The Reasons…
Posted on November 30, 2006 - Filed Under I gots to have it, Life, autumn, beauty, california, nature, perfect evenings
There are many reasons that I live in California…chief among them is the sense of eternal summer. Well at least compared to the midwest where I grew up - breathing ice in the winter, sludging through mud in the spring and sticky sweltering in the summer (the autumn was nice but way to short). But I’ll tell you when I’m feeling down and everything seems like total shit there is nothing like this to make you feel like all is right and beautiful in the world. 
Kind of neat that I have only to look out the back door or down the street to see this, huh? WC
Michael, OJ & Saddam Read Too
Posted on November 29, 2006 - Filed Under I gots to have it, WTF?, acts of idiocy, adventure, dasterdly deeds, double yoiks, laughs, rat bastards, really stupid shit, satire
Nothing like checking out the new potential bestsellers for those on your Christmas list. 
Although, the titles seems so similar…hmmm.
WC
What a Life
Posted on November 28, 2006 - Filed Under Birthdays, Humor, Just For Fun, Life, Rants/Opinions, WTF?, acts of idiocy, adventure, dasterdly deeds, double yoiks, drama queen, head exploding, in my head, laughs, little rants, rat bastards, really stupid shit, temporary insanity, voices in my head
You know, I have this talent for pulling in the most annoying people on the planet. I’m not sure if it’s that I’m bored and need fodder for this blog and other writing endeavors or if I have royaly crappy luck.
And usually this talent manifests itself at work. I’ll give you three examples:
First there was know-it-all-Nora. We needed an admin assistant - a nice name really for a gopher. Somebody to do all the stupid crap that nobody else wants to do. Get my drift? So we decided to hire the daughter of a friend of mine. Though I hadn’t seen her in many years she seemed to have matured quite a bit and I was happy to give her a job. Within about 48 hours it started to become a problem.
I would ask her to write a letter. A no brainer activity since we have templates we use for various types of letters to clients and prospects. You simply plug in the name and the job into the template, print it out - print an envelope and you’re done. Well Nora didn’t like that at all. No, she felt that a different font was in order and that for some reason we needed to print the postal bar code on the envelope. And then there was the wording which she felt she could truly improve upon. No matter how many times I told her that the owner wanted things the way they were and wanted the letters done as I showed her she would not relent.
Out of frustration, I let it slide. I just rewrote the letters when she wasn’t around. I asked her to update the database. Call past clients and verify addresses, make any changes and let me know her progress on a weekly basis. Instead I discovered she was simply calling people and having nice long chats with them. The database was never done and I ended up having to verify everything she’d reported as done.
It got unbearable when she started issuing orders to me. Now, you don’t really know me but if you’ve read this blog for any length of time you probably know I wouldn’t take kindly to this sort of thing. The fit hit the shan as they say - and after lots of stupid touchy feely, let’s just all get along crap from the owners, they finally saw the light and gave Nora the boot. After a couple of weeks my jaw unclamped and harmony returned to the universe.
A few months later, our bookeeper who is a heck of a gal had a death in the family and was quite understandably overwhelmed by the loss. She gave her notice and left. We scrambled but managed to find another bookeeper who had all the markings of a damn fine replacement. Well that illusion lasted about two weeks.
One of the owners started coming to me and showing me the many emails Sylvania was sending him. She was advising him to fire employees who had worked for them for years (literally), insisting they had to join a businessmen’s association or she could no longer work for them, taking it upon herself to compose marketing letters and campaigns and basically refusing to have anything to do with the books and the keeping thereof.
She was so intimidating that the owners were scared of her and kept at me to do something with her. I of course recommended firing her, which they just couldn’t do. No they, being the bastions of bravery that they are preferred people to fire themselves. Yes, that’s the ticket. If you just let them stay on and wreak havoc with your business until they are as miserable as they have made everyone else then they will finally just leave.
I must admit, that in a way it sort of worked. Suddenly she was cutting back her hours and confiding in me that the owners were crazy. I had to agree with her but for reasons she was unaware of, like the fact that they were still signing her paychecks for example.
Suddenly the other job she managed to land wasn’t as rosey as she thought it would be and voila she increased her hours again.
She had all manner of advice for me. What I should be doing, who I should be marketing to, how I should be handling the employees and the owners and what we would have to do to put the place in order. Not to mention the fact that she had the resident carpenter in a rage over completely manufactured maniacal intent on the part of the owners.
Little did she know that the previous bookeeper was a neighbor of mine and she and I had had several talks. And I was quietly working on getting her to come back to work.
Well, finally the bosses had had enough of her when she sent them over 10 emails on the same thing. They begged me to tell them how to handle these incessant emails (now mind you, her office was but 25 steps from theirs and an email was completely unnecessary) and I told them to go and talk to her about them in person. But they were afraid.
I’ll admit Sylvania from Transylvania was creepy and had that kind of smile that made you wonder if she carried a big knife behind her back - but the two of them could have taken her.
Finally I told them that the previous bookeeper was interested in coming back to work for them. Overjoyed, they told her that they were laying her off. They volunteered to write a letter of recommendation - but she left so fast they had hardly started to compose it. With good reason, we later discovered - as she had messed up the sales tax - tax report, hadn’t recorded the income properly, had all the files mixed up (which took weeks for our returned bookeeper to sort out) and apparently had no idea to use Quick Books. How we managed to avoid bouncing checks and screwing everything up completely during her tenure, I’ll never know.
Now to our current jerk in residence. Rodney the genius. Now Rodney is a crackerjack craftsman and that’s good since that is what he was hired to do. He makes amazing models and props and works efficiently and ably. All good, right?
Not so much. Apparently Rodney has too damn much time on his hands because he is constantly making ’suggestions’ as to what marketing should be done, how we should handle clients, and the ways in which we can drum up some business. Did I mention this is a guy who makes props and sculptures and so forth? And that he wasn’t hired to do anything administrative whatsoever? I mean I don’t know when he does all that prop making since he is constantly in my face about who, what, where and why. And he absolutely must interupt the morning meeting to ask questions that could surely wait.
But today took the cake - literally. It happened to be one of the owners birthday. I’ve worked for these guys for 2 1/2 years and we’ve become friends to say the least. I decided that I would do a little something for him and made brownies and got birthday hats, noisemakers, etc. - all silly stuff - just to make him feel good, you know? No big deal.
I let everyone know and at the prescribed time we all gathered. Well silly other boss got some very quick burning candles and they started to melt all over the brownies -so we stepped up the singing. And I told birthday boss to blow out the candles. But old Rodney screamed “No! We have to sing right first.” So they like the goofy bots that they are did. And of course the brownies were covered with wax.
Which I have to say really pissed me off. I mean, who the hell is he? This was my party, I made it, literally, I paid for it - he had no place to open his big yap about anything except to stuff some brownies in it.
You may think I’m being petty and maybe I am - but this shit really pisses me off. I mean what is it about my stupid-ass job that has people lusting after it? Surely it isn’t the fame. Definitely not the pay and from the looks of things, not the respect. So WTF is it? Do they know something I don’t know? Am I about to win the fricking lotto? Am I about to become the most famous lucky person on the planet? Is my measly, insignificant job so fricking appealing that they are staying up nights trying to think of ways to take it from me by using their exemplary intellectual and strategic skills? Or are there just a lot of pathetically insecure people who think that the grass is greener?
I’ll tell you what though…if Rodney or anybody else pulls this crap again, I’m handing them my clipboard and phone and going after their fricking job. If I screw it up, so what? They didn’t want it anyway in the first place right?
WC
You Know You’re on the Date From Hell When…
Posted on November 27, 2006 - Filed Under Coffee, Humor, Just For Fun, Life, WTF?, acts of idiocy, acts of valor, adventure, bad hair day, double yoiks, head exploding, laughs, little rants, men, really stupid shit, satire, temporary insanity, voices in my head, yoiks
I think most of us have had at least one really bad date. Some of us have probably even had more than one. But for those of you who don’t know how to tell if you are on a date from hell, here are a few clues:
You know you’re on the date from hell when:
1. You mustached dinner date has a booger resting between nostril and hairlip and despite frequent trips to the restroom has not noticed. So, you spend the evening waiting for it to fall.
2. Your date prefers to watch you eat rather than order a dinner for himself and even volunteers he hasn’t enough money for two dinners anyway.
3. Your date feels free to scoop up tips left by other patrons in order to pay for his beers.
4. Your date doesn’t tip the waitress (who he just ripped off) which causes you to wait til he isn’t looking to slip the waitress a five.
5. He arrives at your house to pick you up for a coffee date, with grocery store roses and a cheap bottle of wine (how lucky does he think he’s going to get?)
6. For said coffee date he passes on Starbuck’s and goes straight to Denny’s.
7. Your date suggests dessert then drives you to the Shell station convenience store (30 miles away) and tells you to pick anything you want.
8. Your date looks like Steve Buscemi’s ugly older brother. ( Have you seen Steve Buscemi?)
9. The good night kiss reminds you it’s time to clean the fish tank.
10. The picture your friend showed you to agree to the blind date is clearly a picture of a model in a magazine or taken so long ago that there is no trace of resemblance to the current person.
11. Your date reminds you of one of Santa’s elves (and makes you feel big and fat to boot)
12. Your date feels that eating off your plate and making creepy sounds is a sexy come on.
13. Two minutes after you order your date launches into a monologue of all the bad relationships in his life - which apparently is every one before you.
14. When your date suggests you might like to read his short stories and you agree he whips his laptop out of his trunk and asks where he can plug it in.
15. He gets sulky when you tell him you want to go home after the 5 hour coffee date.
16. Your stomach is growling so loud that it is setting off car alarms yet he doesn’t notice and asks if you’d like more coffee or to go for a drive.
17. When he asks if he can see you again and you decline he acts as if you are breaking up a 20 year marriage.
18. Your dog will not stop barking at the man.
19. Your cat barfs on his shoes.
20. You slink down in your seat when you see someone you know - lest they see you with him.
21. His idea of a nice drive is playing chicken with pedestrians pushing baby strollers.
22. He tells you his favorite movie is Dune.
23. His favorite sport is bitching.
24. He brings coupons to pay for dinner.
25. His car smells funny.
26. During the drive to the shell station his facial features turn into an evil mask and you wonder if he really is a serial killer and what you might have in your purse to fend him off.
27. He leaves his sunglasses at your house so you have to call him back - which he turns into an opportunity to discuss what went wrong with your relationship.
28. Being 20 lbs overweight, he wonders out loud if you should be eating such a fattening dessert.
29. He does not understand the words, ‘please go home.’
Feel free to share and add to the list.
WC
Skirts…
Posted on November 26, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, WTF?, ab fab costumes, acts of idiocy, adventure, double yoiks, funny bone, laughs, really stupid shit, video
If you’ve ever wondered what those scotsmen wear under their kilts, consider the mystery solved. WC
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/v/1hzMtZtDNSs]
Giving Thanks
Posted on November 22, 2006 - Filed Under Family, Holiday, Life, Thanksgiving, Veterans, country, honor, our troops, support our troops, time to eat!
I’m off to Santa Barbara for a long overdue reunion with dear friends. But I wanted to leave this for you to read. It was a bit of a surprise to me as I had no idea that the origins of Thanksgiving did not center around the pilgrims.
Enjoy yourselves, eat hearty and good. Look around and feel gratitude for all the many things large and small that give your life meaning. Hold those you love close and tell them you love them. And say a prayer for those you can not hug.
Happy Thanksgiving. I will see you in a few days.
WC
Happy Birthday Pinky!
Posted on November 21, 2006 - Filed Under Birthdays, Family, Food, Just For Fun, Life, dining experience, i'm hungry, perfect evenings, time to eat!
I saw Zelda for dinner the other night and she informed me my presence was requested for Pinky’s big day - his 39th birthday (well not really 39 but after a while you find an age you like and settle there).
The gang was going to be there. The gang being me, Zelda, Margarita (who makes killer magaritas), PG, Chief (a king among chefs), Skip (Margarita’s significant other and a killer griller) and The Kid ( Pinky’s son at least in spirit). While we hang with other friends as well, we seem to be the core group. The main herd. The alpha majors and minors.
So, it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m thinking some cheese and crackers a little sparkling water, possibly margaritas because Margarita can’t not make them and a cute little cake. Then home we go.
So we all arrive on time (a historical happening to be sure) which flustered Margarita and grabbed the cocktail parphenalia. Cheese and crackers appeared, sparkling water appeared, much hustle and bustle went on in the kitchen. And though we all offered to help we ended up sitting around the livingroom, munching crackers and chewing the fat.
We talked about PG’s dad, politics and the future plans for the ‘christmas movie’ (now a tradition) that we would be participating in for Zelda’s mom. (That’s a whole other post.)
Soon enough the incredible scent of amazing food began to waft through the air. Skip and Margarita’s beagles started a sniff fest and we humans did a poor imitation of same. Next thing we knew we were seated at the art deco table on the patio and eyeing steaks the size of Omaha.
We oohed and ahed and Skip beamed. Margarita excitedly explained about a couple of wines they’d discovered and they were good.
We ate and ate and then we ate some more. Thick steaks, grilled to perfection, secretly amazing string beans with herbs, grilled potatoes that melted in your mouth…it was poetry in motion.
As most of us were screaming uncle and pushing our plates aside (with ample scraps for the beagles) The Kid was scarfing up to beat the band. I’m not sure but there may not have even been a bone left on the plate. He passed on the green beans but went crazy on the potatoes and steak and I think I even saw him eyeing Chief’s steak since there was plenty left and a doggie bag in his future.
Then the conversation modules began. Zelda started talking about the nifty new back-fixing equipment she had bought. Stretching and squeezing and traction things. Ultra sound, no sound, nice sound - it was all greek to me.
Pinky, happy with a full belly took a nap with his eyes open. Yes, Pinky does have that special talent. You see, we rib him about napping at all our soires so now he can do it sitting upright with his eyes open. No lie. The Kid just kept eating and eating and eating.
Birthday cake, ice cream and espresso magically appeared, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Perfect. More oohs and ahs.
At my end of the table, me, PG and Chief talked blogging, writing, politics, conspiracy theories, movies and masterpieces. Now, I suppose this is probably boring you by now because nothing really remarkable happened nor did any major catastrophe befall us. It was just a bunch of friends eating really good food, celebrating the birthday of a friend, having really good conversation.
I can’t remember the last time I had such a good time and such good talk. It was fun, interesting and entertaining. I learned a lot of things I didn’t know about my friends and it was just one of those precious times when everything and everyone jelled. Truly a kind of magic moment among friends. A truly satisfying get together that makes you thankful for having such people in your life and having a life that includes them.
Since it was a school night, the evening ended all too soon. And before I knew it, I was back in Zelda’s big fricking truck (she calls him Chomp) being the ‘bobble’ passenger and we were headed home.
It was the best day I’ve had in recent memory - not for any particularly earth shattering reason - but for the simple pleasure of spending an evening with friends.
I would wish that everyone would have such evenings in their lives. Where the worry and trouble of the world doesn’t interfere, where the day to day grind never enters your mind and where you go home whistling.
WC
Hotmail Sucks
Posted on November 20, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, Rants/Opinions, WTF?, acts of idiocy, adventure, double yoiks, head exploding, little dictators, little rants, my opinions, really stupid shit, temporary insanity, voices in my head
Okay, so this weekend, I am minding my own business - darting about - checking this and that. Then in a split second I can’t access my hotmail account.
It started out innocently enough. I got the usual ’server too busy’ page, so I decided to try later. Well later on, same thing. A little more annoyed, I went about my business - worked on this and that. Came back, now it was a whole new thing - ‘hotmail temporarily unavailable.’ Okay gritting my teeth now.
Now granted I used the hotmail account for non-essential mail. Various Enewsletters, Amazon email reference but also a few friends contacted me that way - and it was my backup should my main address go kaput. So it wasn’t vital. But on the weekends I like to read my newsletters, and the various other type of stuff that comes into that box and here I was unable to access it. So much for my coffee and catching up on my reading.
I contacted help from msn and essentially based on their advise I needed to completely reconfigure my security settings, my lan settings and various other bullshit things. Which in essence was inferring I was some kind of fricking idiot who had somehow managed to do something stupid to my computer because I had to reset the settings. Of course the fact that I’d done nothing at all to change anything was utterly irrelevant to help and they promptly ignored my response which granted wasnt’ all that polite. Basically I told them to forget about it, I wasn’t going to reconfigure my computer so I could get fricking hotmail to open.
I tried the entire day and the entire next day. Sunday things changed a little. Suddenly I was getting these cute little pop-ups prompting me to download the latest version of Internet Explorer. “Ah,” I thought, “so that’s what is going on.”
Now it’s bad enough that fricking, ugly ass Bill Gates has permeated just about every aspect of my modern life. That I can’t even get a decent word processing program because his company has convinced everyone that being an idiot is cool and a fricking animated paper clip knows quite a bit more than they do. And that I can’t no matter what I do actually get rid of Internet Explorer and it’s a ram whore - but now if I want to access a stupid ass hotmail account I have to download more of his idiotic mediocricy laden programs. They should rename that thing to Idiot Explorer if you ask me.
But…I digress. So these nifty little pop ups keep nagging me and nagging me. OOoooh download me. Ooooh, you want your hotmail mail doncha? Come on, just click yes or I will drive you insane by popping up every time you click on any fricking thing. I’m gonna gitcha!
I ignored it and it wasn’t easy since that little bastard was really getting on my nerves. Instead, I waited until this morning. I knew I could access hotmail on my Mac at work (finally a reason I was glad to have a Mac at work) which I did.
I cleaned up my files, downloaded my address book, deleted everything and told them to stick it.
Ironically, ten minutes later yet another ‘help’ person sent me an email with even more nifty instructions on how to reinvent my computer so I could access hotmail. I told her she was a nice person but she could stick it too.
Out went a gang email to friends and bloggers for gmail invites and in they came. So, I’m now on the G-train and happy as a pig in shit.
Hot mail can bite me. Bill Gates can bite me. And if I never have to deal with another microsoft program or website or browser I will be a happy woman.
WC
Pick Your Candidate
Posted on November 19, 2006 - Filed Under Current Events, Dear Readers..., Election 2008, Just For Fun, Life, Politics, Random Thoughts, WTF?, What If?, adventure, candidates, double yoiks, really stupid shit, vote!, voting day
Since politics and elections have been such a hot topic lately, I thought it would be fun and possibly thought-provoking to do a little survey.
Following are 11 questions that I’d love everybody to answer. The only stipulation for your candidate is that they must be eligible to be president (at least 35 years old and born in America) - it doesn’t matter if it’s a man or woman, their race, religion, what they currently do for a living, political persuasion, etc.
I’ll be very interested to see if 1)Anybody does the survey and 2) The answers that come.
Have fun! WC
1. If you choose anyone to be the presidential candidate in the 2008 Presidential election, who would it be?
2. Why would you choose that person?
3. What problem(s) do you believe your candidate could solve for the nation?
4. What benefit do you believe your candidate could give to the nation?
5. What three skills does your candidate have that makes them a good leader?
6. What three characteristics does your candidate possess that makes them presidential?
7. What do you most admire about your candidate?
8. Would you volunteer to work for your candidate’s campaign if they ran? If so, what would you do for your candidate to help them win the election?
9. What platform would your candidate run on?
10. What issue would your candidate be most attacked by the press for?
11. If your candidate was elected what do you believe their legacy would be as president?
Road Trip
Posted on November 17, 2006 - Filed Under Coffee, Humor, Just For Fun, Life, Road Trip, WTF?, acts of idiocy, adventure, double yoiks, really stupid shit, temporary insanity
(About 3 years ago, I got it in my head that I needed a change and decided to uproot my life in California and move to Florida. I know, what was I thinking? LOL. Anyway, here’s my manic account of the trip. Bear in mind that I avoid freeways, hate to drive and my only companions for this trip was my dog Maggie and cat Boodie. Neither of which are great conversationalists. WC)
Okay, first let me start off by saying, if I’d known what lie ahead of me, I’d never have made the drive. Luckily, I was protected by my total clueless-ness until I’d made the commitment and was halfway across the country. So, my advice is “don’t try this at home, kids.”
On Sunday morning, October 19th, I stumbled out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and began to assemble the piles of possessions I hoped would fit in the car. I had a quick cup of leftover coffee from the day before, took a shower, dressed and rousted my neighbor out of bed so he would move his car. The packing went amazingly well and quickly. Although, I found I had to leave behind dishes, lots of toiletries, towels and various other things I’d hoped would fit. I gave my neighbor a hug, put Maggie and Boodie in the back and made my final tour of Tujunga as I neared the 210 Freeway. It was only 7 am and Sunday so I anticipated little to no traffic. Surprisingly, there were many early birds on the road and the anxiety grew to a lump in my stomach and stayed there for my entire drive to Desert Hot Springs, my first stop.
Outside of nearly missing the off ramp to the 605 and bumpy roads, the trip was uneventful, except that my tolerance for freeway driving was so low that I feared I’d missed my exit ramp 20 times before I actually reached it. The sky was blue and the desert sun mean and relentless. The most remarkable thing was the windmills stationed by the hundreds on the desert floor that seemed to wave hello/goodbye to me as I approached. I found my exit and got off. Said a quick prayer to God, thanking him for keeping the car from exploding and me from having an anxiety attack.
I managed to get to Marli’s and we had a happy meeting, laughing and crying and so happy to finally meet. Although, within an hour my dog had decided to poop on Marli’s carpet which put a damper, I think on the rest of the visit. It was cruelly hot, and I felt compelled to constantly walk Maggie around the trailer park so she would do her business outside. Rather than further desecrate Marli’s pristine home.
I had reservations on accepting Marli’s invitation and I was tense at times because of my dog and the trip I was terrified to make and knew I was going to anyway. At the end of the evening, we had a good talk about my fears of trip, making the drive and God and some really profound thought provoking ideas were exchanged. For this I truly thank Marli. She is a lovely person and her kindness at letting me stay with her before I really started my trip I will never forget.
Not much sleep that night. It was hot. I was anxious. The cat was already traumatized and we hadn’t gotten more than 120 miles of a 2500 mile trip. I awoke, gulped a coffee, hugged Marli goodbye and we were off.
20 miles of access road to the freeway, a mile before the on ramp I saw a detour sign and was loathe to turn back so I followed the arrow and when I could stand it no more, asked the next car if they knew where the freeway was. “Over there” they pointed to my left. Okay, back comes the lump in my stomach and we’re on the freeway again. A stop at the Burger King in Blythe, some gas and cigs and back on the freeway. “Welcome to Arizona” the sign said. And I giggled and cried just a little - feeling I’d made some small bit of progress.
Though hideously hot, the drive was flat and straight away and by 1:30 I was pulling into the Motel 6 in Casa Grande, where I arranged to meet my buddy David, from my writer’s group. What a delight a Motel 6 can be to a weary, hot, tired traveler with two impatient pets. The air conditioning worked just fine and the tub filled up quickly. I called David and we agreed on a time and I took twenty minute nap. Across the street for smokes and a tee shirt a couple of calls to friends and then David and Stella were there.
David was just as I thought he’d be - big, happy, and enthusiastic. He insisted on taking pictures, though I knew they’d not be a pretty thing to view at a later date and ironically, though I’ve been sent the files twice I can’t open them. Again, God is listening. We had a nice dinner and a good talk and off they went to their home and off I went to my motel room. Some tv, a midnight snack from the diner and off to sleep.
Wake up call, 6 am and back in the car we go. I drive and drive and still seem to be in Arizona. Then I see a sign that says goodbye Arizona, hello New Mexico. Gas, cigs, water, check the tires, check the oil and off we go again.
The cat is not talking to me and has that vile vindictive look of a seasoned enemy - no doubt still remembering my prying her from under the bed that morning. My legs cramp and tremble - I sing along to Eric Clapton and BB King. Maggie finds a perch atop the cat carrier and watches out the back window as the scenery rushes by. “Welcome to Texas.” Again a prayer and giggle and tear. We’re in El Paso. Boy does it smell bad. There is stuff in my eyes and I’m wildly blinking so I can see. It smells like gasoline, oil and dirt. I want to go further but I don’t’ know what’s ahead of me, if anything and I can’t see and the smell is terrible. Okay, we stay in El Paso. Travel Lodge. Nice room, too expensive.
I settle the pets in, the dog is wound up, the cat is plotting revenge. I walk - again it’s vicious hot weather - to the Burger King and get more junk food. I bring it back and me and Maggie eat. A bath, some calls, some tv. Potty breaks for Maggie and into bed. 5:30 wake up call because I’m not sure if the traffic ever ends at this juncture, it seems in full force even at 3 am when I wake up and wonder where I am.
Back in the car, onto the freeway and drive, drive, drive. Does the sun ever come up in Texas? Bumpy roads, road work, driving through mist and roads cut into mountains. The stink never ends. Cow poop, gasoline and oil. Will I ever smell anything else? My legs are in permanent ache and agony and I can’t feel my feet and I know I’ve got 1700 miles to go. I drive, I stop, I drive some more. Finally, Sonora, Texas. Get a room - the most depressing of the drive. Twin Oaks motel. Makes Norman Bates’ place look like high hog digs. The air conditioner is conveniently located in the dressing room and keeps my clothes nice and cool. I have come to sweating permanently - food - is there any? Well, I had a tasty salad at the Dairy Queen. Fast food abounds, except there are no Burger Kings or McDonald’s. I need real food. I go to the convenience store and get canned peaches and milk for dinner. “Tomorrow I’ll have a decent meal,” I tell myself.
6:30 wake up call. Cold and damp, can’t see a thing. Bad coffee at reception. I pass on the honey buns and fruit loops. Back in the car after prying the cat loose from under the bed. I really want to get to Louisiana today but know I’m dreaming. More up and down mountains and canyons, more oil, cow poop and gasoline. I’m afraid to light a cigarette for fear of setting my hair on fire. I can’t feel my legs, much less my feet. I think my jeans could drive without the help of limbs they are so ‘broken in’ and smelly. I can’t make it to Louisiana but get to Beaumont, Texas. 50 miles from the border. I can live with that. Again, all the good restaurants are on the wrong side of the road and can’t bear to drive to them. So, Domino’s delivers. Sure do love those cinnastix, especially with that icing. Diet coke, starch and sugar- a fine dinner.
Calls to friends, a bath, tv. Can’t stay awake. 6 am wake up call. Back on the freeway. Yay! “you are now leaving the State of Texas.” “Welcome to Louisiana.” At least I think that’s what the sign says - does the fog ever lift in Louisiana? Nope. It sure don’t. Driving 35 mph, visibility about 20 feet - trying to keep the big trucks and red cars in sight. Need something to follow. Keep telling Maggie - “it’s okay, hon, we’re okay.” But really I’m talking to myself. I’m talking to God, I’m just talking - hoping it isn’t my day to die.
Then we STOP. Idle. Crawl. Stop. What’s going on? I know there must be an accident up ahead. Yep, about 10 cars and 4 big rigs. I thank the great spirit in the sky for not involving me. Now, I must get out of this state. Into clear weather. I stop for gas and a ‘meat pie’ - yikes! Don’t ever eat one of those things. I couldn’t’ even give it to the dog. It’s cool though, cuz I’ve got cigarettes and peanuts and warm diet coke. Life is good. More Clapton and BB King. Endless bridges. Just when I think I can turn off my brights, the fog comes back like a ghost with a grudge.
Well howdy doody, I’m in Mississippi! McDonald’s, Wendy’s, whatever. It’s food I recognize. The dog, happily gets most of it. I get to pee and back on the Freeway. I have to get to Florida today. I must!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
More bridges, more water, more humidity, more bridges more road. I cant feel my arms, my legs, my feet, my back. I am one with the road. I am the road warrior. I will get to Florida or die. Maggie looks so trusting, I’m glad she doesn’t know the truth about me. Doesn’t know I’m scared shitless and am praying the whole time that the car doesn’t explode, the tires go flat, I fall asleep at the wheel, I get stopped by the lurking state troopers who’d love to take all my traveler’s checks from me. She happily sits on the cat’s carrier and watches the scenery go by.
Glory hallelujah, I have made it to Pensacola, Florida. I have arrived. I must pull off and find a motel and celebrate. The room is okay, the cat actually doesn’t dive for under the bed and peers out the window. Maybe she knows we are almost there?
It’s hot, it’s sticky - hell, it’s Florida what do you expect. Today I MUST have a decent meal. I decide to get in the car and drive to wherever they serve real food. IHOP at your service. I order two meals - believing myself to be that hungry and starved for something that actually resembles food and doesn’t come with a happy toy inside. With wild glee I drive back to the motel with my giant bag of food, open it up and guess what, no napkins or silverware. I call the restaurant, nope they won’t bring it to me, I just can’t go back out and get it. I go to the front desk, do they perhaps have an eating implement? I get a plastic knife. Ever eaten pot roast and sweet potatoes and corn with a plastic knife? It’s a lost art. Sort of like using one chopstick. Well, the food tastes good anyway. I’m in Florida for God’s sake and I’ll be in Clearwater tomorrow, so who cares. Phone lots of friends, no one home, leave messages. I sit on my bed and cry for a while. I think it’s relief but there’s probably a good dose of fear in there too. I suddenly realize just what I’ve done and can’t believe some awful thing hasn’t befallen me and pray that my last 500 miles will go as the previous 2000 - uneventful, even, steady as she goes.
7 am wake up (I thought I deserved to sleep in) - on the road, driving as non stop as I can stand. I make a pit stop in Tallahassee, ask about the alternate route my cousin suggested and decide it’s better to stay on the 10. One more stop at McDonald’s and then we just meld with the road. We are the road and the road is us. We will not stop til we get to Clearwater. Hurray, there is the Tampa sign, I’m in Tampa, I’m seeing the signs but where is the Clearwater sign? Wow, these guys drive like L.A’ers without the hatred. Scarey. Happy nut jobs… I get off the freeway sure I’ve missed the off ramp. A nice couple informs me if I’d stayed on the freeway 5 more minutes I’d have seen the Clearwater signs. Sigh…Maggie is anxious, I’m a mess, so hot, so tired, my legs don’t feel like they really want to support me any more. Back on the freeway. Oh there it is, off the freeway, on the causeway, yep, there’s the beach, ain’t it pretty? Driving, more and more, well it seems like a lot but probably a mile have to pull over, call Trina see how far I am from the house.
I ask directions from the Clerk at the convenience store but the customers behind me are ornery and tell me to read my map. I of course say if I could read it I wouldn’t be talking to the clerk… Okay, call Trina, she tells me where to go. Back in the car, Maggie is whining she knows we’re close and just doesn’t want to be in the darn car any more and who can blame her. Finally, there it is, I turn, drive into Trina’s driveway and stop the car. Trina comes out, gives me a standing ovation and a cup of tea.
I try to chat casually like a sane person should be able to do but of course I’m babbling and probably sound like a homeless woman with too much thread in her shopping cart, unable to find anyone who wants to trade it for anything. She takes me to the house, I get the tour. She leaves.
I put the pets in the house and they bolt for parts unknown. I drag my paltry belongings into the house and dump them on the floor. Take a bath. Go to the grocery store and buy the weirdest combination of non food items and a couple of things to eat.
By midnight, I’ve put away everything I can, determined there is no television reception and fall into bed. “Tomorrow I start my new life,” I tell myself as I drift off to sleep in my new time zone.
And that’s the story of how I got to Florida.
