When I print out my trip directions, I highlight how long it will take me to go from point a to point b. Somehow, through all that highlighting and the very obvious message on my notes on how to get to Reminisce in Iowa City that I had to leave by 7 because I had a 4 hour (!!) drive to Urbana, Illinois, I managed to not quite GRASP what 4 hours meant. Let me tell you what 4 hours means.
4 hours means that I'm willing to risk getting tickets for speeding and parking in wrong places. Luckily, late at night, while there are folks out to pull you over, you can usually get away with about 10 over. Or so.
When I finally got to Urbana, of COURSE my key didn't work (I'm starting to think Gold Hilton Honors really means, you don't get into your room on the first try). But at least they had a computer I could get on and check email. All 212 of them. That was from being off my computer for all of like 28 hours. Really now. Only downfall, managed to short out my scrap blogger blog so...that made me feel really good. Not.
On campus, there is this GORGEOUS statue just outside of the union. I finally got a picture of part of it. Didn't get a ticket for parking in the two hour lot. Knew exactly where the mail drop was in the union because I'd been there before. Even knew where to buy a post card. There was a mini protest on campus...of what, I don't know. I got the heck out of dodge as soon as the fair was over.
In getting out of dodge, I came to realize that yet again, Hampton Inns don't care if you have a package waiting. Never mind the fact that they had TONS of them (literally) waiting behind the counter for rightful owners. Go figure. Urbana to Bloomington (Indiana, not Illinois...or Mississippi for that matter) is a "quick" 2.5 hour drive that I've done before so I wasn't too worried about this one. Figured I'd have dinner with the group when I got there.
Now. I, of course, had to stop for a nap about 45 minutes into the drive. Instead of a nap, I opted for a sugar rush--Peanut Buster Parfait from Dairy Queen. Yummy! Consider this. The last time (the night before) I stopped for a PBP, I about busted a blood vessel in my brain because:
1. I stopped at the biggest truckstop in Illinois which always freaks me out.
2. I pulled in all ready to go and COULD NOT for the life of me find my wallet. With both credit cards. And my debit card. And all my cash. And how the HELL was I going to check into my hotel. And even moreso, how the HELL could I be so irresponsible.
Clearly, I found it (and got the PBP to boot) but life stopped short for a moment there. Helped me to remember to travel smart...you know...split up the funds so that regardless, either in my laptop case, my purse or in my ample bossom...I will ALWAYS have a way to get back home. Guess I could have used that bossom at Dairy Queen to get me a PBP that would have calmed my nerves, but alas...I wasn't thinkin' straight.
I digress (not digest Family Guy...not digest).
So...the day after that PBP drama, I find myself in a bit more drama. See...I'm driving through one stop light (flashing, of course) small town America down beautifully tree lined streets laced with stop signs strung with signs telling me where to buy worms when I spot it. No...not the gorgeous HUGE Victorian style home that I'm sure would sell for like 95K in those there parts. no. Instead, it was the DQ. Just regular style...but clearly with a PBP just calling my name.
So I turn off the street that is taking me back to the interstate and clearly, I need to make a right turn to get into the DQ. Never mind that this isn't EXACTLY where I make that right turn and I end up hopping over a curb. Also never mind that that curb was there to prevent me from turning into the WRONG WAY, one way opposite direction drive thru of the bank. Never mind that the teller was looking at me like I had lost my mind which is kinda similar to that "What is a black person doing out here" look, but because of the wrong way driving, I took it to be the former. Never mind. I got to the DQ drive thru. I got my PBP. Almost drove off without my 37 cents in change which, evidently, by the dudes willingness to run after me, is clearly a big deal in those parts. I love (and this is with all sincerity...honestly!) small town America. I want to live there.