Here we go, picking up where we left off... part two, of the two part series of "Where in the World is Henry David Thoreau the Gnome", enjoy:
(So you might note HDT is missing here. Yeah... that. Well, like I said before, girls were scarce in Mexico this summer... so I constantly found myself hanging out with teenaged boys. These boys would be cool to me... but they harassed the shit out of my poor HDT. The harassing got to the point where they hijacked him from me... and then only handed me the hat--hat that was originally glued to his head! I believe the day I took this picture I was walking over to the local "tiendita" aka "little store" to buy the boys a "mangonada" aka blended mango-with-chile-and-limon homemade Popsicles. Why, you ask? How the fuck else would I get my gnome back? I took this picture to keep track of those fucked up three days he was "missing." I took about 7 pictures like that. I looked crazy... but... whatever. The little alley in this picture is where I've bumped into two live snakes before... one was tiny... the other one had me shitting bricks... yet I still walk through that place. I'm an idiot, I know)
(HDT is sitting next to me in my uncle's truck. We had to borrow it to travel to some even-more-recluse town up in even-higher-mountains. While I really dig those rock fences seen in the background--you find some creepy lizards you can play bullseye with-- I mainly added this photo to show how I got my little guy back. See how his hat is all ill-fitted? Those teenaged boys would do that to him... making him look like some... tiny, fat, cholo or something. Pshhh)
(HDT is in the room I spent wayyyy too much time in this summer: the bedroom [and not in the good sense. No, no... I was in there crying... listening to music... forcing myself to sleep... you name it. NEVER was it pleasant in there. Never.]. See that door back there? That was my only form of ventilation! Did I mention we don't have air conditioning over in Mexico? Well, we don't. I had to have the bedroom door open so that the backyard door could ventilate the room... and my grandma slept in there [as did Mom... she slept in the bed with me... so it only made the room hotter]... so do you now see why I would freak the fuck out at night? And don't you love the prison feel those doors give? Yeah... lovely... and Tyson loved smacking his tail on the door... and that would make it so damn hard to sleep sometimes. Anyway, HDT's standing next to my all-time favorite chips: Takis, Fuego con Limon flavor. Mmmmmmm. Yeah. Almost made me forget I hated that fucking room)
(HDT's in the living room--atop the little... what are they called... the old-school wooden stands where you put your television--, posing next to the roses from our garden. This makes me wish the photo was a scratch and sniff... those flowers smell SO damn good--and that lip gloss in the lower right hand corner ain't bad either: Passion Fruit... yumm! He's also standing near my brother's phone... which was pointless to take to Mexico since TelMex has a damn monopoly down there and no other companies get service. There's also my iPod that never left my side... along with 19-year-old Casanova's PSP. He may have been a little annoying with his little "love" overtures [he sang to me once as we were both stuck in the camper of my Dad's truck for half an hour... 80's love songs... as well as "Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks... which only made me wonder "WTF, kid? WTF?"] towards me... but if me being nice to him and doing things like... visiting his house and eating his mom's brownies, meant him allowing me to borrow such wonderful gadgets, then shit, I did it gladly... I even started requesting songs...)
(HDT's lying on the living room floor... next to a dead Garter Snake and the broom stick Mom used to smash its head in. Yes... cruel... seeing as how the little snake was kind of cute. It committed a fatal mistake by entering our house... and it wriggled a little too crazy for Mom's liking and she just said "Fuck you, you ain't getting near my Momma, you tiny mothafucka!" as she was sweeping, and bam, it took one quick blow for Mom to crush the snake's head with the broom stick. Mom has crazy good aim... I get any and all tomboy traits from her, not dad [he only knows about cars and I know jack about cars, except how to change a tire, I'm good at that]. Mom can throw rocks, play marbles, punch, shoot, stab, kill pigs, etc. better than most guys. Mom might be able to teach Bear Grylls a thing or two, shit. After this, Mom took the dead snake outside to this huge anthill and we watched the ants get all excited and bring the little snake into their home... my mom's so cool sometimes. I should have gotten a shot of that, too... but I don't like ants and their dumb little pheromones)So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen... my trip... summed up through Henry David Thoreau the Gnome (yes, named after the transcendentalist AND the Nickelodeon gnome of the late 80's-early 90's... don't think I've forgotten about that guy, he--along with Maya the Bee-- taught me how to play nice with other little kids, as well as like nature... and he made me want to be a vet but then I grew up and said "F' that!").
Took me damn long enough.
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