I wanted to write a big long epic gorgeous post about my trip, but this whole going back to work thing has totally kicked me in the hiney so I am not sure how epic or gorgeous it shall be. Don’t you love it when I preface my posts by lowering expectations like that? And don’t you love it that I think that you might actually be expecting quality from me? I’m so cute that way.
When we left for California, it was snowing here in Seattle. It hardly ever snows in Seattle, and I love that. I have seen enough snow in my life to last me for the rest of my days. So when it starts to snow here, and it’s late March, I get a little bit rageful. So that was actually a good thing in this case, as it booted me out my door that much quicker. I was more than ready to say goodbye to my usually beloved city. Goodbye unseasonal snow! Goodbye pine trees! Goodbye shiny new libraries! Goodbye people who like to cover themselves in fleecewear and wear Crocs in public!
Please, any fleecewearing croc-lovers. Do not hate me. These items, they are just not for me. You have every right to be wearing them, I completely respect that. I am just saying that I was glad to not see it for a while. As Peter Cetera says: “Everybody needs a little time away…from the Crocs…as foot covers.” Isn’t that how that song goes?
Anyhoo. We took off, trying to outrun the snow, and by the time we got to Portland for lunch, it was still snowing. Not cool, Portland. Not cool. After lunch at our favorite Portland lebanese restaurant, we stopped at one of my favorite shoe stores there. I have been having a shoe dilemma lately, and I was hoping this place would be the solution, as it has been in the past for any shoe dilemma that I have come across.
I really didn’t intend for this to be a post that had shoes as its thematic center.
My shoe problem is this. Cute flats. I can’t find any. Not any that are really my style, that is. I have cute flat boots, and Converse sneakers, and Puma exercise-y shoes. But all my other shoes, the kind that are cute? All have heels. I am not saying that there aren’t cute flats in existence. I am just saying that there aren’t any that are suitable to me. Not that I’ve found. Granted, I am picky. But. Imelda’s didn’t help me.
There really is no reason why this part of the trip has gotten a whole paragraph dedicated to it. It’s not entertaining, clearly.
Moving on. We drove some more and gradually left the conifer encrusted landscapery and entered into the mossy mists of southern oregon. They got a lot of moss there, people. If you have a moss-phobia, this place would freak your freak.
You are thinking that there is no such thing as moss-phobia, aren’t you? I can almost guarantee you that there are moss phobics in the world, because there are phobics that exist for everything you can possibly imagine. I saw this episode of Maury one time where this girl was afraid of dill pickles. And so Maury made her go to a pickle factory, and the girl was so skerred it was like she was in a horror film but instead of a dude in a hockey mask, the serial killer was a giant gherkin.
After we saw the mosslands, we then went into the land of “scabby trees.” This was a term coined on the spot by Nordic Boy, who despite my last post didn’t have the proper terminology to describe the trees we were seeing. These trees were skinny and looked like they had been burned up, but they weren’t charred, they were just black and leafless and sort of flaky looking.
It just now occurs to me that I should have been taking photos while on this trip. Because, really, what can one picture in one’s mind when faced with a term like “scabby tree?” It’s just such a sad term. Like smelly cat, as sung by Pheobe Buffay. “Scabby tree, scabby tree, what are we calling you? Scabby tree, scabby tree, it’s not your fault!”
That night, we drove into Ashland, Oregon, home of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. This caused Nordic Boy and I to drop the words “forsooth” and “forthwith” into as much of our conversation as possible.
Nordic Boy: We will be arriving at our hotel forthwith!
Me: Forsooth, it shall be a grand time!
Nordic Boy: Grand it shall be, forthwithly!
Me: Forsootheth, so it shall!
Nordic Boy: Forsootheth? Say that five times fast.
Both of us: Forsootheth forsootheth forsootheth forsootheth forsootheth.
You are so wishing you were in the car with us for nine hours, aren’t you?
We arrived at the hotel, tired to the bone, and checked into our hotel and got into bed. Immediately. No dinner, no smooching, no enjoying the fancy room, no nothing.
The next day, guess what? More driving! And more talking nonsense for hours on end! I shall spare you the details.
We arrived in San Fran in time for a late lunch with friends. We followed our mapquested directions (or was it google map? I can’t remember), which led us right into the middle of town which was nowhere near the restaurant. First Imelda’s lets me down and now internet directions. What the hell, people?
We made it to lunch, where we tried to be social but were so friggin’ starving by that point that we basically shoved food into our mouths with both hands while our nice friends stared at us in pity. Then we drove off to the land of Stanford, to meet up with BioGirl.
We got there, started to help her pack, and didn’t stop until the weekend was over. We were packing fools! We packed up her stuff into a U-Haul, then drove the U-Haul to a door-to-door storage type place an hour or so away (more driving! yeah boyee!), unpacked the U-Haul, repacked her stuff into the storage unit, came back to her place and packed up the remaining stuff into her car and our car to be driven back to Seattle.
Next post: the trip back to Seattle. Do Nordic Boy and I torment BioGirl with bad Shakespearean dialogue? Do we ever figure out just what a scabby tree is? Do all of BioGirl’s belongings get back home in one piece?
I shall be blogging about all of that and more next time. Forsootheth.