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!