Day 3: Thanks, Texas, but I'll pass

The driving. Oh the driving. Our goal for Day 3 was to get to Ft. Worth to visit stay with a friend of mine. That meant getting through 2.5 states. Now, it's not like Arizona and New Mexico are HUGE or anything like that, but they aren't tiny either.

We set out pretty early (7am or so) so we'd make it before midnight. Matt got us checked out of the hotel and brought me a cup of delicious bacon for breakfast. That's right. A CUP of bacon. A-mazing! I obviously got the better end of the deal - he had a soft apple and an unripened banana. (Which seemed to love us. More on that later.)

When we hit the road, it was still a bit dark out. That didn't last long. As I was driving through some beautiful red rock areas, out of nowhere (NOWHERE, I say!), this giant orb rose into the sky. It produced a magnificent light and radiated heat. I was unsure what it was, having not seen it in so long. Matt informed me it was something called "the sun." Well, this "sun" was REALLY blinding. We pulled in for some gas (in the middle of empty space), and I bought a pair of cheap sunglasses. It was either looking like I was in a bad '90s movie or drive us off into the tumbleweeds. I added some peanut butter M&Ms to my breakfast here. It were wonderful.

Once my eyes were appropriately protected, the driving got much easier. The views we got in New Mexico and Arizona were gorgeous. It seems hard to believe that so much nothing could be so breathtaking, but it was. When the sun started to set in New Mexico, I wanted to pull over and take pictures, but that seemed inadvisable since there wasn't really a place to go besides the side of the road.

We finally crossed into Tex-ass (which is how I said it every time I saw a sign with "Texas" on it, pretty sure Matt wanted  to beat me to death). The traffic backed up and the towns were totally po-dunk. We passed through Amarillo around 5pm and should have stopped there for dinner. Had we known what was coming, we would have. But, we thought it was too early and assumed we'd pass through another decently sized town. Ha.

We got to Childress, Texas and couldn't take it anymore, we had to eat. We'd eaten so much fried and fast food, that we wanted something different. So we chose Pizza Hut. On a Friday night. Whoops. We tried to order it for carry-out, but they told us it would take 45 minutes so I told them we'd eat-in instead. The girl took forever to understand my order - 2 personal cheese pizzas and an order of cheese sticks isn't really that challenging of an order. When she'd finally gotten it, I picked a table near the back that looked like it had been cleaned in the last week or so. Matt expressed concerns about the safety of the car and my bike decided we should sit near the door. HE picked a table that was coated in I don't know how many people's lunches and dinners. As I went to set my arms down on the table, he screeched out, "DON'T TOUCH THE TABLE!" Like that was somehow really going to be an option.

We looked around and were sort of appalled. The salad bar was gross looking and there were croutons or something all over the floor around it. No one ever came to wipe off our table either. We watched people come and go, and I thanked whatever powers I believed in at the time that that place wasn't my hometown.

They finally brought our food and asked if we wanted silverware. The waitress brought back plastic forks. That's it. A KNIFE might have been helpful. We didn't try to push our luck with her. I started eating, and almost immediately regretted it. The personal pan pizzas aren't even that big, but I didn't finish mine. We paid and got back in the car. Within 30 minutes of being back in the car, I felt sick. About the same time, Matt looked at me and said we were never eating there again. My agreement was rapidly granted.

We finally rolled into Ft. Worth around 10:45. I don't know that I've been happier to get somewhere. I loved catching up with Joanne since I hadn't seen her in over a year and a half. And, it was really nice to sleep in an actual bed.

Friday was a loooooooooooong day.

Day 2: A great place to hide a body

We made a very important decision upon waking up: Screw the Pacific Coast Highway. We’d had nothing but low-to-no visibility, so the whole point of traveling on it was lost. We got in the car at the hotel and pulled up Google maps on our phones. We told it to take us to Vegas the fastest way. Unfortunately, because we’d already come so far, we had to continue on the PCH. We did finally make it over to I-5 and had relatively smooth sailing.

I also had some little nuggets of joy. First one – when I opened the car door to load my bags, an odor wafted out at me. I knew there was no way I could ride for a whole day with the smell, so I started to investigate. I sniffed all around the car, but couldn’t identify it. Then I realized what it was. My nail polish was in the trunk, in a plastic case. Apparently the plastic isn’t strong enough to contain the odor. Rather than suffer, I threw it away in the hotel room. Fifteen bottles of nail polish – gone, a casualty of the road.

When I went to shut the trunk after taking out the nail polish and filling the space with something else (my car is COMPLETELY packed), I went to shut the trunk lid. Turns out, the trunk didn’t really need my help. It came flying down ON MY BOOB. I have a nice welt and bruise to prove it. JOY.

The next bit of fun came when we stopped at the gas station to fuel up before heading out for the day. I was walking around to the back of my car to get to the gas tank. A homeless man was standing behind my car, staring at my bike. I thought he might be considering stealing it, so I said hi. His response was, “My Specialized Flyer bike was nicer than yours.” And then he walked off. Fucker.

It nearly gave me a panic attack to hand over the keys, but I just couldn’t drive after a while. My neck was 85 kinds of tense and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I asked Matt not to kill us. He said he wouldn’t make any promises.

At one point, we were having conversation and I was munching on some blueberry Jelly Belly. Not much else to do in the car when you’re driving at 90 miles an hour a high rate of speed. I responded to him and looked away. When I looked back over at him, he was laughing uncontrollably. I asked him what was so fucking funny, but he wouldn’t/couldn’t answer. Apparently I have a slight problem with spraying it instead of saying it. I’d totally spit jelly bean on his face. I told him I was just trying to share the jelly beans with him and that I was hurt he was laughing at my offering. The bastard.

As the night descended upon us, we got to thinking about Vegas and whether we should continue to Vegas or just head toward Dallas. Knowing that we wouldn’t get in until at least midnight pushed us toward skipping it. I also learned that I might not be the world’s best pet mother. Matt was the one who asked if Orpheus would even be allowed in the hotel if we stayed at a place on The Strip. I looked back at my baby, sitting in his cage, staring at me as though I’m forcing him endure the most horrific experience with this trip (not surprising, since Matt feels the same way). I made the hard decision and said, “Well, he can probably sleep in the car.” Matt at looked at me as though I’d grown a third head and I also got the sense that if he ever has children of his own, I will not be allowed to go within 500 feet of them. He said I lack maternal instinct. I stared at him blankly, but ultimately we decided to bypass Vegas and re-routed ourselves straight to Dallas.

We got pushed onto some really odd state roads and ended up going through a place called Nipton. The road to Nipton is dark, scary, and prone to flooding. If you were looking for a place to bury a body where NO ONE will ever find it (as long as you bury it deep in the ground), that is the place. I pointed that out to Matt. I was a bit freaked when he turned to me, smiled like Heath Ledger’s Joker and said, “I was just thinking that.” There were very few cars and it was PITCH BLACK. It was the darkest 31 miles of our lives. There were no gas stations along the way and we were just shy of pushing the car to the gas station ourselves. No cell signal meant I wouldn’t be able to call for roadside assistance either.

We took a brief drive along the historic Route 66, humming the son to ourselves. Yes, we know we’re dorks. We made it to the hotel in Kingman, Arizona for our earliest check-in yet – 10something

Quick re-cap of the trip so far:

Times Matt’s told me that I need to re-set my lady cycle to match his: 2

Times Matt’s asked “Are we there yet?”: 3

Times Matt’s denied that he volunteered to do this drive with me: 15

Highest elevation point: 7,355

Times Matt has said he’s a better driver than me: 7,500 7,501

Times Matt’s threatened to kill me and leave my body somewhere: 10gajillion

Times I’ve been thankful he’s riding with me: How many hours have we been driving? At least once an hour.

Day 1/2 and Day 1: Visibility, what's that?

We spent the first day and a half playing a little game I like to call, "Where'd the road go?"

When Matt and I set out on our fantastic adventure, it was dumping rain in Seattle. It had taken a little longer than I expected to get on the road (I need to learn to pack less for a trip, my car is stuffed), and we didn't leave Seattle until almost 7pm. We stopped at the Claim Jumper in Southcenter before truly beginning our adventure. The rain didn't let up in the time we ate. It dumped on us all the way to Vancouver, Washington, where we stopped for the night. Hours and hours of rain. I was excited at the idea that it would clear up the next day and we'd have gorgeous views. Ha.

We started the next day by driving 15 or so miles in the wrong direction. I'd been through the Portland area a few times, so I had a vague understanding of where we should be to head to US 101. We reset the map, and sure enough, going the wrong way.

I wish I could say the driving got better, but frankly, it did not. We had SERIOUS visibility issues the whole day. Fog would descend upon us, forcing me to reduce our speed to a crawl. We had ZERO views.

It wasn't all that bad...until night fell. We finally crossed the border into California sometime in the early evening (after stopping at some agriculture checkpoint. The woman could see the cage in the car and asked what kind of pet I was carrying. She let Orpheus through. He told me if she'd said no, he would have bitten her and run to a pre-decided rendezvous spot. I'm sure the plan would have worked).

We drove through a few boring towns and then got onto the Redwood Highway. I will say this about that drive: It is dangerous and treacherous. It was dark. There was HEAVY fog. There were steep grades. I'd have my foot off the pedal, cruising down the hill and then all of a sudden, FOG! A SHARP TURN. Brakes slamming, turning, WHEE. Fuck.

Here's the other thing: There is NOTHING on the PCH. Nothing. It took forever to find a place to eat - both at lunch and dinner. Lunch ended up at a place I'd been to before, which was pretty good and thankfully did not make sick to my stomach. Dinner was HOURS AND HOURS later, because again, there was nowhere to eat that didn't look like it was infested with roaches and assorted diseases. We finally stopped at a place called the Lost Coast - a brewery. It was also pretty good - my turkey sandwich and fries didn't seem to want to kill me.

We decided to press on, assuming we'd be able to stop in an hour or so. We are funny people like that. Assuming there are decent places to stay along a well-traveled highway. Fuck that. We ended up driving another THREE hours before stopping in a place called Willits, California. More hours of dense fog, rain, and sharp curves. I have never been on a more nerve-wracking drive in my life. Fuck me.

Finally too exhausted to go on (or so we thought), we almost stopped in a place called Laytonville around 11:15, but when we went to pull into one of the "inns" we noticed it was a bit sketch, so I did a U-turn in the empty highway to go back to the other one. I ended up making a FULL DONUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY because there were some seriously skeevy people hanging out in front of the other "inn." We drove on.

We are both foolishly hoping that today is better. Travel guides, please smile upon us today.

One Hell of a Ride

My time in Seattle is drawing to a close. Tomorrow I begin the road trip that will take me back to the land of the Evil Day Star (read: Florida). 

Yeah, that's right. I'm DRIVING back to Florida. Matt, the brave soul, flies in tomorrow to take the ride with me. And my sweet little guinea pig, Orpheus Offenbach. Five days, two people, one guinea pig, one car. Should be...interesting. Especially since Matt informed just yesterday that he gets a bit crazy (and not in a good way), when cooped up in the car for a while. Gee, perhaps he could have mentioned this to me SOMETIME BEFORE NOW. Oh well.

We plan on stopping somewhere in Oregon tomorrow night, Vegas on Wednesday night (yeah right, we aren't getting there by then), Dallas on Thursday, New Orleans on Friday, and being home on Saturday. Hahahahahah. So not going to happen.

I'm hoping to get some great pictures along the way and I'll post them here. It's not every day you get to make this kind of drive. Also, it's not like you WANT to make this kind of drive all the time. I know William Christopher (my car) isn't really thrilled. He'll be 11 years old this May, and I think he'd rather I put him on a truck and shipped him. Oh well.

Wish me luck! (And pray that Matt and I don't kill each other. I mean, if someone was going to kill me, they should have done it before I did all the packing...)

Testicular Drag: A PSA

I'm here today to talk to you about something that affects all of us - male or female. That something is testicular drag (TD).

Yes, everyone, I AM talking about a man's testicles. I'm going to assume that everyone knows what the testicles are and the purpose they serve. (For those who don't know, please go to Wikipedia.)

What isn't often spoken about is testicular drag and the way it affects the men in our lives. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to talk about some of the symptoms of testicular drag.

• Inability to think clearly when a scantily clad woman walks by
• Inability to think at all when sports are on television
• Inability to understand and speak about simple emotional concepts
• Failure to provide the correct answers to questions, even after being told repeatedly what the correct answer is
• Inability to admit error (especially seeking out directions when clearly lost)

Perhaps the most egregious symptom is mansplaining. Not familiar with the concept? Allow me.

From urbandictionary.com:
delighting in condescending, inaccurate explanations delivered with rock solid confidence of rightness and that slimy certainty that of course he is right, because he is the man in this conversation.

Even though he knew she had an advanced degree in neuroscience, he felt the need to mainsplain, "There are molecules in the brain called neurotransmitters."

Another definition, perhaps clearer (from Karen Healey's blog):
Mansplaining is when a dude tells you, a woman, how to do something you already know how to do, or how you are wrong about something you are actually right about, or miscellaneous and inaccurate "facts" about something you know a hell of a lot more about than he does.

(She awards bonus points for the man explaining how a woman was wrong about something being sexist.)

We've seen the symptoms. I'd wager we all know someone who suffers from this terrible affliction. But how does it happen? Testicular drag is quite simple: The force of gravity on the testicles pulls energy away from other important activities in man's body - particularly brain function. This provides a simple, yet compelling, explanation for the nonsensical comments and activities of men.

Sadly, there is no cure for testicular drag. The only relief we'd be able to get from TD is for men to acknowledge there is a problem and seek out guidance from those not afflicted. They could learn  ways to communicate more effectively and find value in other activities (i.e. shopping and gardening). Sadly, many will not even acknowledge TD exists and will use mansplanations to divert us away from the issue.

For those of you who encounter a man who's suffering an acute episode of TD, the key is to remain calm. Remember their affliction. Speak slowly, using small words. Offer visual clues to guide them (keeping your cleavage covered completely). Mostly importantly, we have to understand their limitations and adjust our expectations accordingly (read: lower them). By following these steps, we'll all be able to live with our men a little more easily.

This PSA was brought to you by your caring friends at Dose of Lyndsy. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts, concerns, or questions. A support group will be created shortly.

I'm beautiful, and so are you

 If you lost 60 pounds, you'd be beautiful. - Lyndsy's mom

You'll never get an attractive man to marry you unless you lose weight. - Lyndsy's mom

Someone like that wouldn't be interested in someone your size. - Lyndsy's mom

It's been years since my mom said those things to me, and they still sting when I read them. And I guess they should. They're terrible things to say. Bless her heart, I know she was trying to help me. She wants me to be happy and she truly doesn't believe that people who overweight can find love with attractive people or probably succeed in life at all.

I'd been thinking about this post for a while, but for some reason, I delayed writing it. Then, two days ago, I got a Facebook chat message from a friend, "I hate being single lol." I responded with a laugh and asked why. I got this response. "Lol idk. Like I'm too shy to say anything to guys. My mom makes me self conscious to ever say anything," and it broke my heart, but I could understand where she was coming from (see above quotes). 

Our mothers come from the same twisted line of thinking that beauty is about what you look like on the outside, especially size (perhaps it's genetic - our mothers are sisters). I don't know what's happened in their lives that makes them think this way, but I feel so bad for them. The pressure on them to comply with this ridiculous notion of beauty has to have been immense. 

My mom would occasionally try to argue it was about my health, but I know that wasn't really it. And if it were about my health, she really shouldn't have been saying it. We all know how we feel when someone says something like that to us. We end up feeling worse about ourselves, which leads to us engaging in whatever destructive behavior got us to the point we're in. When my mom said that to me, I didn't immediately head to the gym. I went to the closest McDonald's and supersized whatever I was eating. Hardly going to help the weight issue.

Most of you know I don't believe in coincidence. A few days ago I had a wonderful phone conversation with a man who recommended the movie What the #$*! Do We Know?! I started it, but it was late and I couldn't focus enough to watch it (it's mind-bending shit about quantum physics). I forgot about it. Then today, someone mentioned it on Facebook, so I queued it back up. Here's the lack of coincidence: Part of the movie is about how our negative thoughts and attitudes affect our chemistry. With continued negative thinking, we re-wire our brains and it impacts our reactions to things and makes it harder to have a better response. That's a horrible summary of it, but the point is this: The longer we bombard our bodies with negative attitudes, the harder it is to break out of it. 

Huh. So, by drilling it in to us that we're fat and no one will love us, these moms are actually helping perpetuate the condition. Oops, probably not their intent.

What's worse is that it's based on bullshit. First of all, my mom premised her statements on the mistaken belief that she and I define attractiveness the same way. We definitely do not. (No offense to my dad or stepdad.) Second, she assumes that everyone subscribes to her warped view that physical attractiveness is the most defining factor of what attracts people to relationships. If a guy does that, he and I aren't likely to be compatible anyway. 

What people are attracted to is sexiness. Sexiness is about confidence. A friend in college told me that, but I didn't believe him at the time. But look at Queen Latifah. I dare someone to tell her she isn't attractive. Look at Seal. His face is crazy scarred and he's married to Heidi Klum and they have tons of babies (read: even more sex). I could go on all day with examples, but jeebus I've already gone on for a while. 

I spent years being screwed up by my mom's bullshit about my weight and other things (school loans, use of the word "douche"). After a while though, I could see it was all crap. I was DATING. As a fat girl. Guys liked me. And I wondered why and it killed things for me. But then I had to think about they could possibly like and I started to see that I'm funny as hell. I've got a heart of gold. I'm smart. 

All of us have gifts. We need to spend more time cultivating them and less time worrying about what's "wrong" with us. Chances are good, nothing's actually wrong with any of us. 

Suck it, Disney

Yesterday I went to see Beauty & the Beast 3D. I think movies belong in theaters, and I'd only ever seen it on video when I was babysitting. How I got a 4-year old boy to watch it is beyond me. Whatever, not the point.

I love Disney stories. This one is no exception. HOWEVER, while I was watching the movie, I realized that Belle falls in love with the Beast in like 3 days, tops. I couldn't believe it, but as I sit here thinking about it, that's really what happens. She goes from being miserable at giving up her life to saved her dad to being in love with a BEAST in under a week. Right.

A lot of other fairytale Disney movies are the same way. Aurora from Sleeping Beauty is awakened by a kiss from a guy who's only ever really heard her singing (he's clearly hoping her coma-induced haze will prevent her from seeing just how tiny his penis really is). Jasmine and Aladdin share an amazing night on a magic carpet (read: vibrating bed at a motel) and she's all gaga for him. After that, he fakes who he is to get her to pay attention to him. Not at all a recipe for disaster. I guess he gets points for saving her from that pedophile Jafar and the guards after she's thieving whore. At least in The Little Mermaid Ariel and her guy spent some time together before getting married. Of course, there's something creepy about crabs singing to you to kiss the girl (you'd think crabs would be an indication to stay AWAY from someone). Cinderella only meets Prince Charming at the ball and all of a sudden he's all over town trying to find the foot for the slipper. (Methinks he just wanted the other slipper for himself. Glass was certainly his color.)

So, let me get this straight: If I go for a ride, get lost as all get-out arriving at some ugly dude's house (hey, he's got personality), as long as I bring along an STD or two a singing animal posse, get him to make the O face take him on a "magical ride," and pretend to be something I'm not act sweetly, I'll wind up happily ever after?

Or, how about this. That isn't at all how it works. I've given this a lot of thought over the last few decades years. From my experience and the experiences of my friends, when people fall all over each other at first, syrupy sweet and doe-eyed, it tends to lead to a few things - divorce and single parenthood, not so much happily ever after.

I always believed that falling in love was supposed to come first. That's what you see in all those Disney movies. You fall in love and then work out the rest (though we never get to see what Cinderella looks like at 40, her three screaming kids, and Prince Charming sitting around watching sports on TV. Just saying).

What I've come to see is that it doesn't have to be that way. I always felt like there was something off with me because that felt wrong. (Yes, I know, there IS something else off about me. Shut it.) I've always been most attracted to my guy friends. You see each other at your best (Why yes, I can take a shot from my boobs) and your worst (I didn't really mean to get so hammered on half a gallon of Captain Morgan that I threw up in your toilet for 12 hours). And, after all of that, you STILL want to be with that person. That's a shitload of trust right there. And trust is sexy.

Look at When Harry Met Sally. They didn't even LIKE each other when they first met. They were friends for years before they romance really bloomed. There was the great (who doesn't love a woman faking an orgasm at a family diner?) and the bad (Meg Ryan snotty and sobbing is just gross). Sure, they weren't all crazy and syrupy about it, but I think they were still in love.

What this has all really taught me is that online dating and I probably can't be friends. It's geared toward the Disney-style romance. You chat with someone for a little before you meet them. (If it's eHarmony, they've matched up on 29 dimensions of whatever, so you can trust that it's a good fit. Um, yeah, that led me to an abusive POS. Thanks, eHarmony. Fuck your compatibility matching. But I digress.) Then, you go on a date! And it's supposed to be wonderful!

But there's all this pressure. You're on a DATING site. The point is to meet people to DATE. As you get older, there's more and more pressure to find someone and SETTLE DOWN, and sort of quickly. It's almost like it turns into some kind of business negotiation - what you're willing to do, what you're not, does it work for the two of you? Each of you is playing a role, putting your best foot forward in hopes of keeping the other attracted to you. I don't play so well at this game. I don't dress up for dates (showed up to one in an Oscar the Grouch t-shirt), I say whatever's on my mind, and reveal perhaps too much information about myself.

I don't want the artificiality. I want to know the good, the bad, and the ugly. How else can I decide if I want to spend the rest of my life with you? If you're going to turn like bad cheese after we get married, I'm going to hate you and I will sue for false representations and intentional infliction of emotional distress on top of divorcing you and taking half your shit.

I'm kidding. Mostly.

The problem is that it's hard to meet people these days without using a dating site. But I hate the pressure. It all feels icky. I'd rather be single than endure it. Is all hope lost?

Who knows?

Maybe I'll one day find myself surrounded by singing squirrels, rabbits and butterflies and run smack into my own ugly-on-the-outside-but-beautiful-on-the-inside Prince Charming and we'll ride off into the sunset in pumpkin carriage pulled by horses that don't poop.

My Memories Suite - A giveaway!

I love to take pictures. A lot. I even get in a few now and then. When Joanne and I traveled to Ireland in 2009, I took over 1000 pictures. Yes. I took over A THOUSAND PICTURES. I just couldn't stop. (The inside of every church looks the same after a while. Kept taking pictures anyway.) When my mom and aunt came to visit in July 2010, I kept snapping photos. Of flowers. Of our food. Of us. Of...random stuff.

The problem is, I never do anything with them after I upload them. They just sit on my computer. Every now and then when someone comes over, I make them look at them with me. But that's rare. I've never really been the type to print pictures. Not sure what it is.

So, when I was given an opportunity to review some digital scrapbooking software, I got pretty excited. FINALLY a chance to do something with my pictures!

And I'll say, My Memories Suite is totally awesome. Below you'll find some of what I've been able to do. Those of you who are more creative than I am will no doubt be able to make more amazing scrapbooks than I have.

The really nice thing about the software is that it's set up to guide you through all steps of creation. You can use one of their templates or you can create something from scratch, which is what I chose to do.

You start with the background, add your photos, text, word art, embellishments, shapes, calendars, imprints, etc. It gives you all sorts of options for color, add-ons, and placement on your page.

You can create a scrapbook like I've been working on. Or cards. Or videos. WITH SOUND! You can NARRATE your album! I've always believed I should have a personal soundtrack and with the My Memories software, you can make it happen in your pictures!!

Now here's the best part - I'm having a GIVEAWAY! All you have to do is go to the My Memories website and leave me a comment on my blog or on Facebook and tell me which scrapbooking kit is your favorite. I'll throw everyone's names in some random generator I find on the interwebs and pick one lucky winner on January 23rd!

Want to know what else is pretty awesome? Even if you don't win but want the software, I've got a code that'll get you $10 off the software AND $10 in the store so you can buy kits! Not a bad deal. To take advantage, use code STMMMS7010 when you check out! (Copy and pasting is probably the best way to take the code.)

For great ideas on what you can do with the software, check out their blog, Facebook page, and Twitter!

Moving. Sucks.

I recognize that I'm stating the obvious here, but holy shit, moving sucks. A lot. My apartment looks like a tornado blew threw it on the best of days. But somehow it's worse now. I have a lot of my crap in boxes and still it looks like some kind of boot camp exercise.

No one has ever accused me of being graceful and an apartment that's basically booby trapped is no place for someone like me. I've already slammed my knee into something hard enough to bruise it. I've tripped over more shit than I count. When I was trying to get something off the wall, I just about broke a toe.

I have tons of boxes already packed. I'm trying to be careful about how much I pack into each one since I have to be able to pick them up and lug them down three flights of stairs to my car. (BTW - the next time I tell you I'm moving into an apartment building that doesn't have an elevator, stab me.) What's awesome (and by that, I mean NOT awesome at all) is that my back has started to bother me. I unearthed my back braces and do believe I'll be sporting one, if not both, of them until I'm done with the packing and moving.

My car is a whole other thing. It's filled. With crap. I don't even know what's in there anymore. There's a giant pink blanket covering the back seat with stuff peeking out from underneath. It looks like I live in there. And I know I have to get it all emptied out so I can get boxes shipped out and then pack it up for the trip, but the thought of doing it makes me want to cry.

I want to skip all of the crappy parts about moving and just be on the road. Where's the fucking moving fairy when you need her?

Hard Learner

I'm what you'd call a hard learner. I get my mind set on something and it can take a bit to bring me to my senses. I keep pushing for something, even in the presence of evidence that suggests I ought to be seeking out another course.

For a while now, I've been saying that I'm waiting for my life to start. I kept doing whatever I thought I could to get it jump started, but to no avail. In conversation today, someone pointed out that life never really starts. It's just going on and on. I recognize that to be true, but I see a difference between having a LIFE and living.

I've done some amazing things in Seattle. But a few months ago, I recognized that it was time to move on. I'm missing depth in my life. I still feel like I'm biding my time until something else happens. Unfortunately, it's been like that for a while. The frustration that comes from that isn't tenable in the long run.

Soon after I decided it was time to go, I was approached by a recruiter and began interviewing for a job at a tech start-up here in Bellevue. The position initially seemed promising. My initial interview was arranged rather quickly. At that interview I was told that the next phase would be starting within 1-2 weeks. Things turned to shit quickly after that.

I went almost a month without hearing anything useful. Then I did another interview with a newly hired consultant. It took over a month after that to get the next set of interviews set-up. It was a series of interviews with 4 people at the company and one with the consultant, starting at 1pm and ending around 5pm. At 10am on the morning of the interviews, I got an updated job description. They changed it to a manager position and added a bunch of job duties they knew I wasn't familiar with. The interviews seemed to go well, but two more weeks went by before I had a final interview with the CEO. He promised a decision the following week and asked if they could start the background check process. The following day, he called to tell me I was their top candidate. He also asked to complete a drug screening and background paperwork THAT DAY so that they'd have all the information they needed to make a decision. Yes, after them dicking around for three months, I had to rush around.

The following week, at 7pm on the day the decision was due, instead of being given an answer, I was told they needed more time - through the next week. I told them I wasn't sure I could continue to be a candidate for them. I emailed the next day and told them I would still ike to be considered. The CEO wrote back and told me that they would absolutely continue to consider me "as a finalist" and told me to "Have a good new year's, meanwhile..." At 7pm on the very last day they told me they would take, I received an e-mail telling me they'd decided to hire another candidate. Seriously? Fuckwads.

Along the way, I'd had misgivings. Some were about the financial solvency of the company. Others were about the man who'd be my boss. I was told to expect trouble, that his way of doing things was causing some tension in the company. Additionally, he seemed overly concerned with how bored I would be. This told me a couple things. There was some miscommunication about the work they'd be asking me to do. My would-be boss thought one thing and others in the company thought another. Also, it told me they probably had NO idea all that needed to be done, but wasn't currently being done.

And still I persisted in the interview process. At one point, I told myself, "Well, at least it will be a way to stay in Seattle." Um, hello? Taking a job to stay somewhere is oftentimes just plain stupid. Misery in your job just causes misery in the rest of your life. No amount of money can make up for that. Besides, I'd already realized that my time in Seattle needed to come to a close.

The biggest indicator that something wasn't right was that I started rationalizing what was going on with the interview process. I was making excuses for why things were taking so long and why it was so hard to make a decision. What I could never rationalize though was the way they handled it. It was completely unprofessional. It defied logic. I won't say that it's an indicator of how they handle all aspects of their business. What they're familiar with, they seem to do very well. However, as a tech start-up, they're bound to encounter a lot of the unfamiliar as time presses on. Trying to navigate that with those people would have been a nightmare. It didn't take me long to see that not being hired was a blessing.

But really, it never should have gotten that far. When the process went sideways early on, I should have walked away. I'm still working through why I didn't. I think some of it is that endings are hard, even if they are for the best. I have people I love here, and not living close enough to just drop by and see them makes me sad.

I like Seattle. The weather is mostly moderate, I live in a central location, it has amazing views, and offers tons in the way of outdoor activities and travel. These things aren't enough to endure more frustration and feeling lost and alone. I can visit friends. I don't take advantage of the views and outdoor activities now, and that's unlikely to change in the future.

I've become independent here, and I worry that moving back home will cause me to lose that independence. I'm not the same person I was when I left Florida, and I don't know how my family and friends there will deal with the person I am now. I love who I am and I don't see changing just because it ruffles some feathers. I just don't want to deal with a lot of conflict around it.

Whatever concerns I had about moving back to Florida, I didn't leave myself a lot of options. When the interview process started, I told myself (and anyone who would listen) it was that job or I was heading back. I painted myself into a corner. After I was notified that I didn't get the job, I kicked myself for trapping myself. Now I'm quite glad I did. I needed this push to start on the next part of my journey. I need to move on. More that that, I'm excited about the adventure that awaits.

It's hard to see this chapter of my life come to an end, but there are more chapters to come. All that I've learned over the last 6 years will only serve to benefit me as I move forward. I have confidence I've never before known and it's enabled me to remain relatively calm through the end of my last job and the interview ridiculousness. I'm ready for whatever comes next, even though I have no idea what it is.