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COPYRIGHT 2003 Curve Magazine, Outspoken Enterprises, San Francisco, CA 94102 (415) 863-6538
I'VE READ ABOUT SAILING THE South Pacific, cave-diving in Belize, whiskey-making in Scotland. If you've been there, I've read about it. I don't get around too much myself. It's about money. It's about time. It's mostly about money. I live too well on a daily basis to save for a trip. (How odd it is to realize I'm a one-in-the-hand-is-better-than-two-in-the-bush girl. What kind of lezzie am I?)
You can imagine, then, why I was so excited to be asked to travel for my job. (My other job, that is. I could try to squeeze a trip out of CURVE, but everybody knows dyke drama is the same wherever you go, so it probably wouldn't fly.) Granted, my boss asked me to go to Bakersfield. That's Bakersfield, California. No offense to you gals out that way, but it is not the kind of destination that prompts game-show contestants to jump up and down and kiss the host. But it was travel, damn it, so I was happy. Bakersfield is about a five-hour drive from where I live. It's just far enough to contemplate flying, but close enough to decide the trip to the airport and the four strip searches at the gate just ain't worth it.
Ah, the road trip. Where calories don't count and the radio provides long-term weird and...
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