Unless you are me.
Travel has narrowed my mind, made me want to never leave the confines of my home, and also I gain weight when I travel....so the only thing "broadening" are my thighs.
Bo-gus!!
So, I have decided to do a "travel series" of blogs over the next few days/weeks/months/whatever, and detail some of my travels, sort of as a public service warning (ahem, Chico!!), and also so you know where to eat!
I have had to drive down to my hometown 2X in the past month.
10 hour drive says Google, not taking into account the times I have to drive around for 30 minutes in some Podunk, spitwad, BFE town, frantically hunting for a gas station, a Starbucks, or a way OUT of said "town".
The first trip was because my parents, who have been together for 34 years, decided to quit setting a bad example for their children and change their living-in-sin state to the legitimacy of (un)holy matrimony. The trip was (surprisingly) very sweet and drama free--except for the time I almost ran out of gas in a town of 164,000, because THE WHOLE TOWN CLOSES AT 11....seriously, Eugene, OR, go suck it. Also, I hate your teams, go Beavs!
Christmas is 5 short months away, people!
The second time was because both of my aged P's have failing health, and did not have legit medical directives and post-mortem body dispositions written out in any fashion. I decided to correct that, YAY ME! That trip was emotional, exhausting, and also just. not. fun.
I tried to get some sleep on Friday night, and was unable to, so I figured I would start driving. 1:00 in the morning, and I decided to stop off at get some Voodoo Donuts to drop off at the Fire Department in my hometown -- a decision I was later put on blast on the Mother-Effing Facebook for, as I was not dropping off fun, interesting, PNW treats, but IN FACT DELIVERING A PINK BOX FULL OF DEATH AND ORGAN FAILURE....but more on that later. Super fun, as the front area of Voodoo was full of the detritus of Portland's bar scene, standing around in drunken or drugged or both stupors. I loaded up the boxes of death and malaise and hit the road.
On the "wedding" trip down earlier in the month, I almost fell asleep around 7am, somewhere in Northern CA. I had passengers, so I was unable to drive in the manner which keeps me awake and cheerful, regardless of lack of sleep -- heater on full blast, pointed at my feet, windows down with icy mountain air pouring in, and tunes on full blast so I can yodel along to my jams in my tone-deaf, tin-ear fashion. As this trip was solo, there was no danger of me falling asleep, but I did decide I wanted a no-whip mocha at around 6:30am, so I got off the freeway in Grant's Pass, and proceeded to spend 20 minutes driving around the city in a rage.
I passed a Dutch Bros (varmint...I hate DB!) - nyet!
I passed a billion little drive through coffee places, none of which were open yet, all of which had cutesy little names that annoyed me to no end. WHY does every little coffee place have to have some kitschy, twee name? It makes me want to open a bazillion little drive through coffee places and call them all "Coffee".
ANYway, I finally busted out my phone, thinking I would use GPS. Except it wasn't working in Grant's Pass. It didn't connect. Of COURSE!!!
I finally found the Starbucks all on my own-- although I had contemplated calling 911 - surely law enforcement would know where it was, right?
Properly caffeinated, I continued along my way to sunny Califor-nye-aye, happily ignoring all of the random road ragers, tailgaters, don't-know-what-the-blinky-light-is-for-so-I-will-just-surprise-you-by-making-a-lane-changers.
Around Chico, I decided to get gas. I had about 1/4 of a tank, and figured it would be better to get it in the last large town before I left the multi-lane highway portion of my trip and embarked on the 2-lane country roads that would take me home.
As Julia Roberts told the mean sales lady that didn't want to sell her clothes when her belly button and vagina were showing in last night's dress.... BIG MISTAKE. HUGE.
Chico is not a nice place.
Now, before any of you jump my shit and defend the quaint, leafy, flower-bedecked-shrubby, peaceful little college town, I need to tell you to SHUT UP.
(Not you, Nicole, my sweet Chiconian...you just need to be quiet, ok?)
Chico totally sucks, though.
I pulled off on one of the exits, turned right onto a one way street, and drove until I saw a gas station. Not a REAL gas station, mind, but one of those weird ones that they have in CA that start with a 'V', and remind me of the giant bags of crappy imitation cereal. (Marshmallow Mateys DO NOT taste the same as Luck Charms, dammit!!) No offense, Villanova Gas Company (that's not what it's called, but it's close), but Shell, Chevron, and Safeway are the only gas stations I trust.
I got the gas, and then spent the next 40 minutes driving around Chico, CA, wanting to punch things, call 911 (for legit help this time, not for coffee), and shout at all of the happy, placid, calm, dog-walking, car-washing, shrub-pruning proles that waved or smiled at me as I slowed down, reading signs, sobbing as I realized I was back where I had started, and making blinker-indicated turns the wrong way on one way streets.
One road I got on went on for about 2 miles, and then there was a little yellow sign that said "Not A Through Street", after which the street fucking ended. Ended. Yanno, had the happy yellow sign been at the BEGINNING of the street, I would not have spent 9 minutes rolling along at a leisurely pace, looking desperately for signs directing me OUT OF THE TOWN -- I would have flipped a bitch right there and found a different street.
I decided to just get on a northbound street, figuring I would eventually hit one of the east-west streets that would get me on the freeway.
LOL.
Nope.
All of the north-south streets turned or dead ended. Seriously.
As I drove around Chico, sweat dripping down my forehead in spite of the AC on full blast, blood pressure at near stroke levels, I was frantically punching the 'scan' button, hoping to avoid that soul-crushing 'Despacito" song that is on EVERY STATION EVERY 5 MINUTES, and find some very hateful music (Korn, Eminem, or similar) that I could rage and shout along to.
Noooooope.
L.O.L.
Religious station. Bad 90s Country. Religious. Country. Mariachi station. Religious. Country. Mariachi--no, wait, fuggin' DESPACITO!! Religious. Religious. Country. Justin Bieber- not Despacito, but something equally sucky. Religious.Country.
Just as I jammed my thumb into the power button, silencing the ear assaults, I saw a Wells Fargo.
YAY!!
Civilization.
Money.
Surly customer 'service' people.
Possibly even a Nicole!!
I cut across 3 lanes of traffic and bounced into the parking lot like my last name was Duke (Bo or Luke, not David!).
The super friendly and not in the slightest bit surly customer service cheerleader was happy to help!
Here is your money!
No, no one by that name works here! There are 2 other Wells Fargo's in Chico! Would you like me to give you directions to them! (Hell no, Prozac Barbie, give me my $$ and get me OUT OF THIS FUCKING TOWN!)
No Problem!
At that light, take the first left!
Then the next left!
Then the next Left!
Then the next left!
You will see the sign for the freeway!
As I left the bank, waving goodbye to all of the other Wells Fargo employees who couldn't smile big enough or wish me a good day enthusiastically enough, 2 things occurred to me:
1. Four lefts would put me right back where I started, wouldn't it? Was it a trick? A trap? WAS I EVER GOING TO GET OUT OF CHICO??? (no worries. there is no logic, no rationale, and no sense to anything about Chico, and the laws of physics do not apply there)
2.Clearly, the town fathers put Prozac in the municipal water supply, as there is no way ANYONE could live in that town with it's deceptive street signs, sub-par gas stations, and insane street configurations and remain that cheerful, bubbly, and lets-wave-at-the-sweating-crying-lady-in-the-black-car-cause-she-is-from-out-of-state. NO WAY. (note to self, DO NOT EAT IN CHICO, not even at the In N Out, because you WILL NEVER LEAVE. There is some serious Persephone-and-the-pomegranate shit going on there, for REAL.)
Just writing that story down has got me back to stroke level blood pressure, so I gotta stop now, but will return tomorrow to tell you all about how a misguided attempt to bring a bit of PNW frivolity to some former work colleagues resulted in a.....what's after a cougar? a jaguar, right? then what?? saber-toothed tiger?...whatevs, this one broad totally throwing shade at me all over Facebook, and acting like I was trying to kill people. Also, I fell asleep on one of the best pizzas I have ever had in my life. Kind of.
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