snore. What is that smell? Oh no. No, no, no, no. This is so not good. It smelled kind of skunkish. Sort of like, hummm, how do I put this nicely? Sort of like kind bud mixed with ball sweat. Yea, that probably describes it pretty well.
“KC!” I said as I reached across the isle and hit him in the arm. Nothing he just snored louder.
“KC! Wake up!” I said again as I hit him much harder.
“What? Huh? What’s going on? Are we crashing?’ he asked with a shocked look on his face.
“Um no. But we may be going to jail,” I whispered to him over the isle.
“Why?”
“Can’t you smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“Dude, you need to go into the bathroom for a while and air your shit out if you know what I mean,” I told him eyeing his crotch.
“You can smell it?” He asked.
“Oh yea.” KC spent a good portion of the rest of the trip in the bathroom letting his boys fly free.

It seemed like forever but we eventually landed in Albuquerque New Mexico. We walked out of the gate and ran into a man that kind of looked a little like Santa Claus. If Santa lived in Hawaii. He had a sandy blond beard and sandy blond hair. He was a large man but not so big you would think to yourself, Oh crap, push him back into the ocean quick, he’s going to die!!! He and Garth hugged tight and he introduced himself to me.
“Hi, I’m Dewitt. You must be Stacy.”
“It’s really nice to meet you,” I told Garth’s father. Small talk, small talk, small talk. Bam! We’re in Dewitt’s truck and headed for Colorado. On the way there I found out Dewitt was a psychologist for the youth from the Navajo Nation. The Navajo are my grandfather’s people. I guess in essence my people. That’s when Dewitt said the strangest thing.
“So you’re Navajo I hear,” he said from the front of the cab.
“Yeah, my grandfather on my mothers side was a full blood.” Blood is important. How much you do or don’t have makes all the difference. Especially when you meet a full blood. But we’ll get to that in an entirely different chapter.
“You know it takes a Navajo at least a couple of years before they know if they even like you,” Dewitt told Garth from the front seat. I didn’t know what to think of him. Maybe it was going to take me a couple of years to make a judgment call on Dewitt’s and my relationship.
“The woman also always walks behind the man,” he went on.
“Not this Navajo,” I told him. He let out a loud laugh as he threw his huge head back. Dewitt told us more about his life and what he did on the reservation and we all shared stories about ourselves. It was a long drive but we eventually made it to Durango.

Once we entered the small town of Durango I felt drawn to it. It reminded me so much of the town I had grown up in I felt like a kid again. We stopped at the local grocery store and stocked up on some food and then Dewitt took us to the most important place we needed to know about in all of Durango. The liquor store.
“Stock up kids. You’re going to need it,” Dewitt informed us. But what does one usually buy for a pig roast? The answer? Tequila. And not the cheap, crappy kind, we are talking high end Herradura. Don’t worry about the limes because you’re going to drink it either straight or with a shot of hot sauce in it. Limes are for pussies.

With the car full of idiots armed with tequila, hot sauce and sack of sweaty ball weed we made our way out of the town of Durango and onto a dirt highway that wound up into the mountains a little ways up from the main road. We pulled onto a property with a huge house on it that was tucked back in off the dirt road in it’s own sort of mountain oasis. Once we stopped the car the owners of the house came out to greet us. They both looked right at home in their little mountain hideaway. They introduced them selves as Glen and Sheryl and showed us around the property. Then they took us down to where our tents were set up.
“Your tents are in the Aspens,” Glen told us as he led us down a path past the house and into the woods. And sure enough, Colorado Aspen trees on all sides surrounded us. It was a sight to see. I don’t think God could have picked a better place to camp. KC’s tent was a little ways further down the trail and I was glad to see that it was far enough away so that his snoring wouldn’t keep me up all night.
Later that evening after dinner we all sat outside on Glen and Sheryl’s porch and smoked a little and stared up at the stars in the crystal clear sky. I was so content and at peace I was hoping Glen and Sheryl would consider adopting me. As the night wore on KC, Garth, and myself walked down the path and crawled inside our tents. The next day was the day everyone was supposed to show up to officially begin the 25th annual Pig Roast and I could hardly fall asleep because I was so excited. Eventually my eyes grew heavy and I started to drift off into a relaxed slumber when I heard a low guttural “Ruff” come from out in the woods followed by another one. You could hear that what ever was making the noise was moving around the large property.
“Garth, what is that?” I whispered in the dark.
“That’s Sasha,” he explained to me. I had met Sasha, Glenn and Sheryl’s giant white dog when we had come in that evening.
“What’s she doing?”
“Letting the bears know that this is her property.” I lay back and relaxed even more. I had everything I wanted in life at that moment. I had nature, I had Garth, and most importantly, I had my Indian spirit guide Sasha.

To be continued…

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

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