Mating bugs and dead malls

As we loaded up the car to begin day three of our journey, there were all these horrifying black bugs everywhere. At first they were just on our car. And then they were on each other. It's apparently horrifying black bug mating season. We saw them everywhere. And they even would be mid-coitus and flying around. It was the stuff of my nightmares.

The bugs that were everywhere!

Our friends who live there, A-Squared, used to live in DC. He is originally from Alabama, and she's from the West coast. At their wedding, we met a bunch of his Bama friends, and they told me there's a saying in Alabama: "Thank God for Mississippi." After traveling through both, I get it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We met A-Squared, their adorable little nugget, and her friend J for breakfast at this little cafe in downtown Montgomery. It may have been the cheapest meal I've ever had. I got a breakfast sandwich, side of grits, and coffee for like $7. I can't even get coffee for $7 where I'm about to live!

We said our goodbyes and headed west to finally cross Mississippi off the state list. We drove through Selma and crossed the Alabama River. Unfortunately, we took the other bridge and missed the bridge from the march. It occurred to both of us too late! Most of our drive from Montgomery to Mississippi was on small highways instead of the interstate. It was a great way to see Alabama and some crazy interchanges with insane numbers of signs.

We got back on the interstate just before we hit the border. Y'all (hee) I'm glad we went, but I don't think I need to go back. Granted, we didn't really see Mississippi. We stuck close to the highway, only stopping to super charge. But, what we saw didn't really impress.

We hit the first supercharger around lunchtime. It was in a mall - the sort of mall that feels about six months from total annihilation. There were a few people milling about, mostly in the four option food court. And none of the options were good. We opted to try the Mexican restaurant adjacent to the food court. It was aggressively fine, and it seemed the least sketchy of the options. I know there are regional stores and eateries, but I'd heard of none of the choices. There wasn't even a Sbarro or McDonald's!

We passed through Chunky, Mississippi, which just feels way too on the nose. The only thing that could top that in terms of relevance would be to have a town called Diabetes.

Sign for Chunky, MS

The second supercharger we hit in MS was at an outlet mall. There were some okay stores, and I almost wanted to buy something at Le Creuset, but I figured Eddie would kill me given how cramped the car already is. It was a Friday, but the outlet mall was also dead. I think I saw about a dozen other people walking around. There's nothing sadder to a shopaholic than failing commerce.

We finally hit the Louisiana border and made a stop in Monroe to charge. Fun fact, we were invited to a wedding in Monroe, Louisiana that we opted not to attend for logistical reasons. So, I thought it was funny we ended up driving through. 

Our destination for the evening was Shreveport. I had this image of Shreveport from a girl I used to know. In 3rd or 4th grade, we got a new student at my Hebrew school. She was from there and totally foreign to us all. She had a pretty thick accent and talked with her hands in a super bizarre fashion. She sort of bent her fingers back in really uncomfortable looking ways - she must have been double jointed. Anyway, when she introduced herself, she talked about this teeny town we'd all probably never heard of called Shreveport. So, I was thinking Mayberry. Shreveport is anything but.

Apparently, gambling is illegal in Texas, so Shreveport is chock full of casinos and other shore leave type activities. In fact, our hotel was a couple blocks from the Hustler club.

Our hotel in Shreveport was the kind that felt like it used to be really nice and upscale, but now just feels...rustic with an aura of faded glory. The staff were very nice and helped us unload our packed car onto two luggage carts and up to our room. Once we unloaded, we headed out for dinner. We went to a highly-rated steakhouse called 2 John's that was pretty good but not worth the prices. We also opted to bring our own wine, since our entire collection is in the car and corkage was cheap.

When we got back from dinner, something appeared to be going on with the elevator, but we were only on the second floor and didn't think much of it. We should have thought about it more.

The next morning I called down to the front desk to request help with the bags. The woman who answered the phone said, "The elevator is broken so we can't get the luggage carts up there." After she assured me she wasn't joking (because I asked), I requested that someone come up and help us haul everything down at least. She said that she would send someone, and she did: a young woman who didn't look especially hearty.

Apparently this same young woman was trapped in the elevator the night before, which is how we the hotel learned it was broken. And, because this is Louisiana, no one is in a hurry to fix it

Mercifully, we got the car loaded, and I got some bonus cardio, and we were on our way once again.

Four states in one day

Our first stop on the road was in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I think it's good we're experiencing the south on our way west. I'm going to miss being called "darlin" or "sweetie" in casual restaurants, and it also gives the mosquitoes one last opportunity to absolutely bite the shit out of me. Seriously, I woke up with like six new bug bites this morning.

In NC, we stayed with our friends M and J. Despite being our age, they are who I want Eddie and I to be when we grow up. Everything about them is so incredibly effortless and cool. They have an amazing house they just remodeled into something that could appear in a magazine. The decor is eclectic mid-century modern. They have the most adorable 3 year old son, who is precocious, stylish, and such a charmer.

They're from Los Angeles, and moved to NC a couple years ago. And their hospitality would put any born and bred southerner to shame. They had laid out robes and slippers for us in our room. They provided a wide selection of  toiletries for our use. J made us some truly amazing gluten-free pancakes and M played barista and introduced me to oat milk, which might be my new favorite thing. Something tells me I will have a much easier time finding it in Nor-Cal than he does in Chapel Hill! As we were leaving, their trainer showed up for their work out. Getting Eddie to work out with me is probably in my top three of things I want to change about my marriage. So, they aren't just #lifegoals - they epitomize #couplegoals too.

We said our goodbyes and headed south en route to Alabama. We stopped in South Carolina for lunch at Bojangles. I figured before leaving the south, I had to try it. I also felt justified, because breakfast was so healthy! One thing I will not miss about the south (VA is a southern state) is how forking slow everyone is. We ordered, and I was waiting for the food. I saw the guy plate everything except Eddie's biscuit. And then he walked away. He went in the back to deal with stuff coming out of the ovens or microwaves or whatever they use at Bojangles. And I waited for him to come right back. He didn't. So, when someone else walked by, I innocently asked, "Is that my food?" He completed the order and handed it to me. It was good, but I'm not sure I get the cult following.

Bojangles

I always thought GA was the Peach State; apparently, the best ones come from SC!

Our next stop was Atlanta to charge and see some family. As it was midday and midweek, we were only able to see my aunt and uncle on my dad's side. Thankfully, one of the Atlanta superchargers is actually at a desirable location, and we were able to meet them at a Yard House. I was feeling sort of rushed, because everything was taking longer than anticipated that day. We were trying to get to Alabama before our friends put their baby down for the night, and it was getting dicey. But then my aunt said, "You know you get an hour." 

We did not know that. I realize that we will cross all the time zones, but I failed to remember that Alabama was central time. It was like a gift from the heavens.

We had a nice visit, and got back on the road to our fourth and final state of the day: Alabama.

By this point it was getting late, and then sun went down. So, we're on this very dark highway in Alabama. The only other cars we saw were abandoned by the side of the road. The banjo music from Deliverance played in my head on repeat (RIP Burt), and I just wanted to get the heck outta there.

We finally arrived at our friends' house in time to meet their precious little one and visit for a bit.

We decided to meet them for breakfast the next day, and then went to our hotel to crash.

Heading West

We're off! As we pulled away from our house - our first house that we built - I sobbed uncontrollably. I knew I was sad, but I failed to realize the depths until I couldn't stop crying. Yes, new adventure awaits. But, I liked our old life and home. And I'm not much of an adventurer anyways.

I called my mom from the I-95 on ramp. She reminded me of the farewell I gave our bathroom sinks when I was 2 or 3 and my parents remodeled the house. She didn't bring up (this time) how angry I got with her for not letting me say goodbye to the carpet. I guess I've always been overly sentimental and had trouble with change. Or maybe I just get overly attached to fixtures and finishes.

Truth is, I am excited. Not to sound too California, but I'm hoping to find myself out there. In many ways, I've felt lost recently. My last job was comfortable but unfulfilling and somewhat dead end. This move provided the necessary kick in the ass to finally leave it. I can finally pursue my passions - as soon as I figure out what those are exactly.

In the meantime, we're on an epic road trip with a car that is packed to the gills.

 

We'll see the country. We'll visit friends and family. And we'll both be unemployed for the first time ever.

Standing By My Man

I should have known better than to be play the role of the supportive wife; when you play the role, you end up having to be supportive of things you don’t like. But, when my husband told me that his dream job had become available - and they wanted him to apply - I told him to throw his hat in the ring. I mean, it was a little bit of a career stretch for him - not to say he isn’t totally qualified. It’s just that it was a bit more senior than his current level. Let the universe decide my fate, I thought (#basicwhitegirlthinking)! Well, the universe has a fucked up sense of humor.

From that point, everything happened quickly. A recruiter reached out; he had an in-person trip to California; and then the job offer came. When he told me, he was smiling so broadly and was so excited, and I just wanted to throw up and told him he was ruining my life. It’s taken some time, but the nausea and anger have mostly subsided. Now, I just need to process the the sadness of leaving the place I’ve called home for more than a decade and deal with all of the logistical crap that comes with moving cross country. There are services and memberships to cancel. There are repairs to make to the house to get it ready to sell - not to mention a house to sell! There are closets to clean out and trips to make to Goodwill. And I have been coping really well - just check my recycling and see all the empty wine bottles as proof.

I love my husband, and I choose him. So, I guess that means I choose California too. But, it’s been a lot to process and a total emotional rollercoaster. While I think there will be much good to come out of this (e.g., his career opportunities, a chance for me to evaluate my career and where I want it to go, proximity to family and friends, better weather, and the potential to be a citizen of California when it cedes from Trump’s America), it’s still really hard to uproot my life in service to someone else’s ambitions.

So, this massive life altering adventure has encouraged me to come back to blogging. Here, I plan to chronicle our process and journey (including our cross country driving adventure). There will be whining, but I will be a better person for writing this and won’t you be better for reading it?

Pump It Up?

This summer marks my 15 year anniversary with diabetes. We met when I was so young. I don't know where the time has gone! In fact, I can barely remember a life without it. Diabetes has been like a spouse and constant companion. Unfortunately, it's one I never liked much and can't divorce.

For years, I pretended like I wasn't that diabetic. I was reluctant to tell people I was diabetic at all. After all, I was managed with minimal meds and in pretty good control. But, as I age and my metabolism slowly abandons me, my diabetes becomes more demanding of my attention.

Now I am grappling with the question of whether or not to use an insulin pump. The friends I have who use the pump generally love it. I know it would help me achieve super tight control, which would be beneficial to my long-term health.

The downside would be its omnipresence. I would have something attached to me most of the time. Injection sites can get gross or irritated. But my biggest hesitation stems from what having the pump means. It feels like admitting defeat. It's admitting that I am that diabetic, and it isn't going to get better. In fact, it will just continue to get worse as my barely functioning pancreas ceases to function at all.

It's a scary thought and hard to confront. Despite living with diabetes for almost half my life, I have never truly accepted my life sentence. I know I can't live in denial forever. I know I need to be proactive about my health. I just wish that I could keep pretending a little longer.

I can't, and the pump is an admission to myself that this is real; this is permanent.

I should say that I am rather pessimistic about a cure. I think it's too profitable to treat. Call me a cynic, but that's a topic for another post.

Happy anniversary, diabetes. I hope I grow old, even if it is with you. But I want you to understand that I hate you and always will.

Adrift In Adult Friendships

In my adulthood, I find myself feeling as though I am karmically paying for my teenage bullshit. See, when I was in junior high or high school, I would get sick of certain friends. They were nice people, and they did nothing to deserve my abandonment or occasional scorn. But, I was just over them for one reason or another. I grew out of giving people the heave ho and have come to cherish the people in my life. But karma is a bitch.

Since college, I have had several friends "break up" with me. One was super direct - she sent me a hand-written letter and everything! At the time, I was really upset. Now, I have come to see the humor in that particular ending. Others have been more subtle and just stop accepting my invitations to do stuff or even responding to my emails all together. Sure, as life progresses, people drift apart. Sometimes it's about geographic distance. Other times it is about being in a different place in life. But sometimes it seems there is no reason. It's like my friend just got sick of me and decided to drift away, and I feel like I am frantically paddling to keep up with them - to keep them in my life. I even sometimes ask if I did something - if I unknowingly caused a rift. I have yet to have anyone respond in the affirmative to that question. Which means if it is my fault, they have no interest in letting me repair it. They are just done.

The loss feels like a death - and it is; it is the death of a relationship. I go through the five phases of grief:

Denial - they are just busy. They aren't blowing me off. We are still close. I just need to be understanding of everything that is going on with their life right now. They'll get in touch when things are less hectic.

Anger - Why the hell aren't they getting in touch? Screw them! If you don't want to be my friend, it's your loss. Good luck finding someone to put up with all your bullshit and neuroses!

Bargaining - Okay, if they email today, all will be forgiven. I should reach out to let them know the door is still open (despite leaving the ball in their court multiple times). If I show them I still care, maybe I can get them to care about me.

Depression - No one likes me. What is wrong with me? Why don't I have any friends? The only reason anyone hangs out with me is because they like my husband. God, what if he leaves me? Then I will have no one. It's only a matter of time before I have more cats than friends and think sweat pants are acceptable clothes for work and running errands.

Acceptance - This person may have decided they don't need my friendship, but I still have lots of amazing and supportive people in my life.

If I am being honest though, acceptance rarely comes. While I recognize the friendships I have and feel fortunate to have great people in my life (and I really do), the loss is always there. It haunts me. Running into a friend that cut me loose is painful. We make awkward small talk, and I still hope they will throw me the bone of "we should get together and catch up." But that never happens.

I can't change what I did when I was younger. I don't know if my abandonment still bugs any of my former friends. I can only try to do better as an adult.

San Francisco: Cosmopolitan City or Toilet for the Homeless?

I spent 7 years living in the Bay Area. There were things I loved, and there were things I hated. For all the amazing food, culture, and shopping, the city has an out of control homeless problem. Many of these poor people are clearly mentally ill. During my time at Berkeley, I cannot even tell you how many times I heard people blame Ronald Reagan for closing all the mental institutions during his tenure as governor of the state. Whether or not it's a problem he created, I still don't understand why no one since him has done anything at all to fix it.

I get amnesia about how bad the problem is between visits to the Bay Area. But, sure enough I am promptly reminded almost immediately upon arrival in downtown San Francisco. There are pan handlers, there are people muttering to themselves in a vaguely threatening matter, and today I saw the foulest thing I have EVER seen in my entire life. As I was walking up O'Farrell back to my hotel, I noticed a homeless man scrambling after some papers. When I got closer, I saw that his pants were down. I realized what was happening, but it was too late to look away. He was defecating on the side of a building - and let's just say his stomach seemed to be upset.

How can a city with such a storied history, such scenic views, and such high property values allow this sort of thing to happen? I know for every yuppie, there is some former hippie espousing a 'live and let live' philosophy, but come on! Market Street smells like urine all the time. And while I have seen poop on the sidewalk before and been convinced it is probably not from a dog, I have never actually witnessed someone in the act.

Tourists will always flock to the city, and businesses will always operate in San Francisco. But don't the tourists, businesses, and residents deserve better? And frankly don't these poor homeless people? I don't profess to have the answer here. I know this is a complicated problem without an easy solution. I just think it's a shameful and shitty (literally) situation that takes away from the allure of a truly world-class city.