"Austin? Austin, Massachusetts?"

I took a road trip this week to visit one of my best friends. It was an eight hour drive and that is by FAR the longest I’ve ever driven. And not just by myself: it’s the longest I’ve ever driven at one time, period. Now, as the old adage goes — a trip is always fun the way there and excruciatingly painful the way back. There’s so much excitement and anticipation on the way there, but on the way home all you can think about is how much crap you have to do when you get home that you put off while off gallivanting on vacation. So, in a dire attempt to entertain myself I decided to blog behind the wheel (I don’t think it’s outlawed yet…). In other words, I will entertain YOU with how bored I was… this sounded like a much better plan in the car.

Hour one: exasperate my phone book. Texting people I don’t even care to hear from, but just so I can have human contact for a little bit longer.

Hour two: change my Facebook status every time my: mood, whereabouts, song on the radio changes. Attempt to revive my Twitter account but realize Twitter is like Facebook’s retarded step-sister and not worth my time even in this torturous situation.

Hour three: Attempt to listen to two different books on CD. Make mental note to burn down the Crivitz Library for its lack of selection.

Hour four: Feels stretch marks skittering across my bladder. Watch the miles tick away until the next rest area and seriously consider peeing in my Wendy’s cup but can’t quite figure out the mechanics. Thinks if I had found a magic lamp I would waste two wishes on Depends and a nurse to change me.

Hour five: Discovers rest area, but is the only person there so I keeps my phone in my hand with 9-1-1 already typed in. Washes her feet in the sink with said phone still in-hand after stepping in mystery liquid in front of the toilet.

Hour six: Savage Garden comes on the one radio station that comes in followed by Natalie Imbruglia and I almost burst into tears I’m so happy.

Hour seven: Sees sign that reads “Prison area, do not pick up hitch hikers” and crosses “hitch hikers” off my road trip to-do list.

Hour eight: Thinks I am much closer than I am about 700 times during the trip and almost cries twice because she can’t listen to The Climb by Miley or anything Taylor Swift ever again because she heard it 701 times during the trip.


Arrival: Walk in the house and yell at mom for putting a blanket that isn’t mine my room while I was gone. I know this was mean, but it felt so good to let it all out.

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