A New Mexican Journey, pt 1

I had an alternate title for this one, something along the lines of “Love Lorn is Love Worn is Love Lost”.

To explain this mathematically, I suppose it’d go something like this:

If X = love, then (x+lorn) + (x+worn) = x/0

Or something. Shit, I didn’t pay attention in school. But I can tell you this much: that’s all I’ll say on the matter, although it sure does feel as if I’ve divided by zero.

I decided at the beginning of this year I wanted to revisit my roots, reconnect with my past and somehow remember what I’d done, what I’d gone through – and most importantly, make contact with those closest to me back then. It was 8 months, but somehow the most intense 8 months of my life to date, culminating with the most intense experience of my life.

I’m not really sure where to begin here, so I guess I’ll start where most good stories do – at the beginning.

6 years ago I attended New Mexico School of Mining and Technology – although I use that word pretty loosely, since most of my time wasn’t spent in class, necessarily. I moved into a house that became affectionately referred to as the Black Hole, or P.O.T house (Punks of Tech, not related to weed) with 8 other men. In a 3 bedroom house.

With a stripper pole in the basement.

And one bathroom.

The shenanigans we got up to were SO EPIC they rather defy basic explanation. I’m actually writing a book about the adventure, so you’ll have to wait for that. Suffice it to say we even had nick names for each other, things like Scuba Steve, Punk Rock James, Vegan Phil, Crackhead Chris, Classic Joe or Dirty Joe to name a few. All with justified and hilarious stories.

So my trip began by arriving in Albuquerque with less than 2 hours sleep, only to get a room at one of the shittiest, dingiest, hooker killingest rooms i’d ever seen.

The actually filmed the ending to 'No Country for Old Men' here. And there's a moose head on the wall. Yeah.

We then went to dinner with the Carrick Twins, two of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of beautiful women. Cue a nice wine bar with a cute cheese plate (nothing out of this world, but hey, they tried), some epic conversation, and them going to bed early since they actually cared about college and all that.

The next day was the one I’d been waiting for – a trip back to my old college town, Socorro New Mexico.

Now, to describe Socorro. Picture the shittiest little town you’ve ever driven through. Now, compound that shittiness with nothing to do where the highlight of the town is a single bar.

Actually quite spectacular inside

The largest thing is the campus – everything else is either running out of business or running on no business. Population of around 18,000, but fuck if I know where they’re hiding. To look at the place theres maybe 100 people. Anywhere.

Yup. Thats pretty much it.

Still, I love it. So many memories…put it this way. The house we lived in was featured in the local newspaper – we were SO FAMOUS the campus talked about us for years after we’d disbanded. Seriously.

I ran the door at parties wearing my baby blue blazer with a sledge hammer on my shoulder.

Yes, I used it.

Charged 5 bucks and made enough to pay rent and several other…incidentals. Truly spectacular, if you asked me. For Halloween one year I was a priest with a makeshift 3 foot erection I’d crafted from Vacuum Cleaner attachments, with a realistic tip.

Got some amazing pictures that have conveniently disappeared.

From there it was off to San Lorenzo canyon, where I’d once camped with some friends and drank some tea a Navajo friend had given us. Although I’d imagined that mountain lion to be fake, I was sorely mistaken, and we spent the better part of that night in my ’93 Jeep Grand Cherokee whilst my friend smoked imaginary cigarettes all night.

Sans Mountain Lions

The amazing rush of memories that flooded my impotent brain can’t be described – at several points, most especially while touring the campus again, it became painful, causing me to sit down as hundreds of adventures assaulted my psyche, like that one time a few friends shot each other with tranquilizer darts just because they could – was I involved? Maybe).

Still, this was important. Nay, critical, so that I  could write this book, and come to terms with who/what I was.

From there it was a 2 hour jaunt up to Santa Fe, where we got so fucking lost I nearly punched an infant and I’m not joking, then back down to ABQ for some serious binge drinking.

Oh, and for all you drinkers, stay the fuck away from New Mexico! Many bars close at 12 AM. On the flip side, you can smoke in some where at happy hour you can get pints of Stella for 2 bucks.

Still, we posted up at Gecko’s on Central and enjoyed some Black and Blues and Jameson neat.

Perfectly Poured.

Nice location too.

Short crawl back to the second dingy apartment.

You stay classy, Albuquerque. Note the size of the 'TV'

I’ll post the rest of my mis-adventures, and possibly regale you with a few more of the less risque stories, tomorrow.

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