JULY 1, 2018
When we move across the country, we don’t always get the best people. Sometimes we don’t even get the best people in our family. But if you’re lucky enough to have someone who cares about you enough to drop everything they’re doing to drive 1,000 miles (technically 1097.98) with you in a 1993 Cadillac Deville stuffed to the brim with boxes, books and clothes, you have someone in your life who actually cares about you. I’m lucky that person is in my family.
The morning of the move, I periscoped from my empty apartment in St Paul where I’d lived for three years. I am unbelievably grateful for my aunt and uncle who helped me cram everything into the car, and mention that in the periscope; big families, though not right for everyone, are great and I’m so thankful my mom was third of eight and that my aunt (the 5th of those 8) is someone who has always cared about me, and been there for me since my mom passed away when I was 19. My cousin who drove down with me helped my Uncle play tetris with my boxes of stuff until everything fit in the Caddy.
(Thankfully I was able to eliminate a ton of stuff I really didn’t want or need to take with me in the days prior to moving too …
… and let’s not forget this dictionary I was hanging on to for some ungodly reason … (and don’t worry, fellow etymologyphiles, I have two others! Bigger! Better!!)
And we had a great trip down … the first day was totally free of drama. We listened to lots of songs by the amazing “Atmosphere” who is well known in MN … is he as loved around the rest of the country?
Morning two? Not so much. We checked out of the motel in Maumee, Ohio, and loaded our stuff back in the Cadillac only to discover that the ignition would not turn over. I googled a local car shop and called and asked for a jump start because I figured they would send someone who knew what to do once they discovered it wasn’t actually the battery that was the problem. They did! The nice young kid told me my charger is going out and he advised me not to turn off the car. I said, “we’re going all the way to DC!” And he said, “Then I really wouldn’t turn off the car.”
We didn’t. Every time we stopped for gas, we left the car running while we filled up. The hours sped by. By 4 pm, we were only 110 miles away.
I was so excited of course, that I had been playing “Come and Ride the Train” on repeat which my cousin and co-pilot informed me was the definition of torture (she’s not wrong — loud music played on repeat has definitely been used on people in a torture-ish way). So I asked twitter and they TOTALLY DISAGREED.
Meanwhile, the gas is slowly being guzzled. Then suddenly, the car runs straight out of fuel ON THE TURNPIKE.
I think I was more spooked by running out of gas and miraculously being able to direct my cousin to pull over in the triangle of an exit ramp than I was by ending up sitting on Seth Rich’s ACTUAL BARSTOOL (later that same night) where he drank the last drink of his life before being murdered 2 summers ago.
I think it’s because I’ve almost died in a car three times in life. And every time, once you realize you’re alive and haven’t caused a 12 car pile up (or any accident at all, as has always been the miraculous case in my three near-death car experiences), you look around and go, “God, I’m lucky. So damn lucky.”
And we made it. We made it to my new apartment in Logan Circle, and I was just in the nick of time (after GEICO sent AAA with $5 of gas so we could make it to the gas station) to change and haul ass over to Jack Murphy’s Democrat to Deplorable book release party! I walked in embarrassingly late and then managed to find myself at Seth Rich’s neighborhood bar afterwards. Dear Lord.
Road trips are fun. And by fun I mean, stressful as hell. But I’m here!
(Here’s the periscope I did talking about how everything worked out just after posting this blogpost)