If I tell someone I live in California, they assume certain things...I drive a Prius, make millions, am tan, can surf or know surfers, am an aspiring actress, know people in show biz, smoke pot, and that I work at google. I defy all those stereotypes.
My dad is "anti establishment" in that he dresses like a crazy mountain man/hobo/biker because he refuses to dress like a "square" and he refuses to "fit in". A fantastic story teller, he ha spun tales of living in communes and partying with the Stones and the like. He has a name tattooed on his arm, not my mom's or ex wife's, and when I asked about it, he said it was some cool ex girlfriend, end if story. Come to find out, she was best friends with the "bitching biker chick" of my namesake.
A little prodding and the story unfolds. My namesake wasn't a biker but hung with them some times. She was as Californjan as they get, blond, gorgeous, aspiring actress, beach bum, dating a rock star, with relatives in the Hollywood scene. Her boyfriend was a band member for The Byrds. Her best friend, forever marked on my dad's arm, was, as my dad says, responsible for turning him from a jerk to a nice dude. And then, my dad ended up married, jailed, married, homeless, married, a father, and now a grandfather. Life goes on.
It's just weird that one of his most boring stories, "yeah the tattoo is an ex" and "you were named for a biker chick" were real. Not only were they real but kind of cool. I mean, I've never partied with an aspiring actress who was in a few films, who was "in" the know of famous musicians and entertainers. How...dastardly Californian! Now I wonder how many of his far fetched stories are indeed true, and if he has a little Forrest Gump thing going on.