I hate you, Florida.
Apparently God does, too. Because you, counfounded Florida, have another hurricane coming. Or maybe God just hates me. Yes, I know I'm in Cleveland. I'm in Cleveland and I'm LONELY because Dan? He's in Miami. And now it looks like his return will be delayed because of stupid Ernesto. Because Ernesto isn't going to be a considerate hurricane and just crossed the peninsula the short way -- or better yet not hit at all -- Ernesto is going to be a catheter for America's wang. So every conceivable highway out of Florida will be covered with debris. Thanks, Ernesto. FOR NOTHING.
I've been counting down the days to Dan coming back to Cleveland. I like Cleveland so far, but its an awful lonely place when your fiance is 1500 miles away and the only people you know here always have schedules that don't match up with your own. It was almost time for Dan to come home, and Florida had to give me this one, final punch.
Oh, and one final laugh? We packed up the hurricane supplies a couple of weeks ago... and took them to Cleveland.
Florida's an asshole. So is Ernesto.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
Almost home?
Dan and I are safely in Cleveland, despite all of West Virginia's efforts to kill us. But more on that later.
We got a late start when leaving Miami and ended up spending our first night on the road in Ormand Beach. Because do you know what its like to drive a 17-foot U-Haul that has a trailer with a car on it attached to it? Its like driving 30 feet of junk behind you, except that 30 feet of junk happens to be all of you material possessions. No pressure, or anything.
We discovered something important this first day: the U-Haul radio is possessed. No, really, it is. It won't turn off, first of all. You can turn the volume all the way down, but it will randomly decide to turn it back up again. And sometimes, when you go to turn it down again, it just gets louder and louder. And then your eardrums explode and blood leaks from all your facial cavities. Well no, not quite, but it sure feels like it sometimes.
We stayed with John and Lisa our second night on the road, and it was really, really nice to see them again. Lisa and I knitted, Dan and John oogled over ammo, and we all ate and laughed a lot.
So far so good. Right?
We left John and Lisa's and drove through the rest of North Carolina. That was fine. We got to Virginia, which at first was fine, too. Then we hit the mountains. They're not fun to drive through. Well, actually, I'm sure they can be, assuming you aren't hauling 30 feet worth of all your material possessions. But even so, while it wasn't enjoyable, it was ok. Until the Virginia/West Virginia border. We stopped to get gas in Hicksville (no, I did NOT make that up. Really.). In the station, this older man with missing teeth and a long, grizzled beard told us that a big storm was scheduled to come through shortly, and that we'd better get as far as we could go before it started. Dan and I promptly got into the U-Haul and starting driving at an impressive 40 miles per hour (Apparently 30 feet of crap makes it really hard to accelerate up a mountain -- who'd've thunk it??).
The hours after that were the scariest driving I've ever ridden through. Dan gets MAJOR admiration from me for geting us through that. You see, Hicksville (I can't help but snort when I write that) roughly marks the beginning of THE MOUNTAINS. Those things we'd seen up until then? HILLS IN COMPARISON. Really, at one point there was a sign telling us how high up we were and I freaked out. We were WELL over 3,000 feet. By that point, the air was so thin that I got a nosebleed and was getting dizzy. Because I suck like that. But Dan trucked onward, and I'm greatly in debt to him for getting us into Ohio, when the landscape slowly started to become a little more flat (but nothing like Florida. These people who told us Ohio was flat? THEY LIED.) Oh yeah, and that storm? We drove through it. There was no place to stop, so we had no other option. Because I take back anything I've ever said about Alabama. West Virginia IS the armpit of the United States. No town, few people (and all related), and just lots and lots of mountains. I'm sure its beautiful when you're driving through without a U-Haul in a horrible storm. I wouldn't know, though.
We drove that night through and got into Cleveland at 6 a.m. And then we collapsed for a couple of hours, got up, and went to go find a place to live. We're turning in a rental application today. Because no matter how nice this hotel is and how nice it is to have a bed so big and soft that I can jump up and down on my side without waking Dan up, we're not millionaires and can't live here. And I wouldn't want to; I want our own little space, with our own familiar furniture and knick-knacks. I can't believe how much I miss my old home. I want to start setting up a new one.
We got a late start when leaving Miami and ended up spending our first night on the road in Ormand Beach. Because do you know what its like to drive a 17-foot U-Haul that has a trailer with a car on it attached to it? Its like driving 30 feet of junk behind you, except that 30 feet of junk happens to be all of you material possessions. No pressure, or anything.
We discovered something important this first day: the U-Haul radio is possessed. No, really, it is. It won't turn off, first of all. You can turn the volume all the way down, but it will randomly decide to turn it back up again. And sometimes, when you go to turn it down again, it just gets louder and louder. And then your eardrums explode and blood leaks from all your facial cavities. Well no, not quite, but it sure feels like it sometimes.
We stayed with John and Lisa our second night on the road, and it was really, really nice to see them again. Lisa and I knitted, Dan and John oogled over ammo, and we all ate and laughed a lot.
So far so good. Right?
We left John and Lisa's and drove through the rest of North Carolina. That was fine. We got to Virginia, which at first was fine, too. Then we hit the mountains. They're not fun to drive through. Well, actually, I'm sure they can be, assuming you aren't hauling 30 feet worth of all your material possessions. But even so, while it wasn't enjoyable, it was ok. Until the Virginia/West Virginia border. We stopped to get gas in Hicksville (no, I did NOT make that up. Really.). In the station, this older man with missing teeth and a long, grizzled beard told us that a big storm was scheduled to come through shortly, and that we'd better get as far as we could go before it started. Dan and I promptly got into the U-Haul and starting driving at an impressive 40 miles per hour (Apparently 30 feet of crap makes it really hard to accelerate up a mountain -- who'd've thunk it??).
The hours after that were the scariest driving I've ever ridden through. Dan gets MAJOR admiration from me for geting us through that. You see, Hicksville (I can't help but snort when I write that) roughly marks the beginning of THE MOUNTAINS. Those things we'd seen up until then? HILLS IN COMPARISON. Really, at one point there was a sign telling us how high up we were and I freaked out. We were WELL over 3,000 feet. By that point, the air was so thin that I got a nosebleed and was getting dizzy. Because I suck like that. But Dan trucked onward, and I'm greatly in debt to him for getting us into Ohio, when the landscape slowly started to become a little more flat (but nothing like Florida. These people who told us Ohio was flat? THEY LIED.) Oh yeah, and that storm? We drove through it. There was no place to stop, so we had no other option. Because I take back anything I've ever said about Alabama. West Virginia IS the armpit of the United States. No town, few people (and all related), and just lots and lots of mountains. I'm sure its beautiful when you're driving through without a U-Haul in a horrible storm. I wouldn't know, though.
We drove that night through and got into Cleveland at 6 a.m. And then we collapsed for a couple of hours, got up, and went to go find a place to live. We're turning in a rental application today. Because no matter how nice this hotel is and how nice it is to have a bed so big and soft that I can jump up and down on my side without waking Dan up, we're not millionaires and can't live here. And I wouldn't want to; I want our own little space, with our own familiar furniture and knick-knacks. I can't believe how much I miss my old home. I want to start setting up a new one.
Almost home?
Dan and I are safely in Cleveland, despite all of West Virginia's efforts to kill us. But more on that later.
We got a late start when leaving Miami and ended up spending our first night on the road in Ormand Beach. Because do you know what its like to drive a 17-foot U-Haul that has a trailer with a car on it attached to it? Its like driving 30 feet of junk behind you, except that 30 feet of junk happens to be all of you material possessions. No pressure, or anything.
We discovered something important this first day: the U-Haul radio is possessed. No, really, it is. It won't turn off, first of all. You can turn the volume all the way down, but it will randomly decide to turn it back up again. And sometimes, when you go to turn it down again, it just gets louder and louder. And then your eardrums explode and blood leaks from all your facial cavities. Well no, not quite, but it sure feels like it sometimes.
We stayed with John and Lisa our second night on the road, and it was really, really nice to see them again. Lisa and I knitted, Dan and John oogled over ammo, and we all ate and laughed a lot.
So far so good. Right?
We left John and Lisa's and drove through the rest of North Carolina. That was fine. We got to Virginia, which at first was fine, too. Then we hit the mountains. They're not fun to drive through. Well, actually, I'm sure they can be, assuming you aren't hauling 30 feet worth of all your material possessions. But even so, while it wasn't enjoyable, it was ok. Until the Virginia/West Virginia border. We stopped to get gas in Hicksville (no, I did NOT make that up. Really.). In the station, this older man with missing teeth and a long, grizzled beard told us that a big storm was scheduled to come through shortly, and that we'd better get as far as we could go before it started. Dan and I promptly got into the U-Haul and starting driving at an impressive 40 miles per hour (Apparently 30 feet of crap makes it really hard to accelerate up a mountain -- who'd've thunk it??).
The hours after that were the scariest driving I've ever ridden through. Dan gets MAJOR admiration from me for geting us through that. You see, Hicksville (I can't help but snort when I write that) roughly marks the beginning of THE MOUNTAINS. Those things we'd seen up until then? HILLS IN COMPARISON. Really, at one point there was a sign telling us how high up we were and I freaked out. We were WELL over 3,000 feet. By that point, the air was so thin that I got a nosebleed and was getting dizzy. Because I suck like that. But Dan trucked onward, and I'm greatly in debt to him for getting us into Ohio, when the landscape slowly started to become a little more flat (but nothing like Florida. These people who told us Ohio was flat? THEY LIED.) Oh yeah, and that storm? We drove through it. There was no place to stop, so we had no other option. Because I take back anything I've ever said about Alabama. West Virginia IS the armpit of the United States. No town, few people (and all related), and just lots and lots of mountains. I'm sure its beautiful when you're driving through without a U-Haul in a horrible storm. I wouldn't know, though.
We drove that night through and got into Cleveland at 6 a.m. And then we collapsed for a couple of hours, got up, and went to go find a place to live. We're turning in a rental application today. Because no matter how nice this hotel is and how nice it is to have a bed so big and soft that I can jump up and down on my side without waking Dan up, we're not millionaires and can't live here. And I wouldn't want to; I want our own little space, with our own familiar furniture and knick-knacks. I can't believe how much I miss my old home. I want to start setting up a new one.
We got a late start when leaving Miami and ended up spending our first night on the road in Ormand Beach. Because do you know what its like to drive a 17-foot U-Haul that has a trailer with a car on it attached to it? Its like driving 30 feet of junk behind you, except that 30 feet of junk happens to be all of you material possessions. No pressure, or anything.
We discovered something important this first day: the U-Haul radio is possessed. No, really, it is. It won't turn off, first of all. You can turn the volume all the way down, but it will randomly decide to turn it back up again. And sometimes, when you go to turn it down again, it just gets louder and louder. And then your eardrums explode and blood leaks from all your facial cavities. Well no, not quite, but it sure feels like it sometimes.
We stayed with John and Lisa our second night on the road, and it was really, really nice to see them again. Lisa and I knitted, Dan and John oogled over ammo, and we all ate and laughed a lot.
So far so good. Right?
We left John and Lisa's and drove through the rest of North Carolina. That was fine. We got to Virginia, which at first was fine, too. Then we hit the mountains. They're not fun to drive through. Well, actually, I'm sure they can be, assuming you aren't hauling 30 feet worth of all your material possessions. But even so, while it wasn't enjoyable, it was ok. Until the Virginia/West Virginia border. We stopped to get gas in Hicksville (no, I did NOT make that up. Really.). In the station, this older man with missing teeth and a long, grizzled beard told us that a big storm was scheduled to come through shortly, and that we'd better get as far as we could go before it started. Dan and I promptly got into the U-Haul and starting driving at an impressive 40 miles per hour (Apparently 30 feet of crap makes it really hard to accelerate up a mountain -- who'd've thunk it??).
The hours after that were the scariest driving I've ever ridden through. Dan gets MAJOR admiration from me for geting us through that. You see, Hicksville (I can't help but snort when I write that) roughly marks the beginning of THE MOUNTAINS. Those things we'd seen up until then? HILLS IN COMPARISON. Really, at one point there was a sign telling us how high up we were and I freaked out. We were WELL over 3,000 feet. By that point, the air was so thin that I got a nosebleed and was getting dizzy. Because I suck like that. But Dan trucked onward, and I'm greatly in debt to him for getting us into Ohio, when the landscape slowly started to become a little more flat (but nothing like Florida. These people who told us Ohio was flat? THEY LIED.) Oh yeah, and that storm? We drove through it. There was no place to stop, so we had no other option. Because I take back anything I've ever said about Alabama. West Virginia IS the armpit of the United States. No town, few people (and all related), and just lots and lots of mountains. I'm sure its beautiful when you're driving through without a U-Haul in a horrible storm. I wouldn't know, though.
We drove that night through and got into Cleveland at 6 a.m. And then we collapsed for a couple of hours, got up, and went to go find a place to live. We're turning in a rental application today. Because no matter how nice this hotel is and how nice it is to have a bed so big and soft that I can jump up and down on my side without waking Dan up, we're not millionaires and can't live here. And I wouldn't want to; I want our own little space, with our own familiar furniture and knick-knacks. I can't believe how much I miss my old home. I want to start setting up a new one.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
DON'T PANIC
I'm thinking a lot about Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect these days. Why? I wish I had a cover to my to-do list that said DON'T PANIC in nice, friendly letters. It would be a good reminder. I've just been working so many long days and then going home to try and be useful in packing that I think I may have lost my mind. On the bright side, at least I don't have to worry about a hurricane anymore, since Tropical Storm Chris is deteriorating.
Its everything else to worry about that is the problem. Finding a place to live, packing up our current apartment, getting boxes I still have at my parents' farm seven hours north, finding time to see my family and friends before leaving for the figid land of Cleveland... and now fixing the ever-growing amount of problems with my car.
There are plenty of things to look forward to in Cleveland, and I'm trying to keep my mind set on those so I don't just sit in the middle of the floor, curl into the fetal position, and go to sleep for a long, long time, and hope the magical packing fairies finish for me before I wake up. For example, we get to have a kitten up there. Definitely a plus. Emily is up there. Another fantastic plus -- the one that actually makes the idea of moving to Cleveland more tolerable than any other. I don't have to deal with Miami drivers up there. Anyone who has had to get behind the wheel in Miami knows what a benefit that is.
Moving will be a nice change, and I know that -- its just the process of getting there that I hate.
So of course I find extra ways to stress myself out, such as looking down onto my hand and seeing... nothing! As in no engagement ring. As in it dropped off because we've known that I need to have it resized and haven't had the time because of the move.
Commence the panicking. I frantically began to look around, as Dan walked in to see his betrothed suddenly certifiably insane, crying, and scolding herself for being THE BIGGEST MORON ON EARTH. I sobbed out what happened, and he kept telling me to calm down, because he plans on marrying me even if I DID lose the ring.
We found it half an hour later; it must have gotten snagged on something when I'd gone into the computer bag earlier that evening. That half hour was NOT one I'd ever like to relive. And my ring? I took it to the jewelry store the very next day to be resized. I don't get it back from them until next week, so a few times during the day I'll suddenly have a shock as I see my bare hand, and for a split moment I think I've lost it again, until I remember otherwise.
Thank God Dan can put up with spazzes, because he's sure as hell getting married to one!
Its everything else to worry about that is the problem. Finding a place to live, packing up our current apartment, getting boxes I still have at my parents' farm seven hours north, finding time to see my family and friends before leaving for the figid land of Cleveland... and now fixing the ever-growing amount of problems with my car.
There are plenty of things to look forward to in Cleveland, and I'm trying to keep my mind set on those so I don't just sit in the middle of the floor, curl into the fetal position, and go to sleep for a long, long time, and hope the magical packing fairies finish for me before I wake up. For example, we get to have a kitten up there. Definitely a plus. Emily is up there. Another fantastic plus -- the one that actually makes the idea of moving to Cleveland more tolerable than any other. I don't have to deal with Miami drivers up there. Anyone who has had to get behind the wheel in Miami knows what a benefit that is.
Moving will be a nice change, and I know that -- its just the process of getting there that I hate.
So of course I find extra ways to stress myself out, such as looking down onto my hand and seeing... nothing! As in no engagement ring. As in it dropped off because we've known that I need to have it resized and haven't had the time because of the move.
Commence the panicking. I frantically began to look around, as Dan walked in to see his betrothed suddenly certifiably insane, crying, and scolding herself for being THE BIGGEST MORON ON EARTH. I sobbed out what happened, and he kept telling me to calm down, because he plans on marrying me even if I DID lose the ring.
We found it half an hour later; it must have gotten snagged on something when I'd gone into the computer bag earlier that evening. That half hour was NOT one I'd ever like to relive. And my ring? I took it to the jewelry store the very next day to be resized. I don't get it back from them until next week, so a few times during the day I'll suddenly have a shock as I see my bare hand, and for a split moment I think I've lost it again, until I remember otherwise.
Thank God Dan can put up with spazzes, because he's sure as hell getting married to one!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Good Life
We've told as many people in person as we can, so now is the time for the general announcement for those we haven't been able to reach: Dan and I are engaged! Yes, he's finally making an honest woman out of me... or will when we eventually have the wedding in a couple of years. We haven't started planning it yet, since time is consumed by a monster called Moving to Cleveland. Actually, after he proposed, I suggested we just elope in Vegas, but he wants the big wedding and party, complete with friends, family, music, dancing, and midgets. Well, not midgets in particular, but I know Dan. Midgets always make his day a little (no pun intended) brighter. Personally, I hate being the center of attention, but it would be nice to have a big party anyway. Though maybe he'd go for the Vegas idea if I told him we could be married by a midget dressed as Elvis... after all, I firmly believe compromise is the key to any good relationship.
I find all this to be almost too good to be true, but when I look at this sparkling ring on my finger, I know I don't have to pinch myself. This is real, and this is great. Not just the engagement; how great Dan just IS, and how grateful I am to have him with me for the rest of our lives... even when he's being deliberately annoying and threatening to lick my eyeball, or any other way he takes advantage of the fact that I'm easily grossed out by anything having to do with eyes (I mean really, contact lenses anybody? Gross! WHY would anyone voluntarily stick a plastic disc into their eye?? But I digress. Ahem.). The point is, I wish everyone the luck I've had -- to be able to find someone who loves you for who you are and want to be, whose strength you can count on when times are troubled, who believes in you when even you are having your doubts -- and still be a human, complete with faults and cracks and an almost too devilish sense of humor.
To me, that is what the good life is all about.
I find all this to be almost too good to be true, but when I look at this sparkling ring on my finger, I know I don't have to pinch myself. This is real, and this is great. Not just the engagement; how great Dan just IS, and how grateful I am to have him with me for the rest of our lives... even when he's being deliberately annoying and threatening to lick my eyeball, or any other way he takes advantage of the fact that I'm easily grossed out by anything having to do with eyes (I mean really, contact lenses anybody? Gross! WHY would anyone voluntarily stick a plastic disc into their eye?? But I digress. Ahem.). The point is, I wish everyone the luck I've had -- to be able to find someone who loves you for who you are and want to be, whose strength you can count on when times are troubled, who believes in you when even you are having your doubts -- and still be a human, complete with faults and cracks and an almost too devilish sense of humor.
To me, that is what the good life is all about.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Say it with me now: Awwww...
Reason # 5,376 Dan is awesome
He just dropped off two dozen yellow roses at my job -- for no reason whatsoever.
I feel so loved :-)
He just dropped off two dozen yellow roses at my job -- for no reason whatsoever.
I feel so loved :-)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
After the rain
I woke up at 5 this morning to the sounds of earth-shaking thunder. Car alarms were going off, and lightning was flashing through the heavy curtains in my bedroom, lighting up the entire room. It is that time in Miami, when Mother Nature gets temperamental and disagreeable, like a small child who needs a nap. The day did little to improve, except for a short, considerate respite coinciding with my morning commute. From then up until ten minutes ago, it seemed as if a hurricane was brewing outside my office window. The world outside is wet, even flooded in places, but the sun is starting to come out, slowly drying things off in nature's form of damage control. Today, this is my favorite part of the storm: the aftermath. Other days it is the crashing thunder and blinding lightning. But today, seeing the world so fresh and new (the Miami version of new snow, I suppose), it is easy to have hope that your troubles will evaporate like the puddles in the street below, to think that tomorrow is a day without mistakes or pettiness in it yet, and that life is a precious gift, meant to be held and loved, cuddled and cherished.
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