1,110 miles from home. 912 miles to *new* home (!?).
Random questions from the road:
Semi's are not equipped for off-road travel. Why is it that they always have huge clods of dirt falling from beneath them?
Is stopping to run in, go to the bathroom, wash and dry hands, and put your hair in a ponytail really long enough for snow to accumulate on your car? Yes, yes it is.
Why does Coldplay always make me think that my cell phone is ringing?
Dear God, why does Gwen Stefani spell out bananas? Why is she even singing about bananas? Why do people enjoy that song?
What is the logic behind NOT posting the toll amount?
I headed out about noon on yesterday, about an hour behind schedule. This is not unusual. However, it is unusual for me to get on the wrong highway. It really doesn't bode well for a whole cross-country trip (alone) when I can't get out of my hometown without hopping ignorantly onto the wrong highway. In my defense (this is tenuous, at best) I wasn't really focusing on the whole "where am I going" thing. I couldn't really get past the whole "aw, crap I'm going" part. So, I just got on the highway that was going in the direction that I ultimately knew I needed to go. Too bad that added at least a half hour to my drive. Auspicious beginning, no? I only realized this when I called home freaking out (calmly, I must add here) that I had left my pillow (I'm obsessive and snobbish about my pillow) and book (the horrors) behind, as I didn't recall stuffing it in my car (and I mean stuffing) and my dad asked where I was. When I told him, he was surprisingly cool about it (for him) just mildly commenting that it was an interesting route to take. He must have called mom, because not 10 minutes went by before she called me laughing, no, chortling heartily, actually, she could barely get words out between guffaws. She assured me that her assistant, Lisa (whom I adore) was laughing hysterically at me. Thanks, mom. I eventually found my way to the correct interstate.
I stayed the night with my cousin Jamie and his wife Angie. We have a kinda large extended family, so there isn't a whole lot of one-on-one time. It was really nice to see them. Makes me sad that I will now be so far away that I won't be able to visit. I wish that I had visited more (read: at all) when I was a mere 5ish hours away.
Anyway, the above musings tells you, in their own way, about the drive today. I really felt that I could go a bit further, but mom tricked me with the bait of Grey's Anatomy, saying that the conclusion was on tonight. It was so an 'encore' (real people call them lousy reruns) of Sunday's episode. I stopped, and went with the first hotel with free wireless internet. I have a king size bed. I'm so sleeping diagonally tonight! (you are allowed to shake your head in confusion on that comment).
Before I left I asked several people to create playlists or CDs for my drive. So far, they have all come up with very clever 1st songs. It's been very amusing thus far. In order of their listening order (also the order in which I received them):
Rachel - I hadn't heard that Fiona Apple (Extraordinary Machine) song before. It is now my theme song. At least of this trip.
Angela - Bowie was brilliant. You didn't know it but some of those songs actually have things associated with them. Way to go.
Melissa - Cat Stevens made up for Gwen Stefani. What was with the Spanish and the Hindi? They totally made me laugh. You also had the Fiona Apple song. I must have played it 30 times, conservatively.
Sarah - You had the most framework - we've listened to a lot of music together. Most everything connected back with our shared history. Thanks for Etta and Louis, OTH and VM. I still hate stupid banana song, which you knew, so I laughed and quickly hit skip. Thanks for not putting the lecherous Barbie song on that I hate even more than the bananas. Although, I do have to say that it is easier to spell bananas now...hmm.
PS - At some point I will tell you about I, Coriander and Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes, the latter which I'm listening to in the car, the former having been read before I left.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Because at this point we just expect a debacle!
Apartment Update: They called on Saturday morning, first thing. Because my mother isn't coming out with me when I move in (why would she? I'm an adult -apparently - and she has a life too) the apartment complex is mailing the lease for her to sign in front of a notary (!). If we are lucky and it arrives before I leave, I can take it with me. Otherwise, she'll have to overnight the documents to the apartments. Someone told me that this whole debacle isn't terribly unusual, but I just really don't want to believe that everyone had to go through this silliness.
My semi arrived today. There's no going back now. 85% of my stuff is now locked behind three metal rods and 2 sheets of 4x8 plywood. Getting the plywood was a super fun adventure. I went to Home Depot, because that's the first place that comes to mind when you need stuff like that. Went in and managed to find the ONE mentally deficient person employed there. Really. It went something like this: "Hi, I need two sheets of 4x8 plywood." "two by fours?" "No, I need two sheets of 4x8 plywood." "2x4's?" "No." "Follow me." And he proceeds to bring me to the one other person who can't help me, this time not for mental incompetence, but because he can't leave his counter. We wandered around to find it ourselves. If, like me, you have no concept pf spatial relationships, you would do what I did. You would find that elusive plywood, but only then would you realize that there is NO WAY two 4x8 sheets of plywood are going to fit in your mother's Vibe. And certainly not in your Camry. I called my Aunt Pam who picked me up in her truck and went with me to an entirely different 'home improvement' store where we walked in, told the fist person we saw what we needed, got pointed in the right direction, paid for what we needed, drove the truck around to the back where someone loaded the purchase into the truck. Piece of Cake.
Last night I realized that I don't have a TV. This fact really hit home after Grey's Anatomy didn't resolve. I'm going to have to figure out how I'm going to watch that.
My semi arrived today. There's no going back now. 85% of my stuff is now locked behind three metal rods and 2 sheets of 4x8 plywood. Getting the plywood was a super fun adventure. I went to Home Depot, because that's the first place that comes to mind when you need stuff like that. Went in and managed to find the ONE mentally deficient person employed there. Really. It went something like this: "Hi, I need two sheets of 4x8 plywood." "two by fours?" "No, I need two sheets of 4x8 plywood." "2x4's?" "No." "Follow me." And he proceeds to bring me to the one other person who can't help me, this time not for mental incompetence, but because he can't leave his counter. We wandered around to find it ourselves. If, like me, you have no concept pf spatial relationships, you would do what I did. You would find that elusive plywood, but only then would you realize that there is NO WAY two 4x8 sheets of plywood are going to fit in your mother's Vibe. And certainly not in your Camry. I called my Aunt Pam who picked me up in her truck and went with me to an entirely different 'home improvement' store where we walked in, told the fist person we saw what we needed, got pointed in the right direction, paid for what we needed, drove the truck around to the back where someone loaded the purchase into the truck. Piece of Cake.
Last night I realized that I don't have a TV. This fact really hit home after Grey's Anatomy didn't resolve. I'm going to have to figure out how I'm going to watch that.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Apartments, feet and the longest post EVER
Ok, to be honest, I'm sure it's partly my fault. I'll admit it, I'm 25 and I've never rented an apartment before. I lived on campus my freshman year, after that I moved back with my parents because I liked the idea of getting through school without debt. At that, I've totally succeeded. Master's and all. What I haven't experienced is that whole first apartment drama. Until now. Can I tell you what a friggin' nightmare it is getting an apartment? I had no idea. How can people do this on a regular basis? They must hope that the more miserable they make it for you, the less likely you are to ever want to go through it again - strike fear in your heart that it couldn't possibly be easier to get a house, trapping you forever in apartment hell? Well, that's what it seems like to me. I understand the credit check. I would want someone in my apartment that would pay their bills, too. I understand the background check. I appreciate their attempts to keep the axe murderers out, I genuinely do. But I don't think that they could make this more of a headache if they tried.
But let me explain. The situation is, I'm sure, complicated exponentially as I'm 2,000 miles away. I did the whole internet search, looked at just about every apartment in the city and the outskirts. Apartments meeting my standards (washer & dryer in unit for free, dishwasher, not insanely expensive, I'm a librarian after all), I called and spoke with them to get the details and to request something in the mail, a brochure or something that would give me a feel for the place - not a big deal. I choose the one that fit best. At this point all's good, right? Shortly thereafter, I receive a brochure and app in the mail. Cool, fill it out, call to ask some questions (remember, I've not done this before), have my mom co-sign as it's required when you haven't rented before, send it in along with an extra note, for the things I though might be valuable; information such as where I'll be employed out there, how much I'll make and a contact for the verification of that information. They call a couple days later wondering where my co-signer application is. Well, I must say, I filled out everything you sent me. You didn't send me one, but OK, I understand. Fax it over, I'll drive to the library and get it, have Mom fill it out, and we'll send it right back so we can get this moving, and I'll have one less thing to worry about. They call the next day. They need a contact number for my employer out there. First of all, I work for a library. It's the flippin' library. But, ok. I call back and leave a message with my manager's name & number as well as HR's number. Today, they call and ask for the information again. I'll confess. I was snarky. I told the, what I assume to be a young thang, that a) I left a message with this information yesterday b) it's the library, open the phone book. I told you in the note what library it was and who my boss was. Why is this so difficult? I wasn't happy. It's been this huge hassle, and I was, frankly, fed up. Oh yeah, and they had already called my mom and asked her to fax a pay stub. They've already verified her employment, and mine. Why do they need her pay stub? It's my money. Furthermore, they have both our SS numbers. Honestly, what more do you need? I was willing to give them the benefit of doubt. I humored them. Now I'm not going to pretend that they aren't irritating me. My, that sounds quite angry.
Last week I said that I would tell you how I managed to sprain my ankle again, for the second time in, what 5 weeks or something. Enough time that I was finally able to fold that leg under me and sit comfortably. Setting: I was admittedly, hurrying. I was going to Josh & Megan's wedding and I wanted to be on time to meet Ryan & Ben. Ryan wanted me to 'approve' his outfit, and at the best of times he's not on time. And we had to pick up his girlfriend on the way. I needed to get a card to go with the check I was giving them, so I went to the local supermarket conveniently located within a mile of home - pop in, get out. I'm all dolled up, I look smashing, if I do say so myself. Nylons, a cool black skirt with sparkly bits on the bottom, the nice coat I only wear for good reasons (or when the normal coat stinks like the bar), and new shoes. New Shoes. I had taken the time to waterproof them. They are adorable taller kitten heels, black with a subtle bow. Steve Madden (I'm really not brand-conscience, but girls, you'll know what kind of adorable I'm talking about). I didn't take the time to scrap the black off them on concrete. As Pretty Woman would say: "Big mistake. Huge." So I'm clipity-claping up to the registers. It's Saturday afternoon. At a grocery store. There are people everywhere. Down I go. Unlike last time, this time, I know I'm hurt. I can feel the tendons and stringy stuff down there absolutely TWANG and collapse. I'm all put a brave face on it and all, but I did it in front of a bunch of strangers (again), but this time I don't have my friends to dote on me (after they stop laughing). The staff freaks out a bit, and wipes of the patch of water, I might have slipped on (personally, I blame the shoes and my innate clumsiness), and sits me down by the pharmacy with some ice and secretively slipped me some ibuprofen, for which I'm grateful. Meanwhile, there's no way I'm going to meet the boys on time, my ankle is rapidly swelling up (I had just gotten it back!), and I just really didn't want to deal with this. Again. I wanted to dance. I sucked it up after whining a bit. The boys humored me, and walked slower. Everything turned out ok. I even danced. A few days later there was massive bruising all along the side of my foot, and I felt vindicated for the whining. I'm going to miss those guys.
(note: Spell check doesn't seem to be working, I apologize. I can't seem to get a picture up either. Both will be fixed later.)
But let me explain. The situation is, I'm sure, complicated exponentially as I'm 2,000 miles away. I did the whole internet search, looked at just about every apartment in the city and the outskirts. Apartments meeting my standards (washer & dryer in unit for free, dishwasher, not insanely expensive, I'm a librarian after all), I called and spoke with them to get the details and to request something in the mail, a brochure or something that would give me a feel for the place - not a big deal. I choose the one that fit best. At this point all's good, right? Shortly thereafter, I receive a brochure and app in the mail. Cool, fill it out, call to ask some questions (remember, I've not done this before), have my mom co-sign as it's required when you haven't rented before, send it in along with an extra note, for the things I though might be valuable; information such as where I'll be employed out there, how much I'll make and a contact for the verification of that information. They call a couple days later wondering where my co-signer application is. Well, I must say, I filled out everything you sent me. You didn't send me one, but OK, I understand. Fax it over, I'll drive to the library and get it, have Mom fill it out, and we'll send it right back so we can get this moving, and I'll have one less thing to worry about. They call the next day. They need a contact number for my employer out there. First of all, I work for a library. It's the flippin' library. But, ok. I call back and leave a message with my manager's name & number as well as HR's number. Today, they call and ask for the information again. I'll confess. I was snarky. I told the, what I assume to be a young thang, that a) I left a message with this information yesterday b) it's the library, open the phone book. I told you in the note what library it was and who my boss was. Why is this so difficult? I wasn't happy. It's been this huge hassle, and I was, frankly, fed up. Oh yeah, and they had already called my mom and asked her to fax a pay stub. They've already verified her employment, and mine. Why do they need her pay stub? It's my money. Furthermore, they have both our SS numbers. Honestly, what more do you need? I was willing to give them the benefit of doubt. I humored them. Now I'm not going to pretend that they aren't irritating me. My, that sounds quite angry.
Last week I said that I would tell you how I managed to sprain my ankle again, for the second time in, what 5 weeks or something. Enough time that I was finally able to fold that leg under me and sit comfortably. Setting: I was admittedly, hurrying. I was going to Josh & Megan's wedding and I wanted to be on time to meet Ryan & Ben. Ryan wanted me to 'approve' his outfit, and at the best of times he's not on time. And we had to pick up his girlfriend on the way. I needed to get a card to go with the check I was giving them, so I went to the local supermarket conveniently located within a mile of home - pop in, get out. I'm all dolled up, I look smashing, if I do say so myself. Nylons, a cool black skirt with sparkly bits on the bottom, the nice coat I only wear for good reasons (or when the normal coat stinks like the bar), and new shoes. New Shoes. I had taken the time to waterproof them. They are adorable taller kitten heels, black with a subtle bow. Steve Madden (I'm really not brand-conscience, but girls, you'll know what kind of adorable I'm talking about). I didn't take the time to scrap the black off them on concrete. As Pretty Woman would say: "Big mistake. Huge." So I'm clipity-claping up to the registers. It's Saturday afternoon. At a grocery store. There are people everywhere. Down I go. Unlike last time, this time, I know I'm hurt. I can feel the tendons and stringy stuff down there absolutely TWANG and collapse. I'm all put a brave face on it and all, but I did it in front of a bunch of strangers (again), but this time I don't have my friends to dote on me (after they stop laughing). The staff freaks out a bit, and wipes of the patch of water, I might have slipped on (personally, I blame the shoes and my innate clumsiness), and sits me down by the pharmacy with some ice and secretively slipped me some ibuprofen, for which I'm grateful. Meanwhile, there's no way I'm going to meet the boys on time, my ankle is rapidly swelling up (I had just gotten it back!), and I just really didn't want to deal with this. Again. I wanted to dance. I sucked it up after whining a bit. The boys humored me, and walked slower. Everything turned out ok. I even danced. A few days later there was massive bruising all along the side of my foot, and I felt vindicated for the whining. I'm going to miss those guys.
(note: Spell check doesn't seem to be working, I apologize. I can't seem to get a picture up either. Both will be fixed later.)
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