Really? Really.

When you're a kid who loves writing stories and watching movies you can't help but think about the possibility that every day you live and everything you do is just part of some greater story that someone or something much larger than you is watching or writing. Your inner monologue becomes a narration of everything you do and every moment or conversation gets filed away for possible later use, because you know, you never know when you'll need them. This is when it starts to become difficult to separate real life from movies and for awhile, you think that maybe it's a problem, that there's supposed to be this definite line that separates what happens in real life from what can only occur on screen or in your imagination.

Until of course you get to Los Angeles, where you learn that (SURPRISE) you were right all along. There is no line and everything that "only happens in movies" can and does happen, at least in Los Angeles if not in actual Real Life.

Oh, Los Angeles.

Doing things is what I like to do.

Medical dramas have taught me everything I know about heart transplants. For the record, I know a fair amount. I feel like it's probably the next best thing to actually going to medical school, but anyway. Heart transplants. They're a little more complicated than they sound. You don't just take the heart out of a cooler, throw it in the recipient's chest cavity, get everything all attached, close up, and send the person on his way. I mean sure, you do all of that stuff, but then the patient needs to take a ton of pills to make sure that the heart isn't rejected by it's new environment. Most people don't know about this potential for the transplant complications, only doctors and avid Grey's Anatomy viewers are in tune to these minute details, but the point is...L.A. is not the easiest environment to get transplanted into. 

A couple days ago I knocked my driver's side mirror off of my car trying to avoid hitting some cholo in a parking garage, so for a day I couldn't see what was behind me while driving. For a day, I couldn't look backwards and it was scary beyond all reason, but it forced me to look forward. I don't know what forward entails at the moment, but it's definitely better than behind. Behind bums me out.

Stop, Look and Listen.

Being an East Coast transplant in Los Angeles is a lot like being a social anthropologist. Or at least a lot like how I think a social anthropologist must feel. I've decided that's how I will approach my time here: as an observer of the bizarre. As in, no sir, I do not want to do cocaine on the roof of this bar, but thanks anyway. 

At the same time, I feel like I'm often on the other side of the spectrum, as in, people must watch me try to go about my business here and think I'm absolutely out of my gourd. This is mainly due to the fact that I have yet to get used to being completely dependent on and responsible for a car.

I'm not even going to pretend that I'm a good driver. I'm a lucky driver. I'm a dangerously cautious driver due to a day spent in a Defensive Driving course when I was sixteen where I did things like drive through slaloms and gun it down an airplane runway at 100 mph and throw on my anti-lock brakes all in the name of safety, but I wouldn't call myself good and I definitely wouldn't call myself aggressive.  Aggressive is what you need to be around here, so I'm learning.

I'm also learning to remember the fact that I drive places and park places and therefore have to be responsible for those parking spaces, i.e. refilling parking meters. I forgot about refilling parking meters which warranted a nice forced $47.00 donation to the city of Santa Monica. Lesson learned. Speaking of lessons, I'm finally, at the age of nearly 22, gaining a more solid grasp than ever on the differences between Right and Left. This is due in large part to my Widget, which incidentally, I am completely and totally dependent on. As in, if it breaks or suddenly malfunctions, I will need to either get a replacement Widget ASAP (which would be a task, because how I would find the nearest Best Buy without one is beyond me) or just move back to Massachusetts (which would also be problematic for the same reason). I should probably stock up on compasses and maps just in case, but we all know what a useless exercise that would be. I'd be better off finding the nearest forest and searching for the side of the tree trunk with the moss on it to find North.

But learn and get learned. Every morning I get up, brush the smog off of my windshield and mirrors and set out to merge and make those scary left turns and throw the puppy into reverse when possible and bang U-ies all over this city, trying to figure it all out and not mow down too many pedestrians or cyclists in the process. For the record I despise cyclists. They weave in and out of traffic like it ain't no thing, but it is, it is a thing, and that thing is IRRITATING. At least jaywalking isn't an issue. Pretty much the only thing the LAPD cracks down on is jaywalking. Fine, do your hard drugs in public, but if you cross the street without a crosswalk, we're slapping you with a $350.00 fine. It's effective, there's pretty much 0% jaywalking. It's kind of like how there's 0% crime in Dubai because they'll just cut your hands off if you do anything wrong.

Anyway. This city has given me so much to observe over the past few days, the least I can do is give a little something back, and I'd rather it be audience to my awkwardly effective driving than in the form of parking violations.

End of the Road: LA?

Los Angeles is every bit as strange and sunny as everyone says it is. It also happens to look exactly the same in real life as it does in photos and films, which I always tend to expect from everything, but this is one of the few places that has actually followed through. Turns out, when things are exactly the same in real life as they are on film, it's weird.

I think the fact that I definitely was not in Kansas (Massachusetts) anymore really started to set in immediately upon arrival at our hotel, whose age (81 years old) was a major bragging point for everyone and where all of the employees were ridiculously good looking. After Liz informed them that we were from Boston and that she had cereal older than 81 we ascended to our room where we were greeted with the World's Scariest Hotel Art plastered boldly across the main section of wall, between the beds. We later learned from the bellman that it was a photo of two David Bowie superfans taken at one of his concerts and that all of the rooms had similar photos but ours was by far the scariest. We dealt with this by throwing a sweater over the photo, which was of two bawling women with 'B's carved into their chest and weird welts on their foreheads and managed to fall asleep despite their presence.

Anyway, I've been in L.A. for 48 hours and I think I've caught that strange form of exhaustion that everyone here gets hospitalized for. In an effort to save precious energy, I'm just going to convey my immediate, pre-Oakwoods L.A. observations in list form.

1. The "characters" that saunter around Grauman's Chinese Theater are, in a word, whack. Initially I assumed that they were actors set up there by, I don't know, the city or the theater or SOMETHING, but no. Apparently they are just self employed and earn their livings independently by pretending to be random people/superheroes. Strange as this is, it kind of makes sense because the quality of their outfits is way inconsistent. Some of them are significantly better than others and all of this came together when we saw a really haggard looking man in Spiderman pajamas trudge across the street towards the theater to start working.

2. Equally whack is the illustrious California Freeway, whose name, I'm assuming, derives from the complete and utter freedom as far as speed limits are concerned. That is to say, there are none. Huh. My defensive driving answer to the freeway is to just close my eyes and scream as I merge and hope to God that everyone will avoid me. It seems to be working. I have yet to sit in real traffic, but I can only imagine what a treat that will be. I'm going to have to find something to multitask the idle sitting with so that I don't go completely nuts with all of the time wasting.

3. The sheer volume of name dropping that I have observed in the last couple of days is staggering. People REALLY love it. "Oh, buy this Hello Kitty luggage, Heidi Klum just bought one." Natalie did end up buying the suitcase, but that's beside the point. This morning we were getting the car at our hotel and some guy walked in, completely off all of our radar, and the valet came over to us and said, out of nowhere "That's not Lenny Kravitz." Um...neat. Nobody said ANYTHING about Lenny Kraviz, valet. I'm not Jessica Simpson either, in case you were wondering. As far as actual celebrity sighting, we're really not very good at it, but we have seen some broad who didn't NOT look like Paris Hilton and then we got in an elevator with some dude from Gossip Girl, whose chops immediately got busted by Natalie.

4. The variety of landscapes is also really impressive. We drove through some serious Hills, practically 90 degree angles with huge houses perched precariously on cliffs with really sharp turns throughout the neighborhoods. We also went to the Santa Monica pier because I promised Jack Dawson that I would right before he sank into the Northern Atlantic abyss and I had to follow through. People are also seem exceedingly friendly, and while I'm skeptical, I figure it's just easier to accept it, fake or not.

All in all, everything is rather lovely, if not completely foreign. Honestly, I felt like less of a tourista in France, but I think it's going to work out. Hopefully. Knock on wood.

Road Trip to L.A.: Days Seven and Eight

Las Vegas

What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but in this case it also gets blogged about so that we can try to remember all of the stuff that we left in Vegas. We're just so lucky. 

My first experiences in a city located in Pacific Standard Time were, in a word, whack. I can't really decide if I want this to continue on to be a reoccurring theme in my life on the West Coast or not, but either way, it is the most different and I am finding out exactly how "East Coast" I actually am. Regardless, after five days of being cooped up in a Civic, out of the urban element that we've all gotten used to, we were really jazzed to be back in an environment loaded with restaurants and a variety of people. It's especially fun to see Patriots paraphernalia out here, because initially it just seems like the norm but then I remember we're a few hundred miles short of being 3,000 miles away from New England and Patriots country. I've also discovered what a conversation starter a Red Sox hat is and I love it.

After arriving at the hotel in our newly washed hermit crab shell of a Honda Civic (it's gotten to the point that now, after two days of not traveling, we all have a Shawshank Redemption-like need to get back in the car and can't handle a normal life anymore.) We got settled and prepared to get 4+ months of going out together crammed into one night of absurd Vegas F-U-N. We also decided to cumulatively celebrate our 21st birthdays a year late, since last year, when they actually happened, we were all over the place. So we partied like rock stars alongside porn stars (Who stumbles into Las Vegas just in time for the annual Adult Video Convention? We do, so if possible, this town was even more littered with surgically enhanced lovelies than normal) which started off an on going emotional pattern of Love Vegas, Hate Vegas. 

To clarify, our first night we Really Loved Vegas. A lot. The next day started off completely Hate Vegas. Because this is has turned out to be a positively cinematic road trip, we should have been prepared for the typical medical detour, but alas we were not, so when Natalie woke up violently ill beyond all reason we entouraged her to a Vegas hospital. She and Liz ended up staying for the entire day getting CAT scanned by hot doctors to find out that she has a hole in her intestine and was stricken with diverticulitis, which can often be aggravated by copious consumption of nuts (she's had a can of mixed nuts in her purse since Leominster), seeds (we haven't walked into a gas station without buying Corn Nuts), dried fruit (Eleanor's brought enough dried fruit on this trip to feed a dried army), alcohol (tequila) and caffeine (Red Bull). So that ended up making a ton of sense and instead of dying in the ER of a Vegas hospital like she expected, she was released with a new lease on life and a folder full of lovely slides of her innards, all in time to get mindfreaked by O at 7:30. Then we returned to Really Loving Vegas.

The weird thing about all of this was how much the hotel seemed to know about our health issue. The management was all voluntarily accommodating, which leads me to believe that all that business about hotel staff knowing everything that happens in their hotel via hidden cameras in Ocean's Eleven is absolutely true. I think that's kind of nice, especially since Vegas is a city with zip for laws. There are maybe three crosswalks in the entire city, people treat red lights like suggestions, hookers are peddled every ten feet and people wander around drinking flagrantly, all of which definitely help to keep things interesting, but it's good to know that all of the illegality is being carefully supervised. 

After we checked out, we let the hotel babysit our luggage while we tried to cram all of the daytime Vegas fun that was traded in for hospital fun the day before into one afternoon. Our various attachments to Paris have given us an innate nose for patisseries, so we found one located right our hotel complete with chocolate fountains that poured out of the ceiling. Love Vegas. Then we headed to Caesar's Palace to obtain glorious Celine Dion merchandise only to find that the management wasted no time in clearing out her gift shop immediately after the close of her show at her Colosseum. All that remained in the darkened store were several empty shelves and a few half lit portraits of the diva herself. No beautiful t-shirt with Celine's head floating on the front for me, no posters, no magnets, nothing. Hate Vegas. After this disappointment we went to find some gelato to take the edge off only to be tricked into spending 20+ dollars on individual cups of mediocre gelato. Hate Vegas again, but then we remembered how awesome the fancy French Cirque was and how sparkly Judith Leiber crystal clutches are and how lovely the glass flowers in the ceiling of our lobby are and went back to Loving Vegas. 

When we were as ready as possible (because I'll never be actually ready for this trip to come to a close) to set out on our last stretch of highway to LA this little guy brought our luggage out to the car and did an abysmal job of trying to piece together the puzzle that cramming our stuff into the tiny trunk has become. It really wasn't his fault, it's not easy and we've become experts by now so we sent him on his way, manned up and did it ourselves. I think stuff has grown though, because it definitely has gotten more difficult. 

To sum it up: we left Las Vegas a little poorer, slightly worldier and devoid of any awesome Celine Dion merchandise but plus one stunning set of CAT scan slides and a memory stick full of Really Awesome Photos. 

Road Trip to L.A.: Day Six

Flagstaff, AZ to Las Vegas NV

After leaving our unexpectedly ski lodge-esque Flagstaff version of the Comfort Inn we headed out into the snowy, snowy desert toward the Grand Canyon, which was everything you expect it to be, except the scope of it is incomprehensible. We rolled into Grand Canyon National Park where we saw our first sign that we actually were in Arizona - a cactus buried in snow. Then Eleanor took photos of Park Ranger Sam as if he were a character in Disney World and then he sent us on our way.  Obviously there was a ton of snow at the Grand Canyon as well, and by a ton I mean a ton more than we expected, and what we expected was none. Anyway, despite the fact that half of us were wearing wildly inappropriate footwear for traipsing around a snowy Canyon, the snow turned out to be amusing and Natalie hurled several snowballs into the hole. 

After we'd experienced enough grandeur we set off for our projected favorite stop on the road to Los Angeles: Vegas. Baby. We also quickly learned that the Widget, though immensely helpful most of the time, (I don't know how people would find their way anywhere without one) has absolutely no idea what he's talking about in terms of Grand Canyon Village. So it was back to basics as we found our way back to our beloved I-40 W, stopping briefly chez Wendy's to make friends with some more Grand Canyon natives. Then we drove and drove and drove (all of a sudden four hours has become almost nothing in terms of a commute) straight through to the Hoover Dam, where we were determined to be non threatening by the Hoover Dam Terrorist police. Since the Hoover Dam is sandwiched between The Grand Canyon and Las Vegas it's kind of got a tough break in terms of garnering excitement but at the very least it prompted us to make dam puns for the next forty five minutes. One of the many themes of this road trip happens to be Pun Always Intended. We love puns. One of my greatest disappointments in life is the fact that not everyone finds puns as side splitting as I do.

In Nevada we stopped to clean up our acts and the car because the image of pulling into our hotel in a car covered in five days worth of American soil and filled with stray corn nuts, empty water bottles and shoes was a little embarrassing, but probably would have been funny, if it ended up being anything like how I imagine it to be. So we washed the car, threw out the trash and tried to consolidate all of our road trip entertainment into the Speeding Ticket Compartment. Then we stopped at a CVS, where we learned that every place in Nevada that sells food also sells alcohol. We got a confirmation of this from the checkout girl, who was literally baffled that there are places in the world where, if you want to purchase alcohol, you need to go to a specific store where only alcohol is sold. 

Go figure.

Road Trip to L.A.: Day Five

Albequerque, NM to Flagstaff, AZ

Any bad taste that our immediate arrival in New Mexico left was completely rinsed out today when we made a quick detour to Santa Fe before heading to Flagstaff. Liz said it best when she determined that if Boston and Provincetown had a baby with an affinity for art, the ability to speak Spanish and a desire to live in the desert, it would be Santa Fe.

We were all starting to get a little punchy from all the confined driving and the lack of any real contact with people other than gas station employees, hotel clerks, and our waitress last night who, as she brought out our food, broke into a hacking coughing fit and explained that she was just getting over pneumonia so it really, really helped that Santa Fe was so charming. Most importantly, it had probably the best Tex Mex that I'll ever have in my life, especially given my lack of any real desire to visit actual Mexico. We're not really getting in all of the awesome nighttime funfests that we thought we would on this trip, so we decided that getting a bunch of margaritas at 11:00 AM would be a good idea, since we had the opportunity. We did, and it was. 

Santa Fe had ton of kitschy fun stores that sold a ton of kitschy fun Native American paraphernalia like wolf t-shirts and dream catchers and also really legitimately beautiful jewelry made of desert stones that I'd never seen before. Of course, all of this paled in comparison to Dinosaurs & More which had geodes and epic oil paintings of dinosaurs and little porcelain tiny dinos and fossils that they were just selling for far less than they were worth. Seriously. $300 for a dinosaur? I would fully expect to fork over thousands. If we weren't already crammed into this car it would probably be loaded down with so many petrified remains that were found in California and Arizona and New Mexico. I guess maybe dinosaurs aren't as big a deal out West because they have so many of them buried haphazardly in the ground that people just stumble upon them while planting flowerbeds. If they only knew.

Interestingly enough, Santa Fe did not have the Southwestern desert climate that we all assumed it would; there was a solid amount of snow and ice everywhere. Who knew? Even so, all was not lost because we did see a tumbleweed blow by on our way out which helped to preserve the desert expectations set for me by television, movies and Disney World. The Disney World thing makes this particularly funny because I have to keep reminding myself that all of this is actually real and not just a Disney-fied representation of the truth, so there are tumbleweeds in New Mexico, but there is also snow and there really are prairie dogs in the prairie but they don't actually just pop consistently up from their holes for the viewing pleasure of passing drivers.

Our immediate arrival in Arizona was a real trip. We passed a solid amount of inexplicable weirdness on this stretch of I 40-W, including cement tee pees,  some sort of  nuclear power plant and a stegosaurus made of Christmas lights just hanging out in a field. Driving along 40 W at night is probably one of the freakier things I've done, it literally feels like if you were to stop at all, even for a second, your car would promptly be attacked by wolves. Oh, and also- it snows in Arizona, too. A lot. How come nobody talks about all of the skiing opportunities in Arizona? I must have just missed those conversations because I was too busy listening to everyone going on and on about the fact that Arizona's a sweltering, arid desert. That is what road trips like this are good for, I think. Not so much about the destination, but everything in between that you run into and get to confirm exists, once and for all. Except for the desert wolves. I'm totally fine just keeping those a hypothetical. 

Road Trip to L.A.: Day Four

Little Rock, AR to Albuquerque, NM

We settled into our 12+ hour drive to Albuquerque  and the Widget practically laughed its nonexistant head off when we programmed New Mexico into it as our destination. I really love giving that thing human-like qualities and I really wish it was more of an interactive robot than it actually is. Anyway, today really separated the men from the boys in terms of Road Tripping, and we are the men. Boys drive to the airport. Men drive to the ultimate destination in a tiny car and utilize every available space. They fill their glove compartments with speeding tickets (Natalie added a second one after 10 minutes behind the wheel, when a Texas cop clocked her going 90 in a 70. What we didn't tell him was that five minutes prior she topped off at 106 in a 70. These roads are flat, straight and empty. You can only speed), princess crowns and corn nuts and they get really jazzed when they see a fellow Massachusetts license plate and they don't bitch out. Ever. 

Here's my Arkansas concern: tornadoes. I'm not sure if Arkansas is just on constant alert for them or if we were actually in real danger of getting twistered,  but there were warnings all over the place and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't horrifying to hear about tornadoes touching down in the "midwest and Arkansas" and having it actually apply to my general vicinity. Luckily Liz and Eleanor saw Twister a hundred times apiece and were fully prepared for the chase if it needed to happen. We were a little on edge though, especially when, last night while we were sleeping, the heat or something in the hotel kicked on and I'd be lying if I said I didn't panic just a little because it didn't NOT sound like an oncoming locomotive, AKA tornado. 

In Oklahoma we held onto our scalps as we entered Cherokee country and proceeded to drive down I-40 West for 537 miles. However, just because we spent fourteen hours on the same road does NOT mean a decrease in excitement. First and foremost, Eleanor whipped out surprise number two - hillbilly teeth - which really helped us to fit in with our new peers. Then, shortly after entering Texas we stumbled upon the World's Largest Cross which definitely warranted a pit stop as it was one huge cross. As in, See-It-From-Space huge. The World's Largest Cross also featured a gift shop and Blessed Mary's Amer-Tex-Mex Restaurant. There was really no time to dilly dally, although it would have been amazing to see how they blended religious innuendoes with a Tex Mex menu.

One thing I'm really loving about all of this is watching all of the stereotypes I have heard just fall right into place. It's really satisfying, especially since now I can not only continue the hilarious stereotyping, but I can do it with the ammo of proof to fire back at those who might try and make me feel like a jerk for generalizing.  I can't even begin to describe the accuracy with which New Mexico is stereotyped. I just...I literally cannot. The scenery is lovely though, if not a little Martian.

My one complaint is that those crazy "Welcome to (STATE)" signs come and go so darn fast that it's damn near impossible to photograph them. I thought I was going to have a bitchin' collection of pictures of those signs but all I have is New Mexico and Texas because they usually just sneak up on us as we're blowing past them on one highway or another. C'est la vie.

Road Trip to L.A.: Day Three

Nashville, TN to Little Rock, AR

Memphis is particularly good for three things: billboards, barbecued pork products and Elvis super-fans. We have experienced them all. The billboards are especially puzzling, since they advertise everything from Super Adult Video Stores (which I find interesting, especially when they're directly in front of Super Churches the size of stadiums) to tourist traps to places where you can get your vasectomy reversed. I've heard a rumor that tries to explain the Southern drawl by saying that the reason everyone speaks so slowly is because it's so hot all the time. I always thought that it was a kind of bunk rumor because it gets pretty hot in Boston in the summer and everyone moves just as quickly as ever, so as to get from one air conditioned place to the next in the least amount of time possible. 

Anyway, my point is that I think that the Southern delay has absolutely nothing  to do with temperature because people drive slowly, too. Which can be irritating, but also kind of nice because it has given us the opportunity to appreciate roadside subplots. Like, for instance, a serious Tennessee drug bust involving a pick up truck surrounded by two cop cars, one cop lying under the perp's truck searching for smack, presumably, while the other held his gun (!) on the guy in question. In addition to  this, we get to see lots of wildlife. We're really just a bunch of zoologists at this point, spotting everything from bison (which years of serious Oregon trail playing has taught me that, while I can  eat them and sleep in their hides, I won't be able to carry more than 200 pounds of meat back with me to my wagon) to cows to horses to goats to hawks to deer. I can definitely say that I've seen two deer. Natalie may have seen four more, but, according to her, "they're either deer or wolves...eating rats." So that's interesting.

We made it to Memphis, ate some of the aforementioned Excellent Barbecue at a delightfully questionable vacant place. We had a lovely waiter named Jeremy who initially thought we were martians but warmed up to us eventually and refused to give us any details about the Super Secret Barbecue recipe because he was under a confidentiality agreement with the Food Network. When we were leaving we found four roosters just hanging out in the parking lot taking baths in the dirt, which Natalie immediately called out on being four cocks getting dirty. Then we made our way to Graceland, which was everything that Uncle Jesse from Full House promised and more. Particularly because we just happened to stumble on it at the start of ELVIS WEEK on the day before Elvis' birthday. As a result, we got to participate in a Graceland Scavenger Hunt alongside hundreds of religiously obsessive Elvis followers who probably plan their entire years around Elvis Week AND we got the 2008 Limited Collector's Edition Elvis Beanie Baby Bear FREE with our admission, which retails at $10 but will probably fetch hundreds on Ebay. What. Luck. While in Graceland, Natalie and I ran into some lovely old women decked head to toe in bedazzled Elvis paraphernalia who told us how glad they were that we were there. This was particularly adorable since they didn't even work there, they were just really serious about their Graceland time. Eleanor and Liz weren't so lucky and got reprimanded by  a random couple for being poser Elvis fans and taking up space in Graceland from those who were really serious about being there. Bottom line, we beat Graceland and the super-fans at their own game and took the Elvis Week Scavenger Hunt to school. I'm really looking forward to the day when Justin Randall Timberlake's Memphis home gets opened to the public so that I can visit that one.

I'll close this with a little list we've compiled of things we enjoy about Memphis and the south, en general:

1. Airbrushed nature murals on the back of RVs

2. Sweet tea

3. Strawberry soda

4. Speed limits of 70

5. Cheap room service

6. Friendly people* Southern hospitality does exist.

7. The fact that no matter how far you've driven or how much you've let yourself go, it's pretty difficult NOT to look good by comparison.

8. The fact that forties are not only sold in roadside convenience stores, but they're cheaper than most other beverages.

9. The landscapes (The sky looks enormous here and you can see the entirety of all the constellations)

10. Caves

Road Trip to L.A.: Day Two

Washington, DC to Nashville, TN

After being touristas at the White House (and, incidentally, NOT seeing the snipers staked out around it, because they are good at their jobs) and learning firsthand that people who live in Washington DC are not very nice, we hit the road again towards Nashville, aka we drove through Virginia all the livelong day. Fun facts about Virginia: 1. It is for lovers 2. The speed on the highways is monitored by aircraft, which, by the way, is about as prevalent as the White House snipers. We also saw a few Super Churches and our first too-legit-to quit Confederate flag.

Speaking of Confederates, let's just talk about a lovely little dining establishment known as The Cracker Barrel. I'd seen a couple of them in New England but oh man they are a dime a dozen down here so three hours into our 10+ hour journey we figured we should stop to eat at one because Eleanor really loves it and at the time we didn't know that there'd be a Cracker Barrel for every exit on the highway. Here is where we experience first of what  I can only assume will end up being many sub Mason-Dixon culture shocks: a considerate sign informing us that all people, regardless of race, gender, and religion were welcome to patronize the Cracker Barrel. Liz was the first to see the logistics: In former Confederate states, such a sign is necessary so that everyone knows that the name "Cracker Barrel" does not mean that it is a Barrel that only Crackers are allowed into. So that was nice. Our waiter was a sweet little boy who thought we were Martians and everything was literally dripping with grease, a la Paula Dean, aka awesome.

Then we drove all night a la Celine, and by we I mean Natalie, who finished the last leg of the trek and, four minutes after getting behind the wheel, promptly got pulled over on the Virginia/Tennessee border for doing 80 in a 65.  Here's how that went:

Cop: Is there a reason why you are driving 80 in a 65?

Natalie: We're just heading to Nashville and I guess I got a little gas heavy, HOO HAH, I'M CUH-RAZY!!

Cop:  Uhhh okay. Have a ticket.

Three hours later, the speed limit got jacked up to 70 for awhile so Natalie was good to go, racing the dashboard Widget, shaving minutes off of our approximated destination time. Then it got docked back down to 65 but she maintained a steady speed of 80 only to get pulled over again in Tennessee. This time Liz had a minute to prepare Natalie a more desperate, less Southern party animal response, so we were good until the cop threw us for a couple of loops, the most important one being a little lesson in regional dialects: People in Tennessee do not speak English.

Cop 2: Hugga bugga de deup delagay fuer the sugupt?

Blank stares.

Liz: (Translating) Natalie, here's the car registration and where's your license?

Cop 2: (In Tennessee) Where are you girls headed at 80 MPH?

Natalie: We're just trying to get to a hotel before it gets too dark, we've been traveling all day, I'm precious, I thought the speed limit was still 70, we're just a bunch of freedom loving Americans on a little road trip, etc. etc.

Cop 2: Alright, drive safely, the speed limit goes back up to 70 in a couple of miles.

Natalie: But not 80, right?!!

Laughs galore, crisis averted. 

ALSO, we passed from Eastern Standard into Central Time. Driving through time zones is a lot less climactic in real life than it is in my head, shocker. I imagine time zones to be separated by shimmery, iridescent forcefields that you pass through and go back into time. Turns out, you don't even notice at all. Cell phones automatically readjust and driving into the past is only spectacular in theory.

So, bottom line, we've made it to Tennessee in four respective, individual pieces and  are now ordering the cheapest room service I have ever seen in my life from this hotel we're staying in. It's only a little bit questionable, mainly because of a mysterious dark stain on the carpet that we initially thought was blood but Eleanor CSI-ed it and determined that it's merely iodine used to clean and disinfect the floor after the blood was shed. This road trip is giving me plenty of examples of states other than Massachusetts to compare California to, which is definitely excellent for my perspective.

Road Trip to L.A.: Day One

Leominster, MA to Washington DC

It's really poetic to set out on a cross country drive to Los Angeles with nothing but the clothes on your back and a dream in your heart. It's less poetic when you do it with a duffel bag full of everything you need to survive, a credit card, a GPS, AAA TripTiks, predetermined routes with hotel destinations and three tres fabu travel buddies but it's much more fun this way. It's also kind of impressive to see how much stuff can be squeezed into a Honda Civic. 

Liz, being the champ that she is, drove like a powerhouse straight through to Washington, DC. As the driver and navigator, respectively, she and I had to get back to basics and Lewis and Clarke it using only maps and our innate senses of direction until after the Tappan Zee bridge since the "Widget" (GPS) was hell bent on sending us through the Bronx, AKA Certain Death. New Jersey was hateful and filled with people on a determined mission to cause multi car pile ups, but we were able to take the edge off with a light lunch of fried things and Cinnabons before re-hitting the road with a vengeance. The total number of hours driven added up to about seven, which is probably an average of half the time we'll be driving from here on out, so that'll get interesting. Luckily Eleanor is keeping things fun by introducing new treats and activities that the rest of us have never seen before every so often, just like the checklist that Natalie printed out from some parenting website suggested she do when traveling with children. Par example, today we all got lovely Disney Princess driving crowns. Luckiest.

We arrived in DC and I promptly dropped my beloved retainer, in its case, on the sidewalk where it proceeded to burst open and scatter my retainers all over the filthy pavement. I'm now facing the dilemma as to whether I should retire them once and for all or continue use and risk getting tuberculosis. It might be nice to start fresh and not dependent on my comfort orthodontia. Anyway. Now we're just lying comatose in a hotel room in DC, taking full advantage of our rights to personal space, watching an MSNBC documentary about an impotent serial killing "monster" in Florence, which is only serving to fuel the growing prejudice towards Italians. 

Maybe I'll get back into this.

Facing unafraid the plans that you've made is an interesting little notion, especially if those plans happen to be slightly terrifying. Like mine are. But really, the only thing that scares me more than consciously moving myself away from everything and everyone I know is thinking about what would happen if I were to stay.

2007 will always be a favorite, too much good happened for it not to be, but 2008 is going to be my year for risky business. 2008 is for putting everything that I learned in 2007 about myself, about others, about owning it into practice so that I can start learning how to be a Grown Up. 

Grown ups do not chew their thumb skin, so I'll start there. 

On a separate note, I'm trying to decide whether I should start a brand new google blog to document my illustrious Road Trip or just resuscitate this little guy and do it from here. Either way, I'm 98% sure it will be brilliant, the 2% of doubt is based solely on whether or not we'll make it out of New Jersey alive.

It's been a satisfying first 24 hours. I've got a good feeling about this.