Cross Country: Part One

Ahhh, the first day of the great American road trip has come to a close. I find myself in Oklahoma City, getting ready to sleep, sans bed, in the empty apartment of a buddy who's driving along with us to Flagstaff tomorrow. Methinks a list will be the best way to recap this first leg of our adventure...

1. This morning, when my hair dryer stopped, I realized that Emily had brilliantly thought to put on Hall and Oates (whom we have a deep, shared love for - how can you NOT love something so ridiculously cheesy?) The song that was playing... "She's Gone."
   
   
2. As we were pulling out of Starkville, video camera rolling, I cranked up the song that started this whole fiasco. We both cried when "The Great Escape" reached its crescendo with the words "Drive, don't stay. I wanna see you get away."
   
   
3. We stopped in Batesville to have breakfast at Cracker Barrel with my teeny, tiny friend (that would be McKissack). On the way out, we saw a car with a huge sticker that said, "Back to the bible or back to the jungle."
   
   
4. At some point, I got used to the fact that I couldn't see anything in my rearview but mounds of luggage.
   
   
5. For the most part, Arkansas and Oklahoma were pretty uneventful, save a nasty rainstorm and lots of people on motorcycles with no helmets.

Tomorrow brings Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, which adds up to about 12 hours of driving. I wonder what we'll see...

"They Do" and "How Could You?"

Well, she went and did it. Tied the knot. Latched on the old ball and chain. Renamed herself. As of last night, my beautiful sister became one half of a married couple, and I honestly couldn't be more thrilled about it. Although I usually get incredibly (and I stress the word "incredibly") cheesed out by wedding ceremonies, it was impossible to be cynical when it is so obvious that their being together was written in the stars long before either of them were born. Yes. I just said that. I'll wait for you to finish gagging. Besides, the wedding was in the sand overlooking the Gulf. What's not to love?

At any rate, she was simply stunning, which isn't hard considering she's hands-down the most gorgeous creature I've ever known. And had I been given the opportunity to select the perfect hubby for her, it would have been the one she chose for herself. So kudos, sis, on making such a stellar choice. End scene.

Post reception wasn't easy. I had to say goodbye to my grandmothers, aunts and uncles, which broke my heart because making people cry just sucks. And walking away from my four little cousins was horrible because I realize that they'll change so much between now and the next time I see them. I hope they don't forget me. I hope I don't forget how they laugh, or what their voices sound like or how it feels to wrap my arms around them. I gave the oldest her first guitar lesson last night. E minor. She promised to teach it to her little sister. They're gonna be rockstars. Mark my words.

And much to my surprise, my oldest cousin stopped me in the hall with a genuine look of confusion on his face to ask me how on earth I could go so far away. I guess sometimes I don't realize how much people care. It's nice to know they do. Even if it takes a major life event to get them to say it out loud.

The Final Goodbyes and One Embarrassing Crying Spell

My "last hoorah" in Starkville culminated in the form of a splendid Going Away Party two nights ago at my second home (a.k.a. Drew and Karen's). We had fried chicken, barbecue, sweet tea, bourbon and some gooey, cheesy bacon dip stuff that was so good I threatened to slather it all over myself. Mmmm...Southern cooking is as close as we can get to heaven on earth. I'm certain of it.

There are few things better than being surrounded by friends who love you. It's quite humbling, actually. I certainly did nothing to deserve such an amazing display of affection, but I'm glad they saw fit to do what they did. I won't ever forget it. I even got a wish book in which all of my favorite people wrote memories, advice and just plain 'ole nice things for me to take along on my journey. I've been told I can't read it until I'm on the road. One dear heart even made up his own words for me. Now that's what I call friendship.

But it wasn't until last night that the waterworks started. And so unexpectedly, might I add. I was "that girl" who was crying at the bar. How humiliating. No, it probably didn't help that I had consumed a good bit of bubbly before we arrived. Or that I was aware that it was my last weekend to hang out at The Tavern. But what put the final nail in the coffin was when my dear Jason Jones (the same creature who made up words in aforementioned wish book) stepped up to the mic and played those unmistakable opening notes of "In My Life." Talk about losing it. I couldn't stop the tears. And maybe I didn't want to.

Next weekend my sister will get married and the final goodbyes will be spoken. But that's really only the beginning. Because 2,000 miles in a Honda Accord is bound to make for some of the best stories I've ever heard, let alone experienced for myself. I can't wait.

"I Sold My Life in a Yard Sale" and Other Recent Musings

A lot has happened since we last spoke. Last weekend was my much anticipated "Super Huge Moving Sale" (as I so eloquently named it) which I am pleased to share went exceptionally well. I filled up my little tin Beatles lunchbox with oodles of ones and fives. And even one crisp hundred. I kid you not. It was a good day.

I meant to take pictures of all the loot before the yard salers started trickling in, but I wasn't speedy enough. And I was horribly and disgustingly hungover, which put things like "Don't hurl" way higher on my mental priority list than "Take pics for blog." I'm sure all the shoppers were glad I made "Don't hurl" a priority. Besides, looking back at photos of all that stuff would probably have bummed me out anyway. It's forward I'm looking, not backward.

This weekend was incredibly bittersweet for this Daddy's girl. I skipped out on work Friday so I could spend an extra day in good ole Golden, Mississippi, with my parents. I don't know if they didn't realize it or were just refusing to discuss it, but the fact that it was my last trip home before the big move weighed heavy on me. A lot of small, simple things suddenly became precious. Almost sacred. Call me cheesy if you want, but that's how it felt.

Some examples (because if I don't make a list soon my brain might explode):

• Shopping at the local Big Star with my Daddy and seeing a guy behind us with a jar of strange yellow stuff labeled Hillbilly Soppin' Chow-Chow (Mild). I have no idea what that is, but I'm damn sure I won't be able to buy any in So-Cal.
• Smelling my Daddy's aftershave on Sunday morning like I did every Sunday morning of my young life. That's a smell I'll never forget.
• Hearing the giggles of my gorgeous, toe-headed cousins when I attacked them with unexpected TTs (Tickle Treatments - a longstanding tradition in my family. Really lucky people may get a Triple Tickle Treatment, or TTT, if you will).
• Singing hymns in church without looking at the words (because I've known them since I could talk).
• Sampling the homemade strawberry pie that the neighbors brought over as part of some neverending (and seemingly competitive!) food sharing situation.

Pulling away from my house on Sunday evening was much harder than I thought it would be. I'll see my family again at my sister's wedding in a couple of weeks, but I won't be home again for a very long time. Seeing my Daddy in my rearview as he stood in the doorway and watched me drive away is an image that will be emblazoned into my memory for the rest of my days. But for now, I'll focus on what's to come. A killer Going Away Party, the marriage of my beautiful sister and a journey across these United States to my new home in sunny San Clemente...

D'you Go to Dega?

I did, in fact, go to Dega. Talladega, Alabama. Home of the Talladega Superspeedway. And the place where the masses converge to cheer, guzzle beer and pick fights as their favorite NASCAR contenders drive (or perhaps "fly" would be more accurate) around and around in circles for hours in hopes of being the first across the finish line at the end of the 188th lap. "Interesting" doesn't even begin to describe the experience.

I should start by saying that I am not, nor have I ever been, a race fan. I have family members who are. And it's probably safe to say that a vast majority of the Southern population gets totally immersed in the racing culture from year to year. Hey, to each his own. But for me, I have never understood the appeal of watching cars drive around in circles. It just seems incredibly counterproductive to drive and drive and never get anywhere. But I digress.

I saw a lot at Talladega. A lot of beer, a lot of tattoos, a lot of mullets, a lot of scantily clad women (who were wearing more clothing than usual, I was told, due to the overcast skies), a lot of sunburns, a lot of dirty feet, a lot of racing apparel (especially Dale Earnhardt Jr. gear. Seriously, is EVERYONE a Junior fan?) and a LOT of people missing a significant number of teeth. The man across from me on the tram from the parking lot to the stadium had only three teeth. I wouldn't make that up. It also should be noted that the tram was pulled by a tractor and the parking lot was, in fact, a field.

Since I have no loyalty to any driver or organization, I picked a favorite based on the one-line descriptions given to each driver in the special racing section of The Birmingham News. "Most likely to wreck somebody." Sounds like the guy for me. Juan Pablo Montoya. I also enjoyed hearing his name announced amongst the throng of uber-American racers like Dale Jr., Jimmie Johnson, Jeff Burton and winner Kyle Busch. For some inexplicable reason, Juan Pablo (or JP, as I like to call him) made me incredibly happy.
So did his second-place finish.

I can't get over how much fun I had. I was expecting to be amused, but I wasn't expecting to actually get involved in the race. Once I got used to the deafening roar every time the pack whizzed by the bleachers, I found myself eagerly anticipating the next lap. And feeling inredibly sorry for the driver of what I affectionately dubbed the Honey Bun car - a.k.a. the Little Debbie Ford - who got so far behind that the badasses up front actually caught up with him. Oops.

I'm sorry to say that we had to hit the road with 40 laps left to go in the race. Otherwise this girl wouldn't have gotten back into Starkville til the wee hours of the morning. So we missed the 13-car wreck and the final lap. Had I known that crash was coming, I would gladly have sacrificed a good night's sleep to witness it. After all, it ain't a good race unless there's a wreck. Isn't that how it works?

Go West, Young Woman

You read it right. West. Californ-I-A. The Golden State. The left coast. So-Cal. That's where this Southern girl is headed. The decision was a fairly easy one, considering the excitement I felt the second my feet hit the ground the first time I visited last August. I got so excited at seeing the palm trees lining the streets outside LAX that I actually squealed a little. And I hate girls who squeal.

I also went into a mad texting frenzy when I caught my first glimpse of the infamous Hollywood sign. I had to alert people immediately that seeing those big white letters almost made me pee in my pants. Yes, I really am that big of a dork. You have no idea.

For me, there really was no way to avoid falling in love with So-Cal. Not that I was trying. Everything I'd heard about it was true. It was intoxicating and mesmerizing and sexy and frightening and weird and gorgeous and I just could not get enough. (Wait a tic. I think I just finally explained my massive crush on AFI frontman Davey Havok. Interesting.)

Telling the family their baby girl is moving 2,000 miles away wasn't exactly a cake walk, but they're coming to grips with it and have turned out to be incredibly supportive. Except, of course, for my Memaw who just can't seem to stop crying. And my Granny Pete who informed me that she's praying I won't find a job. Then there's an aunt in South America who called at 9 a.m. one morning to tell me that if this isn't God's will for my life, it will end in disaster. And my first cousin thinks the family is losing me forever (hey, his words, not mine). But I'd say supportive as a whole...

My friends, on the other hand, are practically pushing me out the door. They understand that my heart's been elsewhere for some time now. They know my spirit is too big for Mississippi...at least for now. I don't know what I'll find in California, save a couple of really good friends who are cleaning house in anticipation of my arrival. God love 'em. I do love a clean house. And their giant umbrella.

There is much to be done in the next five weeks, including a moving sale, my sister's wedding and my first trip to Talladega. I feel a sudden need to do as many Southern things as I can possibly fit in before my departure. I have to learn to cook turnip greens, perfect my homemade biscuits, secure my great-grandmother's chocolate gravy recipe and drink cheap beer at a NASCAR race. It ain't gettin' much more Southern than that.

Then, come May 27, the real adventure will begin as I pack all that will fit in my car and point my Honda hood toward Hollywood.

Drive, don't stay.

Those words are from what I recently declared to be my life's anthem. A song called "The Great Escape" by the Mississippi-based band Young Agent Jones. I had heard the song live a few times, but on a drive to Oxford one weekend, I actually heard the words clearly for the first time.

"Drive, don't stay. I wanna see you get away..."

Now, I'm not much of a crier. I hate crying, in fact. But when I heard those voices coming through the strained speakers of my Honda Accord, I cried like a Baptist sinner under strong conviction. I'd known for years that I wanted to get away from this place, but my decision got locked down the minute the tears started falling that day. And so this small-town Mississippi girl started planning my own great escape.

I don't quite know where I'm going. I certainly don't know what I'll find along the way. But I'm damn sure it's going to change my life. I couldn't be more ready.