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Walk on, walk on, walk on....

Yesterday when you were young everything you needed done was done for you
Now you do it on your own but you find that you’re all alone what can you do?

It has been 40 days since you’ve last heard from me and 46 days since my last post took place. I suppose I’m sorry about that. But the truth is, if I had anything worth catching you up on, I likely would have. Now so much time has past the possibility of any major details have just become a trail of miniscule specs included in this “adventure”.

I will sum in up quickly.

The first time around San Diego (Ocean Beach to be exact) ended with a simple “It’s pretty nice here, but I really don’t think I could handle the hippy lifestyle long.”

The in between was shoved tightly with an engineer lifestyle, a comfy loft, the beginning of one pregnancy and the ending of another, a small taste of that pesky unreachable heaven Santa Barbra, a delicious lunch in Malibu, impossible California drivers with illogical traffic signs scattered throughout, Nitro Circus!, tax returns, cats I would’ve stolen if they’d fit in the car, a cliché trip to Venice Beach, a single rose, depression, a fight or two, mountain sickness, breathtaking views, constant rain, a rap show, a Brazilian, a bike race and another shot at happiness.

The ending to San Jose was concluded with a heavy weighted sigh “At least if we’re homeless it’ll be considerably warmer.”

The backwards beginning (back in Ocean Beach) started with a hopeful “We’re going to make it here babe.”

Flash forward two more weeks. We’re caught up now. See that wasn’t so hard. (I realize that small paragraph may have made it seem way more interesting then it actually was, for further elaboration of the last 46 days, you can consult Alan’s blog here: http://alanlivinthedream.blogspot.com/)

Like before, even with short spurt visitations, the streets of Ocean Beach (which will here by be known as OB) still fit seamlessly beneath my feet. But something unexpected happened this time around. With a more acute diagnosis we have indisputably fallen in love with this place. It’s almost too good to be true. It is a small beach town just off Sea World drive with the ability to preserve its integrity for the last several decades. This is a town where people walk around without shoes, 10 year old boys get off their skate boards to let you pass, flowers bloom but close at the first sign of shadows, the surfing channel is consistently playing in bars, where businesses shut down around dusk, a 1957 Volkswagen is still running as good as it did the day it was bought, where sparrows peck around the grounds of coffee shops, where everyone talks or knows everyone else in the most drama free sense I’ve ever encountered, where some people refuse do even associate with anyone accredited with any type of “political” development, and the type of place where your 6’4 sandy haired uncle leans casually against a palm tree, closes his eyes and says “lets just take it all in” when you’re standing in the middle of the farmers market that takes place every Wednesday. It is like living in a Disney movie (told you Meg) and one day I fully expect those little birds to start braiding my hair.

There’s something else. When you stand with your back to the Statue of Liberty or with your toes in the sand off the Gulf of Mexico in Panama City the largeness of the moment is never fully recognized. At least…not in the way I’m about to explain. But when you’re cliff-side staring into the Pacific Ocean, it is like getting punched in the face. Not that I’ve ever been punched in the face…just go with the metaphor. I swear to God (of your choosing) you have to remind yourself to take a breath it is so awe inspiring. And with my toe taunting the edge, it takes every ounce of strength not to hurtle myself over the side just to feel that much more alive. DON’T WORRY; potentially having my brains splattered across the rocky shore is not something I’d go through with. The point is, you should come visit.

You know that they’ll be days when you’re so tired you can’t take another step.
That night will have no stars and you’ll think you’ve gone as far as you will ever get.

The reality check is this:

We are living out of one laundry basket of clothes (that we haven’t washed in two weeks…disgusting I know), the car is still jammed with stuff (that practically decapitates when you’re stopping on a downhill) and we’re sleeping on cushions covered with sleeping bags on the kitchen floor in the basement of my uncle’s house. Even though my back screams every morning and everything smells like cat pee, I am grateful for the gesture to prolong my survival. Our survival. This of course is not the first time I’ve been homeless. In fact it’s the third. Like the others, it is a direct result of uncontrollable situations. See also: crooked contractors, broken washing machines and the economy. The difference being that the unbearable weight of stress and failure is lying solely on my shoulders instead of those of my parents. Unfortunately crying (which isn’t even something I do often), being angry, asking questions out loud that weren’t really meant for him and occasionally kicking ugly little dogs don’t help.

I’m just kidding about the dog kicking thing.

Anyway, I have been unemployed for almost two months. This much time off forced on someone that’s used to working two jobs is not a good thing. I cannot even begin to imagine how people in MI who are losing their jobs after 35 years are handling it. Because I am NOT handling it well. I have reworked my resume 6 times. I have used connections, persistence, and pity if need be. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. WHAT THE DEUCE? I have applied to so many different positions I no longer remember which places I’ve even applied. Examples include but are not limited to the following: Hospitals, Restaurants (Server, Host, Server Assisant, Dishwasher, Sandwich maker, Ice Cream Scooper, etc.), Secretary jobs (Law Firms, Medical Practices, Schools, etc), Museums (any and all around San Jose/San Diego), Bookstores (Corporate or otherwise), Retail stores (in every mall we’ve come across), The San Diego Zoo, Legoland, Country Clubs, Grocery Stores (everyone in and outside of this town), Costco, Target, Wal-Mart, The Container Store, Rite Aid, City jobs (Humane Society, Police Clerk, etc), Real Estate Agency’s, Lab techs, Nanny work, Newspapers, Magazines and even College Websites. Not to mention dozens of Craigslist gigs. I have stopped people on the street and asked them what they did and if they were hiring. I am tired and exhausted and fed up and beyond frustrated. Nothing is working.

And everything anyone has to offer lately just makes me feel like a bigger loser. Either their suggesting things that I’ve already tried a dozen times over (thus making me feel like stabbing someone) or on a rare occasion suggesting something potentially new (thus making me feel like I haven’t been trying hard enough).

It should be noted that since we’ve moved down here, we have had much more luck (though nothing substantial) on the job front. I’ve had a few interviews and a few call backs. But at the end of the day still nothing. Perhaps my resume actually has the words “Fuck YOU, you smell like a pirate” written in Spanish across the top? I’m not sure. I really don’t know what to do. Be patient? Wait? By going to the beach or reading in the library or going running, all of which ultimately make me feel like I’m wasting time. People don’t even want me to bag their groceries you guys!

Oh self esteem, where have you gone? How I miss you so. Without someone or something putting a price on my work ethic (or educational learning curve) I feel completely worthless. I’m not kidding. I told you it wasn’t pretty.

We have talked about it, the possibility of moving back. Of how long it will take for the savings to dry up. About whether or not we’ll be able to look anyone in the eye, let alone in the eyes of each other. We talk a lot. Somehow that seems to make us sane. And let’s face it. I need the practice. We have seen each other every day practically ALL day for the last 52 days. It is mind boggling that we have managed not to kill one another, or stab the other person with a pen, or “accidentally” trip the other person while they’re walking. I’m not saying I’ve thought of these things, I’m just saying.

You and me, walk on walk on walk on
Cause you can’t go back now.

Living with artist hippies is helpful. Related or not.

Some facts about Raymond Blavatt

-He is the second son of my grandmother and (defaulted or not) my mother’s favorite brother.
-He moved to California when he was 17 and has never looked back.
-Each day that passes here sets a new record in the length of time we’ve ever spent together. This is the fifth time I’ve been near him over the last 25 years. Sometimes when he’s talking to me, I notice we have the same nose.
-He is an artist in the truest form, with a current medium of computer graphics/illustration for a company that creates programs to help children learn math and reading. Musical clips about inequalities and foil are also included! (http://www.readingupgrade.com/html/index.htm)
-I have a box full of napkins littered with thoughts; he’s got two coffee shops full of napkins stained with doodles.

Some facts about Kathy Blavatt

-She is California born and bred.
-That pretty much explains every ounce of her personality. It is that shamelessly cliché.
-Because she had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting my uncle Johnny before anyone else, she loathes everything having to do with my mother’s family or with Michigan. On occasion it’s quite awkward.

A Side Story:

For years there was a running gag that the only thing my father could cook was peanut butter sandwiches and then one night he made filets with puff potatoes and a salad and a zip sauce that I swear to God he stole from Andiamos. Though in his defense, perhaps they stole it from him. The point is, for years we classified him under that “can’t cook” category. I have learned however that it is not that he can’t cook it is that he chose not too. Especially since my mother was around. Living with Kathy I have also learned that the category “can’t cook” has found someone to fill its number one position. I was 16 and taking my first (second really, What up 8th grade class trip to Washington DC!) major trip alone. It was a birthday present from my parents. I could choose: California or New York. My birthday is the second day of January, I was 16, of course I chose CA. It was an adventure to say the least and strange that even back then I wasn’t afraid of it. Strangers (they are), new places, being alone, etc. Somehow it works for me. But I digress. One night Kathy made dinner. I had been advise previously that she’d be lacking in talent but when you’re poor and without a car and in an area you don’t know and starving, you’ll eat what someone makes you. I mean can you really ruin pasta and tomato sauce? The answer: YES…I threw up all the next day, slept away two days of my vacation and vowed never ever to eat her food again. Since being here I can say that I’ve gone back on my word twice. I figured it was worth trying again since it’s been almost ten years. Cripe I’m old. It was a mistake. I’m not sure how she manages, but somehow she has the uncanny ability to completely remove all taste from any food product. This is not an exaggeration. This is fact. She’s also a vegetarian. Shudder. Eight days ago, I found her boiling asparagus. Two days ago she was microwaving onions in a bowl of water. Last night Alan and I manned up and decided to cook for ourselves (even though I am terrified of everything in her kitchen). We made stir fry. Nothing was burning. It smelled delicious. Chicken, peppers, green beans, teriyaki sauce, you know the drill. She asked us to turn on the fan. Seriously. Because for the first time her kitchen smelled like nutrition and protein and the delectable thighs of chickens.

It truly is a shame. I have tried on the rare occasional visit to give her personality and convictions a second glance, just in case. Nothing has ever really come of it. Currently we’re just two different people, from completely different cultures, attempting to avoid each other while coexisting in the same house (8x10ft basement kitchen if you want to get technical). Well maybe the avoiding part is my fault. If I could figure out how to load a sound bite on here, you’d know why.

Anyway, I’m not here to Kathy bash. In fact I hate talking about it in the first place, but I think some of you were curious. Plus, that’s one of the lighter obstacles of residing in 4720 Del Mar Ave.

The house is a site to see. It is cluttered quite nicely with plants in the front yard, artwork on every surface, homeless people in the basement, musical instruments, bicycles and dust. And nearly every night Ray turns up Van Morrison and lulls the whole house into a deep daze unfocused enough to take in the beauty of the sunset.

I lead an introverted and boring life here in California.

Other random updates about me:
-My hair is still unmanageable and shockingly red some days. Terribly so here. When I attempt to straighten it, it looks extra flat and greasy, even after I’ve just washed it. When I try not to bother and let it do what it’s naturally fighting me for every day (being curly) it is a tangle mash of half curl half flop mess that looks like I’m attempting dreadlocks. Sigh. One day I’ll find a suitable environment
- I am doing sit ups every day (Er…every other day) and running on occasion. You’d be so proud! It’s mostly to keep up with my sister and her bff Jaclyn before they arrive in 14 days.
- After managing to get a grain of sand or dust in my eye and causing an inflammation in my left eye, I have learned that for over the past year my prescriptions have been wrong. I suppose that explains the headaches and impatience with my glasses.


If you’ve made it all the way to the bottom of this, I applaud you. And I promise I’ll get better at this whole blogging thing. Also, maybe because I still haven’t gotten those thank you cards out or because Leah G and Tim have called me just to say hi or because last night I got these text messages :
Meg – I’m out with KB RW RC n Jeff. B JEALOUS. PS. This is meg.
Followed directly by this:
Ricky – Megan means me, Kyle, Jeff and Rachel.
which made me laugh out loud, or because I’m seeing my family in two weeks or because so many people have helped us get here….well I just wanted to say thanks. For all of it. For sending letters of recommendations, for contacting people for us for possible job opportunities, for listening to us bitch, for letting us crash at your place, for driving to best buy that snowy night 8 hours before we left, for forgiving me for not writing more often. So thanks.

*Edit: We have done laundry since I started this post. We still manage to be wearing the same clothes though.

Day 4.

Friday, January 30^th 2009

States crossed: NONE.

Hours in car: NONE!

I will say this. If you take a day off in the winter the best place to do so, hands down…is Las Vegas. “But Lauren” you’ll say, “That’s in Nevada and I live in Michigan, you’re talking crazy again.” And I’ll wave my hand and say “Psh posh, that’s what AIRPLANES are for silly.”

Seriously. Alan actually said “This is the best day of my life, nothing could ever top this”

So spend a day in Vegas during the winter months and you too could have a day like this:

It is moderately painful (on my wallet) to stay here and only because we wanted a particular room and we stay an extra night. Other then that, the cost is minimal for the most part. After finally getting some real rest and showering I can see color return to my face. I am still not 100% but after yesterday I think Alan’s just thankful I’m not dead. We start the morning in search of breakfast. This is usually how it works, except I call it lunch. The street is bright, sunny, under some hard core construction and jammed with people. Every 16 steps a new batch of Mexicans are snapping business cards with nude girls at me. I wonder how much they get paid. We’re headed towards the Luxor for food and since I’ve been to Vegas before, I know you can cut through the New York New York and Excalibur to get there. Alan’s eyes are wide and he has a slight awe inspired smile on his face.

For the first time I feel like he’s truly enjoying the trip. But that might have just been the all the hot women we just passed. We rest against the people mover that feeds us into the Excalibur and spits us out right in front of a bar. This place is glorious. Alan orders his first drink of the day and I order water. Weee hydration. I’m really not one for theme hotels thus I find the Excalibur mediocre, the New York New York makes me slightly sad BUT the Luxor is at least architecturally interesting and that much closer to Mandalay Bay (My favorite).

“You aren’t spoiled like your siblings, but you’re still spoiled in your own way”

Traveling…rather family vacations around the US were just a way of life for the Hahne household. Work hard to play hard is the general mantra, so for a while we tried to take a family vacation once a year.I have driven across the country twice (I think), learned to ski in Colorado, learned to surf in California, found paradise in Hawaii, swam with dolphins in Panama City, floated on a house boat on Lake Cumberland, ridden my bicycle across Iowa, eaten a great steak in Chicago, laid by the best pool in Vegas (see also: Mandalay Bay), broke a Seadoo in Traverse City, shopped in Windsor CA, and lived in New York for a while. I’m not telling you all this to brag, though I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking. I’m mentioning it because the entire time was about seeing what else is out there and taking a friend a long. Whether we were floating on rafts in Caseville or snowboarding in Gaylord or eating at Hooters Easter day, we’ve always had an extra friend around…so it is natural to me to want to take everyone with me; to show them that the world is a little bigger then their backyard and to have fun. I think I became more excited about the road trip when I learned that Alan had never been much farther then Wisconsin.

At this point in the trip my excitement is entirely based on his. So the fact that he loves the Luxor is enough for me. We finally find breakfast/lunch in the form of an endless buffet. And HOLY CRAP they have warm bacon dressing!! If I had known such marvelous things could be found at the bottom of a pyramid I would have actually perused my interest in archeology years ago. Much of breakfast is spent laughing and connecting friends to different casinos. “We need to take a picture of me next to the shark tank in Mandalay Bay so that I can tag KB” “Do you think Tom’s ever been here? I hope he’d stay in Treasure Island.” “The most delicious chocolate mousse you’ve ever had and BATHROOMS, no wonder Kelly loves playing in pyramids in Egypt.” We are ridiculous people.

After breakfast/lunch I drag him to Mandalay Bay, which smells like glorious sunscreen instead of second hand cigarette smoke.Alan picks up another drink and a cigar. I have never seen him happier.

“Lauren. I can take this drink and walk around outside and in other hotels even though it’s not from there! I’m never leaving.”

We stay a bit and attempt to gamble, sticking mainly to the penny slots. It makes it last longer. Alan continuously wins. Gambling HATES me. I suppose this is a good thing.

My father has this advice to give: If you hold your money to the machine for just the right about of time a waitress will always be right there to give you a free drink.

Do this slow enough and you save a ton. For the record it only works on quarter slots.

Eventually after getting pursued by marriage pushers, we wonder outside and make our way towards The Bellagio,

where I’m convinced I’m going to win big!

I don’t. It’s sorta sad and we wonder into Caesars Palace where we contemplate dinner and take more ridiculous photographs mocking random statues.In the end we end up back at the Paris.

(EDIT: Photograph placement on this website is impossible!)

Our car was so packed and we were so tired we blindly dug into a random laundry basket to find a change of clothes the night before.I ended up with a blue sweater and a black dress.He ended up with a new shirt and his suit coat. We still have on ratty tennis shoes.Some reason Les Artistes Steakhouse lets us in. It is quite nice with impressionist art on the walls and a glass ceiling that reminds me of Beauty and the Beast (and then Megan, aw). I order a 24 ounce porter house. It is glorious. What? I told you I liked steak. Alan’s appetizer is escargot. It’s the best presented escargot I’ve ever seen. Alan, who’s already happy because someone finally addressed us in French, is starting to tear up at the deliciousiness of his slimy pile of snails. Sorry. I’ll never like them.Now as I’ve mentioned earlier Alan was already having a pretty amazing day. What with the free range booze, cigar, bpegs (see also: ridiculous boob sightings), sunshine, great food and all. I’m not sure I can do the image/memory justice by writing about it…but when he bit into his first bite of the 16 ounce prime rib in front of him…that glass ceiling could have collapsed on him and I’m pretty confident he would have died the happiest man on earth.

I’m not kidding. He looked like he was going to explode with rays of happiness shooting out of him like a Carebear. The one with the cloud on his stomach used to be my favorite. So yes, years from now on his potential wedding day or the first day his child is born, people are going to be congratulating him on the “happiest day of his life” and I will shake my head and say “No…you weren’t there. He’ll never be THAT happy again.” I’m mildly exaggerating, but either way, I’m just glad I got to be there for this day.

After dinner I just want to take a nap. Oh Vegas, I’m not good enough for you. BUT we change instead and make our way to this tiny hole in the wall bar Double Down Saloon. (http://www.doubledownsaloon.com/) so Alan can play Anthony Bourdain and we can try Assjuice and a Bacon Martini. We take a cab and shuffle in. This place is what Gusoline Alley wishes it could be. I am immediately wearing down. I am a poor bar mate. After Alan dances on the bar to get some attention (I assume) he sets down two plastic cups. This is Assjuice. My nose is running like crazy again so I can hardly breathe with all the smoke in this place. We cheers and near the bottom of my cup I converse in a fit of coughs and choking sounds. If the lighting were better, I probably would have looked blue. The drink itself is actually pretty good, which is pretty disappointing considering the name.Next up is the Bacon Martini. Note to you. It is horrible. I imagine it is the only horrible thing with bacon in it in history. It’s as if they soaked vodka in bacon grease. Ick.

Since I was obviously crashing and we were far enough from the strip to not catch a cab, we walked back. By the time we return to the casino I’m too pouty to go upstairs and instead attempt to gamble again. I win 45 bucks. Heck yes Munster’s slot machine! Twas a good ending to a great day.

Day 3.

Thursday, January 29th, 2009
States crossed: Colorado (!), Utah, Arizona, Nevada.
Hours in the car: 12-13

Even though I’m sicker then yesterday, waking up in Denver immediately lightens my mood. It is bright and sunny and just off in the distance are mountains! We start the day off by getting lost for 20 minutes. We’re awesome. Against my will, I fade in and out of consciousness not long after we’re on the expressway.

Each time I wake up he is death griping the steering wheel. For the first time in over a year his driving is making me nervous. He is nervous. And for a moment I forget that you can actually be a different person in a different place. It’s all so natural to me the differences only come out in minor observations. It occurs to me then that I’ve been here before…of course I wouldn’t feel any different. You can adapt pretty quickly when you know what’s coming. Unfortunately I can only laugh at him each time a 6% downgrade sign passes or mumble “It’s sooo pretty” right before I close my eyes again. I am sleeping through my favorite state and I am completely useless.

I’m going to take this time to mention that having a sinus infection and consistently changing altitude is the royal suck!

When we finally make it out of the “worst” of the Rockies, (after pulling over several times to clean off our windshield) we stop at a Kum and Go gas station. Yes, I actually typed that. It’s what they’re called! They’ve been around since Illinois. Alan is endlessly amused.

By the time we reach Utah I can’t stand being in the passenger seat any longer and demand to drive. Even though he loathes my driving skills, it’s a better option then continuing through some more mountains apparently, because he hands me the keys. In the end making it through the day was worth it; when the sun sets on the Rockies, it is quite possibly one of the most beautiful views in the world or at least what I will ever see.

I decide to make reservations for our hotel in Vegas (The Paris) early but don’t have the number. My mother gets it for me…or so I think. Turns out when you call it the automated voice for the casino’s chapel comes on. Really? Very funny Mom.

At this point of the trip (after driving for hours on end at a high stress levels) I’m not sure how much longer we can last. Las Vegas has to be close right? It’s not. It’s still two states away and its pitch black again. I am fading fast so we have to switch drivers again. I sleep through the rest of Utah and Arizona. When we finally see Vegas it is like staring at the sun. I almost want to cry. We are so burnt out I booked the room for two nights. We NEED a break. But first we get lost. It is beyond frustrating when you can actually see where you’re supposed to go but have no idea how to get there. I suggest we stop at a 7/11 to get directions. This was apparently a bad idea. I go inside and politely ask the man behind the counter if he can point me in the right direction for the strip.

“Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the strip?”
“The strip. No. I no go there. I don’t know”
He continues sweeping. Thinking he maybe thought I meant a strip club, I try and clarify.
“No I’m sorry, like Las Vegas Boulevard, where the casinos are?”
“I say I do NOT KNOW.”
Um…what? You’re yelling now…is that necessary? I look cautiously around, two Goth kids breeze past me at such a pace I almost fall over. There is man playing video poker near the window. Of course there are gambling machines in 7/11 here. Weighing my options, none of these people seem helpful so I just address the whole place.
“So nobody lives here then…that could help me…maybe……ok” Exasperated, I leave. I lived in NYC for two years and nobody was that rude or irrationally crazy towards me. Ever. Welcome to Vegas, Lauren. Sigh.

Through some directional miracle we make it to the Paris. This is my first time staying in the hotel and my first time even booking my own room. Aw. I’m growing up. Since I managed to have the chapel women connect me to the concierge and already reserved the room, I’m blindsided when she tells me they only have a smoking room available. I’m confused and tired and sick and hungry and contemplating ripping this women’s head off. “Reserved” in hotel speak is merely a formality. I don’t even know what to say so I just nod. Smoking or not, it’s still a nice room.

We search the casino for food. At 1.00AM Vegas time, not much is left. Alan is discouraged when nobody near him speaks French. I’m so far past the point of response I can hardly keep my head from falling into my massive plate of pancakes. Though they were delicious. Happy to be rid of the car and with the promise of not getting back in it for another day. I fall asleep smiling.

So I’m not sure how to actually answer comments on this thing…rather I’m not really sure if you’ll know if I respond to your comment, so thus far:

To Sharon: I’ll be in awe when you get into Columbia! AND the book I was reading is My Sister’s Keeper, it’s probably my favorite. I’ve read it a dozen times. Though I don’t like any of her other novels…weird.
To Sarah C: Hahaha. I agree with you. We guessed an exit and then drove for like 15 miles and happened to end up in the tiny downtown area. Everything else was factories and cows.
To Rachel W: Yay! You read.
To Anna: Sadly I was only in CO for 23 hours otherwise I totally would have called you. When I make my way back we’ll do lunch or rock climb!

Also…THANKS for reading!

Day 2.

Wednesday, January 28th 2009
States crossed: Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado(!).
Hours in the car: 12-13

Its day two and I slept like a rock. I slept like I was in a freaking coma after getting hit by a rock. I love you Des Moines. Being able to shower again is just as wonderful as the coma. Whiskey seems to have removed the tumor quite well but now my nose is running like crazy. I am such a hot mess. Scratch that. After stepping outside I am a freezing mess. But there is an adorable coffee shop that we must stop in and stay inside just long enough to sip espresso, drink a milkshake, and get a parking ticket.

Edit: I am trying to convey the past as if it’s the present and it’s ending up all wrong. None of this is flowing. But it’s my fault for not writing in the beginning so bare with me.

Hope is restored because I can see the sun and the bright blue sky. I might start crying I’m so happy. I don’t even care that I am blowing my nose and sneezing every 25 minutes.

Insert long periods of driving through desolate states>


I am sucked into my book for the twelfth time when I hear Alan absentmindedly mention that Nebraska has a Strategic Air and Space Museum coming up. (http://www.sasmuseum.com/)

“That’s cool; we could stop if you want. I’m hungry.”
“No, it’s ok. We should keep driving.”

It is not until I realize he is pulling off an exit where there are only signs for picnic areas and not actual restaurants that he’s changed his mind. He claims he didn’t realize that the sign only meant camping area…sure…that sounds plausible coming from a kid that’s camped most of his life.

“Ok. You can take a picture with me next to a rocket.”

I didn’t even ask. My boyfriend is adorable. I tell him I have to go to the bathroom so we might as well go inside. He’s so happy. Who knew Nebraska could do that. We prance around giant rockets, airplanes, and jets and get back on the road. (He's in that photo with the rockets)

<<Insert more driving but this time WITH COLOR!!>>

It’s too dark to see the mountains when we arrive in Denver. It's too dark to even figure out the roads. The stars take my breath away, but I still hate driving in new states. Already I am missing Michigan-Lefts. After turning around...four times we manage to make it to TJ and Lisa's.

(For those of you that don't know, TJ is one of Alan's buddies)

They live on a pretty cute apartment complex and have two cats. Simon and (Wild) Bill. We celebrate the end of the day by going to Bull and Bush Pub and Brewery. It's your average bar, pub, and coffee house set up. It's nice. I'm exhausted and still sickish. I fall asleep while watching The Great Outdoors.

Day 1.

Tuesday, January 27^th, 2009
States crossed: Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa.
Hours in the car: 12-13

I woke up with a sore throat. There is a giant lump on the back left side. It feels like a tumor. I could ignore this if it wasn’t so apparent every time I swallowed. We woke up late, but it’s still early. Midland is calm and quiet due to the freshly fallen snow. The only noise is our newly obtained “Detroit Mix 2009” a R.Welsh Compilation. It’s probably too loud.

Even though I can’t stand it lately, the snow is beautiful and leaves a blue hue around everything. The color of goodbye.

We stop off at Sweet Waters…er…Bean and Leaf one last time. I wonder if leaving is sinking in for him now. It doesn’t matter now though because he is looking at me and smirking.

“Go ahead…”

“WE’RE REALLY DOING IT!!”

For months he has wondered around shouting that (or alternating to “livin the dream”). By the end of the first day I told him he has a limit on our trip. One per state. Right now, I’m so excited I don’t mind that he says it three more times.

It takes us exactly two states to realize our windshield washer fluid does not work properly. This is a bigger problem then you’d think. In order to ignore it. I fall asleep.

You’d be surprised how well that works. I fade in and out only to learn this small fact.

Toll roads can blow me. Nice or not.

Nobody mentions it, but January is the most desolate month to cross the country. The view out my window is hopeless, dejected, and all around hideous. I am starting to feel the same way. You don’t know how depressed you are until you find yourself at a new level. I begin to think this was all a horrible idea and I was stupid to think it would change. In front of me is white or gray. On the sides are just variations of the same pale colors. Dear God, can we drive faster? I need to see the sun or the sky or any other color. Please.

We stop long enough for Alan to eat giant chunks of cookie dough courteous of Andy. Then later Wendy’s. Day 1 is ongoing.

Finally after passing through a snow storm in the pitch black we stop in Des Moines. Somehow we manage to end up in downtown, where something magical happens. The Holiday Inn is cheap and has a glorious bed and a shuttle to run us around! I’m so happy I consider celebrating with a nap. My stomach protests and we end up wondering around downtown instead. It is everything Detroit might have been long ago when it was new and not forgotten or tainted by years of abuse. It’s quite a lovely place. We find a German Brewery. (Sorry I’ve already forgotten the name) They have Strongbow on tap. This is a happy place. I opt for whiskey instead. A Surprenant tradition. Anything to kill the tumor. This next part is hard to believe but it was so effing good I’m not ashamed to lose character points revealing it. We order wild boar and duck quesadilla. Correction, Alan orders it. And it kicks some serious ass. I want to move into this bar and only speak German for the rest of my life. I decide it’s high time to try Goulosh from an actual German restaurant. It is nothing like my Opi made and even further from my mother’s last poor attempt (I love you mom!). Regardless it’s good. I half consider becoming a spokesperson for Des Moines. Seriously you should live here. We are both exhausted by the time it’s all over and fall into bed.

And now for Tuesday’s embarrassing disclosure. Since the day I moved in with him, we have not spent a single night apart (with the exception of food poisoning bouts). That’s nearly 6 straight months. It is so cute it makes my cheeks warm. Anyway, the bed in the Holiday Inn is a king. The last bed was a queen of which I constantly threatened to kick him completely out of as I slept. The king is so much larger that it’s like he’s not even there. It is sad and beautiful and perfect to stretch out in and I hope we never get one.

(Ok. I have never used one of these types of blogs before and posting photos on it is probably the biggest hassle EVER. It took me a hour to do it (after I typed everything) You better enjoy this!)

A prologue of sorts.

We leave in two hours. The last thing I should be is awake, but with Alan taking first shift (thus gaining dibs on the couch) and the bed being sold and the blankets being packed...

I haven't written in ages. I'm going to be terrible at this. But I promised I'd keep people posted so I'm...posting. Thank God, I never promised it'd be any good. There really was a lot I wanted to say and I'm slightly annoyed that sleep is slowly fogging my brain because I haven't had time to sort any of the words out. And I know I will read this tomorrow and wish I'd chosen not to write anything at all. Alas. I guess the bottom line is that I'll miss you all terribly, but at the same time, I've never been more ready for anything in my life. So promise you'll come visit one day.

I'm not sure I'll be near a computer (rather internet connection) for a day or two but don't worry there will be photos and such.