O.G. Diagnostic Essay

The best road trip of my life was in May of 2002, the year I turned 21. This road trip consisted of 5 states and 3 countries and includes a funeral, a wedding, midgets, gambling, international customs, romance, disguises, and surfing. It simultaneously was the best and worst trip of my life.

It began on a very sad note. I was in San Diego going to school and working as a professional surfer. While at a competition I got the news that my Grandfather had passed away. I knew he was sick and I would be getting that phone call at some point, but I was hoping he would be around a little bit longer. That day, me and my roommate, Jen, loaded up my Dodge Neon and started our drive from California to New Orleans, LA. As we were driving through the desert of Eastern California, close to the Arizona border, the air conditioning gave out. We got a hotel room in Phoenix and by noon the same day, the temperature was 108 degrees. We stayed the night there and had dinner with some Mexican Indians who told us stories of the Chupacabra and performed an ancient ritual that was believed provide company to the deceased as they journeyed to Heaven.

The next day, which was just as hot, we drove from Phoenix to El Paso. We stopped for the night at the request of the Texas State Trooper, who informed us that the tires on my car did not match, and driving 95 MPH was not safe. The next morning, after a quick stop at an auto body shop, we left for New Orleans. My Grandfather fought in 3 wars as an Air Force Pilot and won several medals, so the funeral was very honorable and ritualistic. It was hard watching my Grandmother, mother, aunts, uncles, and cousins cry, but we all knew he had been in pain and moved on to a better place. Afterwards, at dinner, my Grandmother gave me a birthday card Grandpa had got me before he died. In it was a check for $100 and a note that read 'You only have this birthday once- give me an Irish Homecoming and then go live your life.' So that's what I did.

The next day, May 1st, Jen and I left for the start of the celebration.
The first stop was Austin, Texas for a music festival known as South by Southwest. Here, me and Jen met up with some locals and bounced around from stage to stage and bar to bar. The night was going great, there was food, music, drinks, friends and a whole lot of debauchery. While walking outdoors between stages we saw a large crowd gathered around and chanting "Fight! Fight!" As we got closer, we saw two midgets, dressed as clowns, in a fist fight. I asked a bystander what was going on and the story was that the midgets were hired by a bar to be entertainment but one midget hit on another midgets girlfriend, who was also a midget. So they two guys started throwing punches, the bar that hired them threw them out, the fight continued outside and resulted in over two dozen midgets fighting, all dressed as clowns. It was a very odd sight, at since the sun was almost up; we decided to call it a night.

The next morning we drove from Austin to Phoenix. Here, I left Jen to drive the rest of the way home and boarded a plane with some guys on my surf team and took off for Bali, Indonesia. I have been to Bali several times, but this time was very unique. During the 22 hour flight there, I met another surfer named Chad. We shared pretzels and watched Seinfeld reruns together during the flight. After the plane landed, I regrouped with my original crew got in line for customs. While in line I heard someone call my name in the airport. I turned around and saw Chad at the front of the line, I asked him what he was doing and he dropped down on one knee and proposed to me. The whole airport burst in applause and started taking pictures. When the applause died down I felt like a thousand eyes were on me, waiting for my response. I just shouted 'NO!' And did my best to avoid him for the rest of the trip. Even while avoiding Chad, I still had two great days of relaxing and surfing.

On May 4th, my actual birthday, I got back on a plane and headed to Las Vegas, NV. By this time, the time changes and crossing the date line twice had completely disoriented me, so I decided that the best strategy was to drink as much alcohol as possible, since I was 21 now. When I landed in Vegas, I was met by a group of friends from San Diego who were there to help me celebrate. I don't remember much of this night. There was one picture taken, and it's of me wearing a huge afro wig drinking a hurricane. I do, however, remember the next morning. I woke up in a hotel room, fully clothed, but very confused. I stumbled around trying to find someone I knew, there was about a dozen people in the suite, but I wasn't having any luck. It wasn't until I was gathering my purse and shoes that I noticed the ring on my left hand. And in my purse was a scribbled on marriage certificate. I couldn't read the signatures on but did recognize my own name on it. I panicked and tried my best to remember what happened but I could not recall anything. But I did remember Chad proposing in Bali. I called my friends who were still in Bali and asked them if I got married. They laughed and assured me that I was not married to Chad and that he was still in Bali. This was somewhat of a relief, but I still didn't know who I married. I was making phone calls, trying to find my friends when a guy walked in and kissed me on the cheek. I asked who he was and he just stared at me blankly and pointed to the ring on his hand. I assumed this was my husband. And after a few more questions I discovered that my hubby was visiting from Greece, and didn't speak English. I grabbed the marriage certificate and my husband and went to the concierge in the hotel lobby. I explained as much as I could and showed him the certificate. The concierge told me that the certificate was bought in a tourist shop and had no legal bearing. To be safe, I took my husband and the marriage certificate to a law office that was conveniently located in the same hotel and the lawyers there had a good laugh but assured me it was invalid. I had only been in Vegas for nine hours and was ready to go. My friends eventually all stumbled into the lobby and we got a cab to the airport and got on the next flight to San Diego. On the plane ride home I realized that I came to Vegas with a thousand dollars and left with twelve bucks and a hangover.

Now it was May 5th, technically my birthday was over, but I usually celebrate on the fifth, especially in San Diego. Who can pass up a birthday celebration on one of the greatest holidays on the calendar, Cinco de Mayo. Admittedly, I was running out of steam. But I rallied and after we got to San Diego, we hopped in a car and drove straight down to Tijuana. Tijuana on Cinco de Mayo is full of parades, tequila, food, and parties. And we took advantage of each one of these things. Five of us jumped on a float that looked like a giant bullfrog and threw candy out into the crowd; we had a never ending supply of tequila, and partied at a rented house my surf team bought for the weekend. I tried and tried to hang on for the night, but I was asleep by 9:00 pm. The next morning I woke up with a few drawings on my face and cheetos stuck up my nose, but well rested. A few of us went to the Mexican coast for a quick surf session and then headed back up to San Diego. On the ride home we made a promise to each other to tell the story as many times as we wanted, but never name names and if any pictures ever surface, we would never pass them around. I'm not sure why some were more adamant about that than I was, but we locked pinkies and gave our word.

I don't think I could handle a birthday celebration like this one again. In fact, my last birthday was spent around a dinner table with a few close friends and simply eating together and playing board games, and I enjoyed that just as much as the wild times I've had. My Grandpa used to tell me that life is a runaway train and you only get one shot to enjoy it. From one end of the spectrum to another, I love my life.