Black Men With Big Feet

I feel like the best experiences usually are the ones that, in the morning, you ask yourself why or how you ever got yourself into the situation in the first place.  This morning was one of those mornings for me.  At 7:30am, I got woken up by Dani to ask me if I could drive to get her car which was still parked downtown in an illegal spot.  On the way there, while praying that she hadn't been towed or booted, we went through our night and tried calling back the details that were lost to the deep shades of grey (that inevitable fuzzy stage right before you blackout...yeah, you know what I'm talking about).  

While recounting the night's most ridiculous moments, Dani reminded me of my encounter with the local homeless rogue chiropractor/celebrity, Byron.  When we first saw him, he was “working” on a "patient" who was literally moaning “that was amazing” as he was finishing her “adjustment.”  A combination of seeing her reaction, loving getting my back cracked and being a few adult beverages deep; I decided I wanted to be “adjusted” too.  After agreeing on a bummed cigarette as form of payment, he shook my arms out and started positioning them across my chest while asking me if I wanted to see Heaven, I had no idea how to respond.  Probably a red flag I should have responded to, but definitely ignored.  The second red flag came right after when he spun me around, wrapped his arms around me and asked “have you ever been accosted by a black man with big feet?”  My brain was scrambling for something to say, but before I could shoot off some sassy comment in response, he lifted me up, snapped his body back and my spine went limper than a cooked piece of spaghetti.  It felt amazing and naturally my response was to scream "OH MY GOD!"  Byron, clearly proud of his work, started shouting "YEAH GIRL! CALL ME!"  He put me down, and as I am laughing hysterically, Dani is telling me to relax.  Apparently, she had gone through this process a few nights previous.  Next, he grabbed my face and said “Ciara, have you ever kissed a black man?”  As soon as he had asked the question, he turned my head like he was going to rip it off, and my neck snapped, crackled, and popped like rice krispy treats with fresh milk just poured into the bowl.  It was awesome.  He finished up my “adjustment” with a few other techniques, and I handed over the promised cigarette.  Walking away, he was still cracking jokes and I was still at a loss for words, but I somehow felt like I was a whole new person.  Moral of the story is that if you’re in Charleston and a black man with big feet asks if you want your back adjusted...go against your better judgement and just say yes, because its fucking phenomenal.  

Coon hunting and a photo shoot... Welcome to Charleston!

So I've been in Charleston for approximately a week and somehow after a fabulous crab cake dinner, I end up with a glass of wine in one hand, a pellet gun in the other and a photo shoot invitation for the next day.  Suddenly, I'm wondering how I got here.  

It all started when Dani and I went out to dinner and were seated outside on the deck of a local crab house.   As we're polishing off the last of the wine, Dani literally rips me out of my seat frantically saying, "GET UP! GET UP!"  Thinking it was a boat coming down the waterway, I leisurely stood and turned.  Once I saw the raccoon two feet from my chair, I understood her sense of urgency.  Not wanting to be eaten alive by a possibly rabid animal, we decided to grab the wine and finish it off at the bar.  

Once we were safe inside and joking around with the staff about our new furry friend, we ended up catching the attention of the owner of the restaurant.  He came over, introduced himself, and started playing host by offering Dani and I more wine, and asking us the usual questions like "where are y'all from" and "how are you liking it so far?"  After almost an hour of casual conversation, and a LOT of wine, I felt like I got knocked over by two back to back, seemingly crazy statements.  Mr. Crabcakes, we'll call him, led with, "we have a photo shoot for the travel and tourism bureau of Charleston website happening here tomorrow, y'all should stop by to be in it and meet some good people."  Then without batting an eye said, "come on Ciara, let's go get that coon you saw earlier, I've got a pellet gun in the office."  

After some hesitation, and even the thought of "I'm pretty sure this is illegal" going through my head, I followed Mr. Crabcakes, pellet gun in hand, outside in search of the "coon."  THANK GOD we didn't see any, so I didn't actually have to shoot anything living.  However, I did get to practice on the warning sign down on the dock, which I thoroughly enjoyed.  

With range practice over, and a photo shoot to prepare for the next day, Dani and I went home.  As I climbed into bed, all I could wonder was if this kind of stuff happens to everyone, or if I just attract the crazy into my life.  Either way, it was a damn good time and I say bring it on Charleston.  We'll see how the photo shoot goes.

quarter life crisis

So this is where I'm at.... I am 24, I quit my job, packed most of my worldly possessions into my tiny Sunfire, got a computer after not having one for 6 years, and, for a dose of drama, cut 8 inches off my hair to move to Charleston, SC, and start my own business.

Most people wait until they are at least in their thirties or forties to have a "life crisis" and do something drastic to change their lives.  I feel like I have been having life crises since I was 14.  The first was when I applied to study abroad in high school.  The second came when I was graduating college and couldn't find a job, so I decided to join the Navy.  When the Navy didn't work out, I went where lots of young professionals sans options go...retail management.  After realizing that I would probably end up institutionalized if I stayed in the industry, I decided it was time for crisis number three: move 12 hours away to start my own business.  

I have always journaled about big events in my life, but with my new computer I figured I could rejoin society after my six year absence, by documenting my experience in blog/journal format.  So this is my story, hopefully I don't fuck it up too bad.