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We actually managed to make it to our night's destination before dark. No hiccups or bumps, but smooth sailing for the mother/daughter combo today. The sun was uncomfortably warm and it made me feel like driving was a work out. I think I was even breathing hard. Is that a sign I need to get a gym membership? The topography was better today, mostly dead shrubbery and cacti decorating the mountainous terrain. Interesting tidbit: It takes 75 years for a Sequoia Cactus to begin growing an arm (source: mother & father's tour guide, and then retold by mother to me).
We completed The Graveyard Book and mom cried to the finish line. Which, made me cry. So, the two of us were crying down the Arizona highway and Tinga just looked bored. Thank you Neil Gaimon for an [un]happy ending! We are now onto an historical fiction, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (mom's choice). I was a little skeptical, I mean with a name like that, but the book is kind of addictive. Between the two of us we read out loud to one another for close to six hours straight (minus a Subway/Popeye's biscuit lunch break). To reward ourselves for enlightening our minds with the written word instead of listening to that satanic rock music, we stopped for Blizzards: cookie dough for me and, of course, Heath bar for mom.
Desperate Housewives wasn't on tonight, so instead we made fun of the dresses at the Grammy's. As soon as that became dull, we set off for fine dining at Oregano's. I'm now in love and contemplating making a business decision---HIRE THE COOK and force him to live in my kitchen. We sat outside under heat lamps and ate Frisco pizza and bruschetta. Gluttony doesn't come close to describing the amount of food I consumed. The waiter's all wore shirts that said, "Menu Can Trust" and I was given a fortune cookie. Also, my waiter said he was going to be in Portland in a few weeks. Perhaps I could convince him to bring me pizza?
And reader, if you're wondering if all we Acker girls did today was eat...well, you would be right. That and finally buy conditioner (in above picture you can clearly see why that was a priority).
Mom snores and Tinga spent the entire night scratching and pawing at her litter box. I have ear phones (courtesy of Ben) and The Smiths to drown out their unpleasant duet tonight.
After complimentary yogurt and coffee...and a Belgian waffle, mom and I hit the road. We managed to get on I20 before noon today, and felt pretty confident we would hit our no-driving-after-dark-goal (that's foreshadowing). Daddy was right, this drive is a snooze. Long, straight highway with not a lot of sights except miles of stretching wind generators that made me picture myself like Don Quixote and my mother, the squire Sancho, off to fight ferocious giants (aka, the windmills...or in this scenario wind generators). And then after awhile, we abandoned the wind generators for oil rigs. Good ol' west Tx oil and money. Even out in the middle of this flat, barren land there was the occasional Rolex billboard. I guess catering to that generations old oil money. Also, we drove through Notrees, Texas where there was a post office and shockingly, no trees.
We stopped in Odessa looking for food and chose Long John Silvers. Why not? Odessa is the most atrocious city I have ever been in. No joke. Everything is horizontal and dead and short. I felt squished and flattened in this ugly city. It was just dust and parallel lines, nothing angular except for the roof on the short, tiny homes. Dear Maria, how we have felt no greater love for her than today. Instead of sending us back to the familiar, comfortable highway, she sent us the more desolate back roads way. With half a tank, why bother filling up? Not yet at least. And then, 150 miles later we have passed two cars, one dilapidated post office and no, may I repeat, NO gas stations. Bowser gave it the old college try but couldn't get us to sweet, sweet fuel. So, on mile marker 10, heading north on I80, 20 miles south of Carlsbad, New Mexico, sat the truck, mom, Tinga, and me on the side of the road. Well, good thing we have Triple A!! I'm almost certain my parents maintain plus membership status for all my monthly driving blunders and thoughtlessness I've encountered since I turned sweet 16. I have had repeat locksmiths, multiple roadside assistance men fix flats, been towed more than a couple of times, but never have I called for a delivery of gas. And, after today, I am now grateful I've been conscientious about fuel levels. All was going well, Triple A gave us a thirty minute quote to have the wrecker give my car life, but then everything fell to pieces. Apparently Triple A was not accurate in their timing seeing how the wrecker they called to assist us was located in ARIZONA. Which, I do know that New Mexico and Arizona can appear similar, the desert is a common theme to both states, but really, Triple A, there is 343 miles separating that man from us. So, I call requesting that we find something a little closer. After an hour of story time (The Graveyard Book) on the side of the highway, and still hearing no news on aid, I call back and this time find out "whoops, we've now corrected our errors. Someone will be out there in an hour and a half." Excuse me! Really?! After talking to a supervisor and sharing a few of my emotions (bub would have been rather proud, I do believe), I decided to forgo the assistance of Triple A and figure something else out.
In the end, I got in touch with the sheriff's department who sent a deputy out to assist us. I rode in the front seat of a squad car and chatted with Jeff while he took me five miles up the road to the Shell station (leaving mom and Tinga with the truck). According to him the best way out of a ticket is taking responsibility and a twinge of wit. Now ladies, the Tara Bank eyes, a coy smile and a flirtatious voice does nothing on him (yet somehow I find that hard to believe). All in all, we sat for half an hour less than what Triple A had to offer. Take that!! And all the while, Tinga slept through it all.
We're currently in El Paso, Texas where there is nothing to do but visit the plentiful Adult shops/kitten clubs or go to Walmart, where the parking lot looked like Christmas time and the lines inside were no less than a ten minute wait. No thank you, we will go without conditioner.
I started the morning off with a wake-up call from the friendly Acker ghost. I'm not crazy; it's seriously poltergeist. I'm just hoping this is a case of Casper the friendly ghost and the assistance of Bill Murray won't be necessary. Today has been emotional, so in all honesty I'm probably hallucinating. I've had the strangest goodbye's--Melinda on the loo, Aaron in front of the Cracker Barrel (where I was insulted and called an "Eg-Na-Ra-Moose" and received a shot of maple syrup), and forgetting my key and hugging in Special D's parking lot with my daddy. I ache and I already miss everyone. The one person I missed saying goodbye to was Popeye and I feel awful that I was being weak and selfish. I guess that just means that when I'm back in town I'll have to make it up by eating a pizza with him!
And onto the trip:
The Start- Mom and I managed to fit the garage sale Charlie Brown chair, all seven tubs, two cardboard boxes, Tinga's crate, two suitcases and a mirror in Bowser's bitty bed. All we're missing is Grandma and Tx tea. We left a man standing though---my coat rack. Due to the favorable weather conditions of the day, drizzle and depression, we thought it best not to chance soaking the wood. And fine, we ran out of space.
The Middle- While mom was out running some last minute errands, I took the opportunity to spill tomato soup all over the floor/carpet (not quite as bad as a plate of spaghetti like someone else already did). It really looked like an explosion and chunks of soup was ejected and splattered in all directions. I panicked and tried convincing Tinga to start lapping up some of the soup, apparently tomato flavoring is not her cup of tea. So in the end, mom saved the day.
The End- Finally, after eight hours of preparation, we hit the road. We made it a full three and a half hours from home and are staying in the La Quinta in Abilene where the motel is infested with dogs. Apparently Tinga has the luxury of being the only cat in a motel filled with her nemesis, the "drooling, smelling, shedding, hump-machines (as Tristan likes to call them)" who are hear for the Abilene dog show. Surprisingly, Tinga was a trooper for most of the ride. Very few meyows and lots of cat naps. She already got the hang of road-tripping (with her two favorite allies).
We are a third of the way through The Graveyard Book which is quickly becoming a favorite Gaimon story. Also, a billboard proved that yes, everything in Texas is bigger.
The desk clerk suggested that we eat at Chili's or the Cracker Barrel. What!? I don't think so. Something more Abilene authentic please! We drove thirty minutes to eat at Perini's Steak House in Buffalo Texas where the most flavorful redneck characters come to dine. This restaurant was considered to host the best burger in Texas (disputable), but it definitely did have the best customers. Taking the cake was a lady in the most gaudy, animal skin VEST. Yes, a vest. Sleeveless fur lining and tiger print on the back. There were cowboy hats and belt buckles littering the place and a buffalo hanging on the wall that stared at me while I chowed down on his kin folk. Mom and I give Perini's three thumbs up (four thumbs between the two of us).
Acker that is. Set a spell. Take your shoes off. Y'all come back now, y'hear?
Mom and I spent the whole day yesterday packing boxes and rocking to Girl Talk with a sponge. Well, most (or dare I say, all) of the sponging was done by mother who decided kitchen talks (not to be confused with the kitchen debates of Nixon and Khrushchev. Mom and I definitely did not discuss communism nor capitalism while showing off new-hit kitchen appliances and inventions) was a better way to spend the afternoon than Mahjong. Good choice is my vote!
So, my apartment is looking rather bare bones and I'm convinced I now have the packing skills necessary to get a job with UPS. Except, I think that job entails more along the lines of delivering packages then actually packing. So maybe I could be a grocer? I'm aware that it does take some serious years to develop the experience and know how to group together the perfect combination of comestibles per grocery sack. Except, I don't get to wear a cute outfit when working at Central Market or Tom Thumb, 
so scrap that. Clearly I have my priorities in job hunting straight! Top of the list: the opportunity to buy a new career wardrobe (which might I say, includes shoes and accessories). Second is the big bucks, or in my case $10.00 an hour.
I'm currently disappointed since Powell's is not hiring at the moment, my luck. So I'm now hoping that Janice can pull a few strings and get me an interview at Ikon where I can sell copiers and other office products to pour souls who are about to be bought over with my devastatingly affective puppy eyes and puffed out lip. Basically my loquacious attributes and persistence will knock them off their feet and guarantee me the sell. Portland buyers, you don't stand a chance against me! Hazahhh! But, I guess I might need to compile a resume first.
Having family + Aaron (family) stepping night. Probably somewhere close to 39 steps. Step 1, the meet up. Step 2 DART. Step 3, Campizis for butter/parmesan saltines. Step....39
I think I've been staring at empty boxes for days. Instead of packing, I get on my computer and play minesweeper on a too difficult level for me where my win rate is one in ten. In fact, I'm shuffling back and forth between saving the tiny gray boxes from explosives and writing. Oh, and all the while I'm still staring.
I'm moving this week to Portland, Oregon. To a city that is pleasant and green with gumdrop color flowers and I swear little pet lambs prancing around in front yards. Basically, I feel like Portland is a children's book. The premise would definitely have to be the-never-aging (I'm convinced that Portland is the ageless city. You can't grow old there; and if I market this theory I could put all the aging creams and mortuaries out of business) Portlanders walking around the city sipping on coffee and walking their pet bunny rabbits and deer. Best-seller??
I think I've promised my pop this for years. I remember the brown leather journal inscribed with his initials being given to me when we worked in 8609. So, I'm at least four years late on this gift. I do remember writing a couple of entries, but then my dedication flew out the window and I squandered my time probably reading and thinking about how I should be writing for him. This time, however, I have a goal and a spirit to keep this blog alive.
So, Happy Birthday pop! I would make some quip about you being over the hill (actually past it by a couple of years) or call you old man or something, but this is a tactful blog.
