All in Texas
Compared to keeping my two girls occupied in mass for an hour, driving in the car is easy--even for 18 hours. The girls are troopers, especially Alyssa. There were moments of irritability, and there's now a car full of goldfish, peanut butter, and jelly, but Friday was a marathon day of travel, twelve hours on the road. Here's a run down of some other points of interest from the drive out.
Nothing says family road trip like standing in the parking lot of a Cavender's Boot Barn in El Paso Texas with your shirt collar pulled up over your nose while you hold your child at arms' length so mommy can take off her shit-laden clothes.
As if on queue, Alyssa came home today from the doctor with a diagnosis of dual ear infections. Let us be clear: this trip is not a vacation, it's a refresher on the difference between having to go to work and getting to.
Suddenly I became aware of some activity about ten rows in front of me. A passenger vomited. That's always a nice way to start a flight, puking before you even leave the gate.
The hurricane left us alone, the evacuees are returning home, and I don’t even remember what a car alarm sounds like. We’ve had a good run for the last three weeks, it’s been relatively quiet for us in the Lone Star State. Even Cindy Sheehan left. And thanks to a couple of Road Scholars groupies (is there such a thing?), the smoke alarms have become mute…for the most part.
What kind of idiot did this guy mistake me for? Did he honestly think that if I knew the answer to that question it would have been a “noise complaint” call? If I knew to whom that piece of shit car belonged, Officer Lone Star would have been investigating a homicide. No we don’t know who the damn car belongs to, come on man! He proceeded to give us the speech:
I admit, in the past I have been accused of hyperbole, and rightly so. I assure you, however, that everything you are about to read is fact. The names have not been changed because there’s nobody innocent to protect.
Those readers who have had the pleasure of an early morning wakeup call of the seismic variety will appreciate what I am about to describe. For the next few nights, Jen and I were afraid to go to sleep. We watched TV, left lights on, and stared at the ceiling. After an earthquake, every creak of a two by four or squeak of a door is a possible betrayal. You develop a sixth sense called paranoia. I even saw dead people. Here in Texas we don’t have earthquakes, we have smoke alarms.
We've had our furniture over a week now. As the holiday weekend comes to a close, I am happy to report that everything is officially unpacked and, except for the lone martini glass, unharmed (including the prized and famed state mug collection). Having furniture hasn't been all sunshine roses and rainbows though. Now that we're finally able to start settling in, we're becoming aware of some of the charming quarks our new digs have to offer. Pay attention future visitors, this information may benefit you during your visit—it might even dissuade you from coming at al
It has been twenty-seven days since we were exiled here to Texas. Yesterday is just a blur of subconscious mind tricks. I remember driving Jen to work. We were hungry. Maybe she was uptight; maybe it was me who was high-strung. It doesn't really matter to a police officer.
In the initial correspondence I was sent from the movers, I was told to only contact my "personal move coordinator" in Seattle for any communication regarding my move. Today I decided to call the company in Tustin that picked up my goods directly. It's my stuff, I will call whomever I damned well please.
We stayed at the Bates Motel last night and lived to tell the tale. When I called enroute to make our reservation, I asked if they had any vacancy for that evening. I found out when we arrived why the girl on the phone chuckled a little when I asked her that question.