"'Cause I've seen blue skies, through the tears in my eyes, and I realize...I'm going home."*

   Hi. It’s been a while. It’s okay if you’re over me. I’ve been sort of over myself, if you know what I mean.

   A lot has happened in the last three weeks. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will provide you with hi-lights, so we can ease back into our routine without too much hoop-la. I hate explanations. I never know what to leave out, and then I end up writing too much and everyone gets bored.

   Bored is bad.

   Okay:

1.  I live in Omaha now. It’s not permanent, but it feels strange. Being here on vacation is one thing. Living here (if only for a couple of months) feels overwhelmingly surreal. I don’t have a ton of stuff to occupy my time as yet, so I drive around and take pictures of things. Which is pretty much exactly what I did the last time I lived here…in the year 2000. Only back then I just drove around. And, to be fair, I can make anything feel overwhelming.

So strange to see in the summer, but so great all the same. Memorial Park, Omaha.

2.  Em and I drove from Los Angeles to Three Rivers, CA to see the Sequoias (more on that later). Then we drove from there to Omaha. In total it took 4 days. We are no longer sprightly, energetic people like we once were. We are slightly older and we get tired easily. Four days felt long, but three days would’ve killed us. Can’t imagine how much it would’ve hurt if we didn’t really like each other.

The drive from LA, via Sequoia National Park, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado and Western Nebraska.

3.  My life leading up to the road trip was a hazy blur of packing, drinking, eating whatever I could find, and sleeping and then doing all of those same things again. It may have been fun at times. I don’t choose to remember. 

My life pre-move: a vicious cycle.

4.  I realized the other week that I’m sexually attracted to men in drag.

5. Speaking of men in drag, did you hear Tim Curry had a stroke? E and I saw him in LA once. It remains the celebrity-siting hi-light of my existence. One of the sexiest men EVER. He's recovering properly, so don't worry.

6.  I don’t know if my succulents will survive the summer in Omaha. It’s already rained twice since they’ve been here, and the sun isn’t being too cooperative. They don’t like that. They look a lot like I do when I’m hungover. And my aloe plant has a broken arm from the road trip.

7.  I have been forced to kill three spiders in three days (Gabe would say I wasn't forced, and she herself would just pick them up with her GD hands and take them outside because she is INVINCIBLE). And I don’t want to kill them (yes I do! I do!), but not because I’m good and nature-y like Gabe, but because they horrify me, but the alternative is worse (they will mutate into Shiders and/or eat me in my sleep). It’s so spider-y in the summers in Nebraska. Just writing about it makes me feel things crawling on my skin.

8.  I feel very fat at present. And covered in webs.

   Alrighty, then, I think you’re up to speed, basically. I will write more and better things in the next few days, if my sanity holds out. I still need to find a groove but also...I was afraid to write, thinking that this would be hard for us. And then I had to figure out my parents' Interwebs code. But then I realized that one of us had to be the mature one. You’re welcome. 

*"I'm Going Home" by Richard O'Brien from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Performed by my beloved Tim Curry.

"Tip the world over on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles."*

   So now every damn street in Los Angeles has this painted on it:

On the upside, now I have an easier way of drawing bikers.

   Oh great. As if my loathing of bicyclists couldn’t increase, this damn town found a way to make the problem immeasurably worse.

   I first wish to address my issue with bikers: okay, biking is super fun. Biking instead of driving is a great idea. My whole beef is, why are you acting like you’re in a car and taking up the whole lane, AND YET you’re not bothering to obey any of the traffic signals that the drivers have to obey? For instance, is signaling your turns not considered “cool” anymore? Is running red lights okay? If you get in the left-hand turning lane in front of me, your measly bike will not be enough to prompt the left turn signal for the 8 cars behind you. And unlike you, we can’t run whichever lights we feel like running. The speed limit is 35. You are going about 25. There are 9 thousand cars behind you. Is this really helping with the traffic congestion problem or is it causing it? Again, biking is a great idea in theory. It is good exercise and you aren’t contributing to the smog. But you are still not part of the solution. Los Angeles: letting the bikers take over all the car lanes may not be the answer. I’m just saying. And that is all.

   Now, what I really want to write about is how seeing these new bike lanes, along with the city buses that have “Every lane is a bike lane” printed on them (check out this HILARIOUS photo) remind me that leaving Los Angeles isn’t the saddest thing that’s ever happened to me.

   Allow me to share some other things I won’t miss:

1.  People who stop their cars in the middle of the freeway to check out the accident on the OTHER SIDE of the freeway, thereby causing both sides of the freeway to be congested. Check it out on the news when you get home, you assholes.

2.  Those beautiful springtime wildfires. Living near any kind of plant is a liability in this town. And it helps contribute something extra to the smoggy horizon. Last night, Chad and I went out around sunset and he was admiring the beautiful storm clouds. I had to point out (had to?) that half of those clouds were made of smoke from the current raging bonfire in Camarillo. Nice.

3.  The overwhelming number of actors, musicians, screenwriters, dancers and models. Who does the accounting around here? Who teaches the children? Who picks up the garbage? I can’t see how this city is surviving with everyone out on auditions. But god bless them for keeping the Hollywood dream alive.

4.  Traffic.

5.  Hard bodied women and men who make me feel inferior right after I just lost two pounds and was feeling pretty sexy.

6.  Those helicopters that fly over your neighborhood with their searchlights blazing for hours at a time. I just want to know if they’ve ever actually helped catch anybody. Apparently all the criminals hide out in my apartment. No matter where I live. 

What Satan is doing with taxpayers' money.

   But then there are things that I will miss. Things that make Los Angeles goofy and unique in a way that I don’t know if you can find anywhere else. Things that are so ridiculous, you have to love them just a little bit.

Will miss:

1.  Actors, musicians, screenwriters, dancers and models. They are trying and they are working very hard at a game that isn’t easy or often possible to win. The hope is what gives this city its energy. And sometimes it’s an energy that reeks of desperation, but it’s an exciting energy all the same. I applaud anyone who can stick it out year after year and work his or her tail off at the mere glimmer of success. I couldn’t do it, and I didn’t really want to. I think those people are incredible. They give this city some intangible vibrancy that no other city has. (Am I being cheesy? I don’t care. I’m not sorry.)

2.  Sunshine. Warm weather. 

3. People trying to get into restaurants because they've been told that the restaurant(s) are impossible to get into. People in Los Angeles love being told they can't go somewhere. Then the place becomes super popular right away. Especially the places that have names with no bearing on what goes on inside. (I've always thought that if I ever were to open a restaurant in LA I'd name it "Chair" or "Poo" so people would be confused and then curious and then determined to get in. I'd spend the first few weeks not letting ANYONE inside. I'd be a hit.)

4.  The trifecta of beautiful scenery: ocean, mountains, deserts.

5.  A sea of ethnic and religious diversity. I don’t think I have a single friend here who is my same race and religion. (My coven is currently all Filipinos.)

6.  8 million different kinds of restaurants (see number 5).

7.  The kiddos (can't think about it).

8.  My friends (ditto).

   Boo. Now I’m sad. Cue montage of me with my friends having meaningful moments together while Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Remember You" plays. (I'd watch that, don't know about you.) But change is always a little sad, a little scary, a little awesome. But, as I read in some women’s magazine somewhere sometime, change creates new neural pathways in your brain and leads to happiness. And women’s magazines are always correct about everything. 

   And if I start to feel too sad, I just look at this postcard Bert sent me during college:

And he wrote on it, "Look familiar?"

*The title quote is from Frank Lloyd Wright. And he ought to know. He designed some pretty crazy houses in this city.

"Reality is the leading cause of stress among those in touch with it."*

   It seems like major life changes always come in bunches. When it rains, it pours, if you will. And I started with one change and then things sort of spun out of control. As they do.

   So, there’s the fact that I’m moving again. And this time I’m moving across the country (but only halfway) to Texas. (Yeehaw!) But then there’s the fact that I’ve got a lot of packing to do, recently quit my antidepressant, have applied/am applying to a butt-load of internships, went to the wedding of one of my best friends and learned that one of my other best friends is engaged. I’m going to live in Omaha for the summer and need to find a job. I’m starting school in Austin in the fall and need to figure out how to pay for it. I have to cancel all the utilities, get rid of some furniture, pass my marketing class, and remember to water my plants and shower occasionally. Whoa, lordy, lordy. I’m a mess. Sadly, I’ve not skipped a single meal so I’m still not one of those people who lose weight when they’re stressed out. 

I'll have to get better at drawing Texas...

   Let’s start with the fact that I’m moving to Texas to raise, ride, and rope broncos. No, not really. I’m just going to graduate school. (The bronco thing will just be a side gig.) Did you know that graduate school is very expensive and there are no dorms? It’s okay, I didn’t have a dorm in undergrad so I’m not that worried. But a little handholding and a helpful to-do list from the U would be useful. I can’t think about that now. There are too many things between now and then that have to get figured out, if I think about that now I’ll go crazy.

   I’m moving back home (Omaha) for the summer. I have to find a job of some type, since I’m almost positive I will not be receiving an allowance. Finding a job in a new/old city is hard. Especially when the city is so small that there’s a good chance you’ll wind up giving a lap dance to one of your high school teachers. Just kidding. My dancing days are over. But it’d still be slightly awkward to wait on my parents’ next-door neighbors or serve coffee to my ex-boyfriend’s best friend.  Shoot. Fingers crossed I get an office job and never have to explain my poor life choices to someone from my past this summer. But Omaha doesn’t usually work that way (3 degrees of separation), so my hopes aren’t very high in that regard.

   But even BEFORE I can panic too much about summer employment, I have to move. Again. And I hate moving. Moving is a heinous, boring nightmare that forces me to really examine when and how I became such a ferocious hoarder. And I have to shut off all my utilities, but I can’t get out in front of them: you really have to cancel them right when you move or you’re sort-of fucked for electricity and gas and Internet for a few weeks. Nards.

   I generally respond to stress by taking a nap. But even that is biting me in the butt, because napping prevents me from packing. And if I don’t finish packing, I can’t move. And if I don’t move, I can’t go to grad school. And if I don’t go to grad school, I’ll die of sadness and poverty. Life is viciously stressful.

   And did I mention I stopped taking my antidepressant? Good timing, that. But I couldn’t bear to go back to my mean, old psychiatrist. She’s a bitch and makes me cry every time I see her. I’d rather cry for free. Plus, it was probably time to quit, anyway. But now I feel like everyday I’m standing outside of my body watching things happen to someone else and it’s extremely disconcerting. And it’s super hard to feel energetic or to get good sleep. I really couldn’t have planned a worse time to go cold turkey on my mental health meds. But…such is life. And it is, yet again, a first world problem. But I’m insane (for real) at the moment. And I probably sound like a bona fide psychopath. But that was always lurking inside of me, and its time I start appreciating myself as the fucked up individual I’ve always been…and may always be.

   And it’s making my insides feel like they’re full of poison and tears. But my insides are also working desperately to expel them, so it’s sort of like a cleanse, right? I’ll add “cleanse” to my California bucket list. It’s such a California thing to do.

I didn't really drink poison. That was artistic license. But it feels like poison's going to come out sometime soon...

   In an effort to stay the positive course, here are things I’m looking forward to in the next few weeks/months:

1.  Leaving Los Angeles.

2.  Spending summer in Omaha.

3.  Paddle-surfing (tomorrow!): bucket list! Bucket list! (Thanks to Gabe and Em!)

4.  Road trips (to Omaha, to Austin, maybe to Mt. Rushmore this summer).

5.  Summer, summer, summer.

6.  Cowboys.

7.  New beginnings.

*The quote is from Lily Tomlin. I don't know how much it applies to me personally, since my grasp of reality is questionable. But it's a nice quote anyway.

"When you go into court you are putting your fate into the hands of twelve people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty."*

   I’m at the Los Angeles Superior Courthouse in the jury assembly room and my computer is only at 31% battery. I've been here since 7:45 a.m. It is presently 9:32 a.m. This is going to be a very, very long day once my laptop dies. 

Downtown. Spoiler alert: I took this when I thought I'd be leaving before lunch.

   The sitting and doing nothing is truly awful. It gives me a low-grade panic attack. Or maybe I’m just really hungry. I was going to go downstairs to the cafeteria during our break, but there was such a stampede to get out of the assembly room that it didn’t seem worth it. Plus, riding an elevator with 16 other people is no fun. And it seems that only 1 of 12 elevators in the building is operating today. If there is an emergency, we’re fucked.

   At the moment we’re just sitting here. How can that be right? Aren’t there supposed to be numerous jury panels happening at the same time? Oh man, this isn’t how I’d hoped to spend the day. They had a judge come in during “orientation” and give us a really long, heartfelt speech about what an honor it is to serve on a jury and how it’s really no big deal when you compare it to waiting in line for drinking water in a third world country. And I guess that’s so. But that doesn’t make the time pass any faster.

   Here are some photos of one of the greater celebrities to have served on a Los Angeles County jury:

What? Who's it starring?!?

Weird Al Yankovic! (Seriously? I bet people in Des Moines don't have to put up with this.)

   They also gave out a brochure during "orientation" with a list of places nearby and things to see. Oh yeah, because lunch break is an hour-and-a-half, I'll go explore MOCA. Thanks, Los Angeles County! 

Wait, didn't I just park at The Disney Concert Hall? Why would I walk back there?

Oh sure, I'll go buy jewelry. Or go to a church...and pray that I don't have to sit on a jury.

  Also, it’s odd that some people are STILL so inconsiderate about their electronics. I’m sitting in a smallish alcove off the main assembly room and one woman was having a full-on phone conversation and only ended it because “reception was bad” not because 8 other people were in the room being forced to hear one half of her boring-ass, loud conversation. Another woman is currently watching a show on her phone without headphones. It’s really fun to listen to what sounds suspiciously like a home video of a bunch of people sitting around in a kitchen talking about the weather. If you’re going to make us all listen, at least watch something good.

   Oh crap. We’re at 28% now. They just called the second group. It’s nearly 11 a.m. and the latest they can keep us is around 5p.m. Which means once my laptop dies I will have to figure out how to entertain myself for a possible total of 6 hours. Yikes. I guess I may have to read a book or think a thought or write some stuff in my list notebook with a pen just like in olden times. Or I’ll waste the day staring at all the crazy people. Actually, there aren’t that many crazy-looking people here. I thought it would be much worse. I guess most of the crazies stay off the grid and don’t get called up for this shit. Crazy like foxes.

   I’m very hungry now. It’s been 4-and-a-half hours since I ate breakfast. I can survive this. I know I can! We get a lunch break, but I was sort of hoping they’d send me home before that. Wishful thinking.

   I’ll update this when I get home. For now I’m going to save what precious little battery life I have left for a true boredom meltdown around 2 p.m. this afternoon.

This is a drawing of me. Trapped inside the courthouse.

   I’m back. 

   I didn’t get out of the courthouse until 4:30 p.m., after pleading extreme poverty to the judge who took begrudging pity on me. I was LITERALLY the LAST person excused from his court (which was, coincidentally, right across the hallway from the court of a certain Judge Lance Ito. Cool! Celebrity judge!) My judge probably didn’t believe I was poor because I was dressed so fancy. Ha ha. No seriously, he let me out because it was a criminal case and it was set to last for a month. There’s no way I wouldn’t have ended up living on the sidewalk after missing a month of work. 

   This was, of course, only after I’d listened to two hours of “voir dire” from the panel that had been called in before mine. ("Voir dire," as I learned from my juror instruction manual, is that thing of where they ask you a bunch of questions about your views in order to suss out whether or not you’re a Nazi or a pothead or an electrical engineer. Seriously—they bagged the electrical engineer. I think it was because the defense found him too rational.) When they finally stopped arguing and chose a 12th juror, I gasped really loudly and everyone started laughing until the judge informed us that it didn't mean anything: we'd have to come back tomorrow to pick an alternate. Finally, my poverty worked in my favor!!

   It was kind of interesting but I didn’t like not being able to go to the bathroom when I wanted to and I’m really bad at entertaining myself when I’m anxious. And I was incredibly anxious that I would have to serve on a jury. I don’t care how important it is to the justice system: I have ADD. And my laptop and phone were both kaput so all I had left was the old iPad, so I drew a picture (see above). But I also have photographic hi-lights from my day (also see above, and below). But when you’re actually in the courtroom, you can’t play with your electronics at all, so I was forced to listen and draw in my notebook.

Musings from my notebook during jury selection.

   The justice system is flawed. It takes a lot of time and people watch a lot of crime dramas so they think they can weasel their way out of things by professing to be heinous bigots or complete morons (and sometimes they aren’t lying).  I listened to these people who could barely string a sentence together (English speakers, all) claim things like, “One time I saw a case like this on the news and ever since then I’ve been incredibly biased towards people who do whatever it is this case is about.” Or, “My mom’s house got broken into one time in the 80’s, so I can’t be an impartial juror when it comes to crimes involving money-laundering.” I would have used the term the judge used, “misappropriation of funds,” but there were maybe only 4 jurors from the entire afternoon who would’ve been able to use the word “misappropriation” in a sentence. One guy kept saying he’d seen this case on the news, even though there’d been no news coverage of the event. They kept him, though, so it backfired. Ah, justice. But now they’re stuck with a liar. Oh well. He’s probably a decent guy who just really wants to go back to work tomorrow.

   Anyway, it’s over for at least 12 more months. In that time I’m going to have to somehow become a doctor because I hear from several reliable sources that doctors are never wanted on juries.

Or maybe I’ll just move. 

*Kind of true, kind of not. This quote is from Norm Crosby, a popular 70's comedian.

"When it's 100 degrees in New York, it's 72 in Los Angeles. When it's 30 degrees in New York, in Los Angeles it's still 72. However, there are 6 million interesting people in New York, and only 72 in Los Angeles."*

   It rained** over the weekend and so today it was so clear that I realized that the San Gabriel Mountains were much larger than I thought they were. I’d never really seen them before and it turns out I’d just been looking at the foothills all these years. Ha! Weird, though, because if you can never see them, does it even matter that they’re there? (Whoa, that’s totally existential of me.) But we get so few clear days in Los Angeles that it was a real treat to find out about the mountains. Today it looked like this:

I love those hot air balloons. Love them.

   Minus the hot air balloon. And the regular balloon. And I didn’t draw in the mountains. I guess this is just what today felt like in my head.

  I was feeling pretty awesome this morning even without the mountains (though those made it even nicer) because I’ve FINALLY lost the weight I put on over Christmas and the New Year. That’s right, folks. I gained 6 pounds in two weeks at my parents’ house eating the following: Christmas cookies, my dad's brownies from-scratch (Grandma Begge's recipe), Kraft mac-n-cheese, and copious servings of buttered toast. (Disclaimer: these items were either gifts from schadenfroh*** neighbors or purchased by my mom for my sister Penelope, who can apparently eat whatever the fuck she wants and drink six regular cokes a day and not gain weight. The last time I could get away with that kind of diet, I was 8.) Turns out flour and sugar are bad for you and I had the gut to prove it. But now I’m back to my pre-holiday weight so I can start again with my regular 15-lb weight loss goal. Hooray for baby steps!

   So I went to my appointment for laser hair removal. (Yeah, I do that. You never know when Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue will need a last minute replacement for Marisa Miller.) So anyway, I had consciously made the appointment with Aren, seeing as how she is the technician I always visit. But it turns out my technician’s name has been Linda this whole time. Wow, I feel like an asshole leaving all those tips for Aren. And...wait for it...Aren is Linda’s SON. And he was the only technician working today. The receptionist, Annabelle, informed me that he’s really good and he’s an R.N. so I shouldn’t worry about showing him my vagina.

   I said, “Have you ever been to him?”

   She said, “Well, he’s my brother, so…”

   “So, no.”

   She said, “No. But people love him! He’s really good! People request him specifically.”

   I think that the “people” specifically requesting him were me. Last week. And notice she said "people" not "women."

   But then Annabelle told me that she has a male gynecologist. Helpful.

   Anyway, long story short (TOO LATE), I sucked it up and had my appointment with Aren. 

   Aren came out and Annabelle said, "Aren, take really good care of Lacey. It's her first time with a male technician and she's really excited!"

   I said, "Well now, that sounds wrong somehow."

   But you know what? Aside from not having much to say while he was working, Aren was truly excellent. I would see him again (just as friends). I think he’s better than his mom, even. And I feel like he probably deals with a fair amount of sexism (not to mention skepticism) in his line of work, what with being a man and all. On the other hand, maybe that’s a weird profession for a man. But on a third hand, I’m sure dudes that are getting hair lasered off their butt cheeks are happy that he’s doing what he's doing. Okay. I’m totally sold on Aren. (Which is apparently pronounced like “Aaron” and not, as I previously thought, an exotic, Armenian name pronounced like “are-en.” Or R.N., which he is!) And at least my tips were staying in the family.

   That’s enough/more than enough for now. Happy Monday!

*Neil Simon. Not to shit on LA, but have you ever noticed that when people who live here talk about it we always say, "Well, you can't beat the weather." That's because if we didn't have the weather, we'd kill ourselves.
**Due to the rain, my power went out for an unknown period of time over the weekend, which explains why the milk I poured all over my oatmeal led to a near-brush with vomiting.

***Schadenfroh, according to my sources (the Interwebs), is the adjective form of schadenfreude. It’s not really used in English, but it was the only word I wanted to describe people who bring plates of cookies to your house during the holiday season and call it "a gift."

"What the hell are you driving here?" "We had a small fire last night, but we caught it in the nick of time." "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" "Funny enough, I was just talking to my friend about that. Our speedometer has melted and as a result it's very hard to see with any degree of accuracy exactly how fast we were going."*

   I regret the decision to write about Planes, Trains and Automobiles in my last post. For those who haven’t seen it because they care nothing about culture or the world in which they live, it is a movie about a man (Neal/Steve Martin) who is attempting to get home to Chicago from a work trip in New York in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with his family. In New York he stumbles upon Del (John Candy) a shower ring salesman who inadvertently poops all over every attempt Neal makes to get home. The two wind up traveling together on planes, trains (though I honestly don’t remember a train part—but I’m sure it’s in there) and also in automobiles. And it’s rough. It takes days. And Del is a slobbish buffoon who makes life hell for Neal, who doesn’t really have the holiday spirit (Thanksgiving holiday spirit, not Christmas) in his heart to begin with. But then it stops being funny and gets sad and I can’t stand it. Intrigued? Because you probably should be.

Neal and Del have an accident. (Photo)

   I regret my decision to bring this movie up because I’m pretty sure I planes, trains and automobiles-ed myself by even mentioning it. It’s like saying Candy Man three times or mentioning the name Macbeth in a theatre. It’s bad luck and/or certain death. I’m Irish, was raised Catholic, and spent the first 28 years of my life in theatres so it’s okay for me to be superstitious to a decidedly ridiculous degree. I have no choice in the matter and can't do anything about it, anyway. Just ask my Tarot deck and my Ouija Board.

   The shit started with a phone call around 12:30 on the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. It was Primetime Shuttle calling to inform me that my shuttle would be arriving at 1:05 pm instead of 1:20. That was surprising in and of itself because I’d scheduled the ride for 1:50. So despite being butt-naked and just out of the shower (you're welcome for that imagery) I had to bust ass to get ready on time and having done that, I sat on the couch and turned on My Best Friend’s Wedding to pass the 5 minutes until the shuttle arrived. At 1:25, I called Primetime Shuttle and said, “Hey, not to be a pest, but where the fuck are you? I’m already to the part where Cameron Diaz sings karaoke.” And they said don’t worry, the driver will be there at 1:35. Then the driver called at 1:45 and said he was 5 minutes away. So I went outside and waited and he showed up at 2:10. (He also took a truly asinine way to the airport and had trouble realizing he was driving a conversion van and not a Camaro and nearly killed us about 8 times. Whatever.)

Traveling image: Best part of Thanksgiving. I walked with my family at Neale Woods. Omaha skyline in the background. Traveling on foot seems to be the best mode of transit for me, across-the-board.

   So then I got on a plane to Las Vegas and sat there for four hours due to circumstances beyond everyone’s control. I really don’t know why the flight was delayed so long. They never told me. But the Las Vegas airport is an especially depressing place and flights never leave on time from there, so I don’t know why I keep going back. Oh yeah, and I had to spend my eating money on tampons because…well, for obvious reasons, and the tampons cost way more than normal tampons and they were embarrassing to buy in a way they never are when I buy them at Target.

   When I arrived in Omaha, it was 1:40 in the morning. Normally Omaha's Epply Airfield stops receiving flights around 11:30. It's two terminals and 2 random dudes running baggage to the carousels. Seriously. So I called my Mom figuring she’d be glad that I’d gotten in 20 minutes earlier than expected, but she didn’t answer the phone. Because she was asleep. Which is totally fair because it was 2 in the goddamn morning. But she kept not answering her cell, so I finally called the home phone and no one answered that either. When she called me back at 2:06 a.m. I was relieved because most of the people were gone…and so were all of the (3) cabs. It wasn’t that big of a deal—she’d set her alarm for another day. And my mom doesn’t regularly keep finding projects to work on til 2 in the morning like I do. I blame it on Las Vegas, but more than that I blame it on the fact that I wrote about Planes, Trains and Automobiles right before I flew home for Thanksgiving. 

An Omaha gas station. Also loosely related to travel.

   Then on Saturday I ate lunch at Runza. If you’re not from Nebraska, there’s a good chance you don’t know what Runza is. Don’t worry about it. It’s kind of embarrassing, but all you need to know is it’s a fast-food place and my best friend Michelle wanted her boyfriend, Danny, to try it since he’s not from Nebraska, god love him. So I met them and ate Runza and then left and promptly backed into a car. Now, I didn’t back into the car going very fast. In fact I was going about .25 miles per hour. But I backed into a parked, empty car and then parked and got out to survey the damage. I circled the damn car and inspected it’s rear-end and saw no damage. While I was doing this, a family inside was watching me and laughing. I thought that was mean. But I saw no damage to the car so I left.

   Well, the highly-amused family of four must’ve been madder than they looked, because I guess they took down my license plate number and four hours later the cops showed up at my parents house looking for my mom.  I asked what they were there for and they said it was for a hit-and-run. And I said, “Oh, that wasn’t my mom. I guess you’re here for me.” And then they said they weren’t going to take me to jail (perhaps only because my mom said, "You officers aren't going to take my little girl to jail, are you?"**), but that they probably should and they gave me a citation and now I have a lawyer and I’m a big-time criminal. IT IS ILLEGAL TO HIT A PARKED CAR AND NOT CALL THE POLICE, REGARDLESS OF DAMAGE. Lesson learned. I’m an idiot. Again. Still?

   Did I mention we were on our way out the door for my dad’s birthday dinner? Happy Birthday, Dad! Guess what? I’m still a fuck-up at 30. Thanks for working hard every day so I can go out and raise your insurance rates during one of the 20 days you see me each year. Let's go eat fancy dinner!**

   My lawyer (that feels kind of grown-up to write…in a sad sort of way) says that it’s good that it was 1 in the afternoon at a Runza and not 1 in the morning at a Taco Bell, because the cops had/have no reason to think I was boozing it up and then running away. He says lots of people in Nebraska get drunk and hit cars and then go home and by the time the cops catch up with them they can say they got drunk at home. I was not drunk or drinking, but the whole event made me want to start drinking. And it cast a dark shadow on my favorite week of the year and I still feel really bad all-around. And I didn’t have the heart to write about it until now. I’m remorseful and, as is so often the case with me, full of self-pity.

   And I can’t help but think about scenes in movies like the one in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles where Del falls asleep in the rental car and somehow simultaneously starts a fire and ends up driving into oncoming traffic and they barely escape with their lives. Where’s the gruesome, icky and yet somehow also monotonous aftermath scene in the police station and the follow up scene in the lawyer's office? These events seem funny in the movies, but they really suck a whole lot in real life. And you know what else, they’re embarrassing moments that stick in your brain and run like reel-to-reels for days and days on end.

   Today I flew home to Los Angeles. It was uneventful, thank Shiva. I did however see the following text exchange on the phone of the woman seated next to me:

Incoming: I need drugs. And help.

My seatmate’s reply: Drugs I got. I don’t know about any help.

   Anyway.

   Needless to say, I think I’m pretty much traveled out for this year. Since January I’ve been to Denver, Phoenix, Omaha, Minneapolis, San Francisco, Omaha again, Chicago and now Omaha. It’s a miracle I didn’t relive that entire movie. My luck has officially run out. I’m a grounded eagle. I may never fly again.

   P.S. Sorry for being such a Debbie Downer.

*An interchange between a State Trooper and Del in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (John Hughes, 1987). 
**Despite my failings as their daughter, my parents are truly amazing, supportive, incredible people who keep loving me and being nice to me anyway. Which I don't think they are legally obliged to do at this point, seeing as I'm well over the age of 18. So my Negative Nancy attitude aside, I think I have to acknowledge that I'm VERY LUCKY INDEED. 

***As a tie on to this more-sane (saner?) train of thought, I'd like to tack on this link to Gabe's recent blog post, which put things Thanksgiving- and other-related into a bit of perspective.