The strategy was to travel with as little luggage as possible, and in fact, to buy a new suitcase and anything else I needed upon arrival. This meant that my trip packing consisted of locating a sturdy plastic bag and filling it with black t-shirts. Just as I was about to leave, I realized that it would be AEM's birthday when I arrived, and we had never mailed her gift: an assortment of "amusing" British foods including various potted meats and puddings and some other minor treats. I shoved as much of the food as possible in my plastic bag, said goodbye to the family, and called a taxi.

It is true that I lack assorted basic social skills. I do not want to chat about the weather. I do not enjoy the banal routines of daily life. But give me an opportunity to go on a month long trip with a writer I've only met once over lunch? No problem. Read deeply harrowing and personal stories to crowds of strangers? Sounds like fun!

By the time I had trudged through King's Cross my plastic bag was fraying. Before I made it to Heathrow, the handle had given way completely. I bought some magazines and tried to shuffle everything into a new bag, but the new bag ripped immediately. The weight of the joke gift had disrupted my plans.

The only thing I really want out of an international flight is an aisle seat. Clutching my possessions, now spilling every which way out of three ripped bags, I found my seat and settled in. Just as the flight was about to take off a man in a fluorescent vest stopped and asked to see my boarding card. He squinted at it and told me that I needed to move to another section of the place. Oh no! But there was no choice, so I moved back, only to find that someone else was in that (middle) seat. I stuffed my motley gear in a random overhead bin and went in search of the man in the vest. He was standing in the steward service area talking on a walkie-talkie. When I explained the problem he checked a list and sent me to another seat, which was of course occupied. There was much turmoil and dismay on the part of staff and passengers; a dozen of us needed to shift, for an obscure reason, and many people were angry. I decided to take up residence in the coffee service area and laugh at the chaos. The man in the vest was quite perturbed but I kept laughing and in the end this is likely the reason I was promoted to a swanky new seat in business class.

My bags were in tatters as we approached customs, and as I struggled to pull them together I saw the posters. I had completely forgotten that you are not allowed to bring most food to the states. It wasn't clear if this injunction included my cans of spotted dick and meat paste, but I am a law-abiding citizen and could not face the prospect of a conversation with border patrol on the subject. I turned in at the first restroom and threw most of the food in the garbage, feeling like a fugitive for the first time in my adult life.

Relieved of the heavy tins, my stuff was much easier to carry. I figured out the public transit system and arrived at Dan's house in the evening. Janice was at that point excessively pregnant and we talked for awhile before it was time to sleep. They asked what I wanted to do the next day; a museum? Some cultural attraction? I felt no shame (I've never enjoyed any punk credibility and never will) in saying emphatically Nordstrom. I need to go shopping. They blinked at me in confusion but helpfully provided directions to the store.

I had only a few hours to acquire the items I would need for the trip, including an umbrella to protect myself against the sheets of rain falling on the city. I rushed from one store to the next, buying dental floss and looking at shoes. Ayun had given me ideas of where to find tasty food and I efficiently located and enjoyed a noodle lunch before arriving at my primary destination: the lingerie department of Nordstrom. Some might say that my dependency on this department store chain is unhealthy, but I have done extensive research and can assure you that it is impossible to get the exact items I require anywhere else. Or at least not in the English stores I have access to, which is baffling; how can a nation have such an obsession with breasts, without a corollary effort to manufacture and distribute undergarments that are attractive and ergonomic? I've sampled what is available in the UK and the options on offer are not up to the standard I require. It doesn't make much sense that I had to fly to Chicago to buy German underwear, but there you have it.

Lauren was flying in from New York and would meet me at Quimby's just before the event. I wandered in early and had some time to say hello to a few friends. When AEM showed up I apologized for throwing away all of her potted meats, but was able to hand her copies of Cambridgeshire Life and Lady magazines, along with a box of Man Size Tissue and that candy that claims it isn't for girls.

Joe Meno reported that he took my book on a plane trip. He said that when he got to the Road Trip chapter he started to shout No! Why?? much to the consternation of the people in surrounding seats.

The only thing I remembered for sure about Lauren was that she had curly hair, but we managed to find each other and work out a set that would last for the whole tour. Unfortunately by the time I went on stage jetlag had kicked in; I'm never nervous during events but at one point it literally looked like the words were floating off the page. I was sufficiently confused that I started to laugh at the phrase suction catheter and had trouble restraining myself from giggling through the rest of my piece.

I met several people I've only known via the internet, had dinner with Dan and AEM and Lauren, and then it was time to sleep before we set off for the wilds of the midwest.

From this point there are only fragments:

During one interview, the person talking to us had clearly not read either book. She asked assorted peculiar questions, culminating in Bee, how does your life differ from the main character in Lauren's novel? to which I replied I'm not a murderer.

The midwest is unbelievably vast. We found ourselves at various points on the Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Highway, at the largest truck stop in the world, and near the Ronald Reagan birthplace memorial. Since Lauren was the designated driver I was in charge of anecdotes, and rattled happily for hours. One unexpected bonus of traveling with a new person is the fact they do not know all of your favorite stories.

We arrived in Iowa City thirty minutes before the reading. As we pulled into a parking place Lauren's phone rang; our publicist was calling to tell us that the reading would both be filmed for the university and broadcast live on the local NPR affiliate. This made no difference to me, but Lauren was planning to read a chapter that is not, shall we say, FCC friendly.

The Prairie Lights staff were fantastic. When I asked for some ideas of things to do in town, they assured me that there was absolutely nothing... but when I asked about large balls of twine or cheese tourism they offered many suggestions.

It is difficult to find food on the road if one member of the party cannot eat fried food and the other is a vegetarian. But by the time we split to fly to other destinations I was excessively thankful to travel with Lauren. She is calm, professional, a cautious driver, funny, and believes in rest stops. I've been on tours that took me to the outer edge of sanity, and had lots of fun, but sometimes it is a relief to act like a respectable grownup. Which may not sound consistent with the fact that we were crashing on couches and going to drag shows in our spare time, but somehow the whole thing seemed quite genteel.

I know that I went to Madison and Minneapolis, saw lots of friends, and had yummy dinners, but no clear memories have survived.

I flew west to take a break with friends in San Diego. Muffy and her family offered their home as a refuge, and I walked on the beach every day. Coronado is beautiful, if precious, and Muffy was kind enough to squire me about to finish all of my shopping. Ten days into the trip I finally had luggage, lipstick, and sunblock - the essentials.

In Illinois I carried an umbrella to protect against rain; in California, to shield myself from the sun. In the land of short shorts and flip-flops I remained entirely covered in black clothing. Several people stopped me on the street to compliment my style and ask if I am from New York. This was very odd as strangers only talk to me if they want directions. I started to wonder what had changed.

I did not tell my mother about the book until the day before the tour started, when I sent email telling her that she should not read it, tell the family about it, or come to any of the events. This advice was offered out of sensitivity to the potentially catastrophic reaction of the surviving relatives. Imagine my surprise then to find my mother, her sister, and assorted cousins were all going to meet in Los Angeles when I was there. Then imagine me walking into a hotel room and finding them all holding copies of the book.

I figured that the book would not alienate me from my parents; I am after all an only child. But I did not know how my mother would feel, or if she would understand that the work is a tribute to her strength. I was relieved and surprised at her reaction: she liked the book. This was the start of a deeply unexpected response on the part of various people from my past: the book, strangely, has served as a point of reconciliation.

Of course, I do not wish to be reconciled with lots of these people. The basic rule of thumb for anyone wondering if they should get in touch: if I've ever punched you in the face, don't bother.

Many amusing things happened in Los Angeles, not least a trip to Disneyland with my family, during which my mother told me all sorts of things about my early life and illness that I had forgotten. If anyone winced at the details in the book, I can assure you that the reality was much worse.

One of my cousins turned up for the bookstore reading, and at a critical moment I stopped and asked her to verify the veracity of the story. She gleefully told the crowd that it was all true.

During the festival I stood in the Akashic booth hustling my book for hours and at one point Jerry Stahl bought a copy. I predicted that Byron would ask if he is more attractive in person than in the movie so I tried to pay attention; the answer is yes. I met so many other writers I can't even make an adequate list but here are a few highlights: Nina Revoyr, Jervey Tervalon, Gary Phillips, and (briefly) Ron Kovic, who is also more interesting in person than as portrayed in film.

One night I found myself at Chateau Marmont with a gaggle of amazing writers, a band, and assorted lovelies, which as usual kicked off an existential crisis. Why, you might ask? It is not entirely clear, but in those situations that would have been beyond the imagination of my younger self, I often feel sad.

Another night we went to a party for The Nation at Arianna Huffington's house. This was great fun, as I watched hordes of people dancing attendance on Gore Vidal, who looked distinctly unamused. When he stood up to go to the bathroom he was followed by a crowd! I also observed another famous writer screaming at his teenage daughter, but I'm not naming names. The thing that impressed me the most was a glimpse of the Huffington garage as we waited for the valet to bring our car around. Even the rich and famous have utility shelves and old mattresses.

On the road again we drove through endless gorgeous countryside, with wildflowers blooming everywhere. San Francisco offered moments of sanity after the dream of LA. Hiya and Jonathan, Jen K, and Gordon were just a few of the friends I caught up with, not to mention the scores of new people I met. The event at City Lights was one of the best of the whole tour -- almost too much fun.

The cheese posse from Rainbow gave us a cooler full of tasty food that lasted the rest of the journey; I was eating the ginger cookies on the flight to the UK.

Portland - what can I say? There was a party at the 19th street house and I slouched on a sofa overwhelmed with nostalgia as I talked to Anna Ruby, Ana Helena, Stevie, and Marisa. People grabbed me and held on tight; I've missed the rampant physicality of these people more than I knew. The event at Reading Frenzy was hugely fun, thanks to the beneficence of Chloe. I saw dozens of old friends and during the Q&A said all sorts of things I did not mean. Stevie mischievously asked So Bee, why do you have cancer? to which I replied Maybe a wheat allergy, or possibly negative thinking and we laughed and laughed. But I only had a few hours to see everyone. I did not have enough time with Gabriel, Danielle, Michelle, and all the others.

I've done many events in Seattle with huge crowds. My book is about growing up near the place and living there as an adult. I know lots of people in local arts and media and have many friends in the area. So why was that event the worst in terms of attendance? I have no idea. Perhaps the city holds a grudge over the allegation in my book that environmental toxins poisoned my body. It is surreal to have your work ignored in your hometown, but also such a quintessentially Seattle experience, like having a stalker. I reminded myself that I did, after all, move away on purpose. More than once. But the trip was redeemed by the fact that I was able to see Scott, Jenni, and Tizzy.

Onward to Olympia and the tender care of Stella and Al, who organized a really great event and then threw an excellent party for us after.

At some point on the tour I noticed someone flirting with me. This was singular, astonishing - it had never happened before, in my entire life. I was bemused and took notes.

We flew to the east coast and I was pleased to do the KGB Reading Series again. The other writers were promoting, variously, a book about a failed explorer and a book about invasive species. I told the crowd that our common theme was danger. Eli, Justin, KTS, and bunches of other people turned out to say hello. During ambles around the city I was recognized four times, which was very strange.

I hung out with Keith, and met Dana for the first time. The tour ended in NYC on Lauren's birthday, reading in a dark club filled to capacity by a friendly crowd who laughed at all the right places.

I am lucky to know so many interesting people.