About car rentals and drawbridges

When I say my December trip to Washington D.C. was perfect, I am not lying.

Nothing major went wrong and a lot of things went right.

My August trip to the city was not perfect. I made a lot of dumb mistakes because I was nervous, and looking back, those mistakes are pretty funny.

What was I nervous about, you might be asking?

First of all, the entire premise of this trip is weird at best. Going to a wedding of people that you’ve hung out with twice is kind of weird. Okay, very weird, but rum is rum and Tiffany is Tiffany and that’s just that.

Second, I had to rent a car. That itself scared the shit out of me in a way that I can can barely explain.

First off, there’s the physical act of renting a car, something I’ve never done before. I went to a different airport to pick the car up, and there were a ton of people and very long lines involved.

I get up to the counter and the very nice attendant’s computer freezes when I go to pay. It was absolutely a technology issue on their part, but I automatically assumed I did something wrong and was going to be arrested for illegal car renting or for wearing a cute dress in an airport or something.

Illegal use of formal attire.

So that issue gets sorted out, and I thought this would be some kind of top shelf experience. I thought they would bring a car to me, roll out a red carpet, and personally hold my hand and invite me in.

The reality? They turn you loose in a giant parking garage and you just kind of figure it out.

There are no actual human beings around to help you, just a bunch of lost people in a parking garage mumbling and cussing under their breath.

There was one car left in the economy section for me, and to say that it was not the car that I agreed to rent is an understatement.

The car that was waiting for me was a damn box on wheels. It was so embarrassingly small that I refused to take a photo of it — I was too humiliated to admit it was mine.

I’m 5’3”, and there’s no way anyone a half-inch taller than me would be able to fit in it. Anyone taller than me would be able to throw the stupid car over the bridge into the river.

Speaking of water, it turns out that there are things called drawbridges in the Northeast.

I’m afraid of water. I’ve gotten in bodies of water that I couldn't see the bottom three times willingly in my adult life, and I have no intention of ever doing it again.

I don’t like drawbridges.

And do you think they stop you on land if the bridge needs to come up? Of course not — they stop you in the middle of the effing bridge using a stoplight.

Shouldn’t there be like a real, live person with a flag or something telling you to stop or you’ll die?!?

By the way, for everyone reading this, there’s never been water in the river in my hometown in my lifetime.

Where I’m from, we drive on land, not above water.

I don’t like it.

And my rental car was so small that if had gotten into a minor fender bender that stupid car would have been smashed, and I would have veered off the bridge and ended up as fish bait.

I HATE WATER.

I don’t even know what to say about driving in D.C., except if you say your prayers, scream a few times, wear your seatbelt and sometimes close your eyes, you might survive.

It’s so bad that it’s funny.

You have to wing and a prayer it, which is fitting. It’s my preferred way of getting through life.

I also lost my car in the Kansas City airport parking garage on the way back home. I pride myself on having an excellent sense of direction and rarely getting lost.

I was lost this whole trip, down to the very last seconds of it.

I'm not sorry about it.

Shit happens.

Bye, beautiful.

This is part two of my trip. It includes a sunset, a really cool city, a flag and some spies.

I got there on a Thursday afternoon. After recovering for a bit in my AirBnB, I went to my favorite neighborhood to hang out. I ended up watching the sunset on the water and thinking about life. 

I've come a long way in the past two years.

Life is pretty bitchin'. 

On Friday, I had a 9 a.m. appointment at the International Spy Museum. I was pretty exited about it, and it ended up being one of my favorite parts of the trip. 

A bunch of people gathered at the entrance right as the museum opened that morning. A big, burly security guard stepped out of the doors and gathered us all in a circle.

He told us about the museum and laid out the ground rules, which included no food and only water to drink. He then asked the kids if they were excited to learn about spies.

He got the kids pumped up. Kids, he said. Who's ready to be a spy today?!? The kids were raising their hands in the air and hopping up and down. They were pumped to become spies.

Kids, he said. If you're a spy, then you don't admit to being a spy.

The big burly man then broke the kids' hearts and told them they were terrible spies. It was hilarious. The adults broke out in laughter. The kids did not. 

After we got into the museum, I finished looking at the wall to my left. I looked down at my phone to look at the time, and an hour had already passed.

I spent an hour on one wall. 

It's hard to explain if you've never seen the museums in D.C., but they're so insanely massive that there's no possible way to see everything in the museum if you visit it once.

I spent three hours at the spy museum, and I only cut it short because I was getting hungry and crabby. 

The museum gift shop is incredible as well. I give this place a 10/10. I'd come here again in a heartbeat.

The spy museum is the perfect place if you like history, U.S. and world government and international politics. It's perfect and I loved every single minute of it.

I wrote down what museum staff kept telling us, and what was written down in several spots throughout the museum:

Deny everything.

All is not what it seems.

Assume nothing.

My disguise.

After lunch at a food truck, I made my way to the National Museum of American History. I got there at 1 p.m., so I only had a few hours to check it out.

I can't emphasize enough how massive these museums are. A few hours is not enough time to see everything, so I went to a map and made a game plan of things I wanted to see.

I made a beeline to the Star-Spangled Banner, the original flag that was flying that inspired Francis Scott Key to write the song.

The flag is by itself in the museum, and there's an attendant nearby who forbids you to take a photo of it. I read about this exhibit ahead of time, so I was expecting this part of it. I also knew it was in a dimly lit room to preserve the fabric.

What I wasn't expecting was the flood of emotions that hit me as I turned the corner. 

I cried like a baby. I didn't even try to hide it. I sobbed.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, but several groups of people passed by me. I finally walked to the side, and then realized that I was having a hard time leaving it. 

I prepped myself mentally. Self, I said in my head — you cannot spend the rest of your life looking at this beautiful flag. You have to move on because there are other things to see in this museum and in life.

I turned the corner, then regretted my decision immediately. I turned back around to look at the flag again one last time. 

And then I cried some more. 

I remember thinking, 'Bye, beautiful,' as I left it.

From the Smithsonian: 

• Made in Baltimore, Maryland, in July-August 1813 by flagmaker Mary Pickersgill
• Commissioned by Major George Armistead, commander of Fort McHenry
• Original size: 30 feet by 42 feet
• Current size: 30 feet by 34 feet
• Fifteen stars and fifteen stripes (one star has been cut out)
• Raised over Fort McHenry on the morning of September 14, 1814, to signal American victory over the British in the Battle of Baltimore; the sight inspired Francis Scott Key to write “The Star-Spangled Banner”
• Preserved by the Armistead family as a memento of the battle
• First loaned to the Smithsonian Institution in 1907; converted to permanent gift in 1912
• On exhibit at the National Museum of American History since 1964

Lincoln's hat.

I didn't have much going on that night, and I couldn't justify staying in when I was in a wonderful city on a Friday night. I bought I ticket to The Anthem to see The Shins and their opening act Joseph. 

And this is where I realized that all music fans are the same, regardless of the artist or band they follow. The people beside me, who I'm assuming were a married couple, were having a little argument. The guy wanted to go get beer and the wife wanted to get the limited edition, venue specific poster.

Beer, the man said.

But the poster, the woman said. What if it sells out? What if this is the only poster that we end up without in our collection? How will be live with ourselves if it sells out?

I turned around to laugh, because I didn't want them to know I was eavesdropping. 

Who obsesses about buying a poster at a concert? 

Oh, wait. 

I went and looked at the poster and the merch. It was a really cute poster. 

The same couple came back about 15 minutes later. The man had a beer and the woman was holding a cardboard tube. 

Marriage is compromise, I thought to myself. 

It's a beautiful place and one of my favorite concert venues of all time. 

Music is universal and magical.

Buddy sparks

I bought a book while I was in Washington D.C. last week called Chase the Fun — 100 Days to Discover Fun Right Where You Are.

No one has ever accused me of not chasing fun, especially over the past year of my life. There’s a chapter in the book on making new friends as an adult, something that is pretty hard to do. 

From the book: “It’s really fun to make a new friend. To meet someone for the first time and feel those buddy sparks, the ones that tell you this person is someone you could REALLY hang with. YES TO NEW FRIENDSHIPS.”

This blog post is about those buddy sparks. 

I was reading this book at the Chicago airport the other day, got to thinking, and then put the book down and started writing.

Here’s what I came up with.

This is a story about those sparks, and it started last year when some short introverted Kansas girl flew across the country for a concert.

What concert, you might ask?

If you even need to ask, then you don’t know me very well. 

Also, the prequel is right here. Let’s consider this story the sequel. 

--

There are a handful of moments in my life that I will remember forever. These moments are so beautiful, so full of life, light, love and laughter that they stick out to me. 

I went to a wedding last weekend more than 1,200 miles away from Kansas. Late into the night, and just a few drinks in, the groom put him arm around me and told me that he was expecting a blog post about this.

He told me it needed to be even better than the first blog post. He told me what I should include, most of which I can’t publish. All of it I can’t publish, actually.

It was a perfect moment for me to reflect how weird life is and just how beautiful it can be.

I am a huge fan of music, and one singer in particular. At a concert last year, I met a cool group of people who invited me to hang with them the second night. I maybe had a few adult beverages, turned into my drunk alter ego (her name is Tiffany), and then mentioned to the wonderful engaged couple that I wanted to be invited to their wedding.

My memories of that night are fuzzy, but I remember pitching the idea to them. I remember they both agreed to it.

That wedding happened a few days ago, and I was there. Tiffany was there, too.

I know that sounds crazy, trust me. It is kind of insane.

But the thing is, words mean a lot to me. They are how I make a living and they are the thing that I love most in life.

I made a drunk promise at an Eric Church concert to that engaged couple beside me that I would be at their wedding. If I have no other positive attributes in life, I have these — I always mean what I say and I always keep my promises.

This is a story of a wedding, planes, trains and automobiles, one really cool big city, and how my soul is maybe filled with too much wanderlust. 

--

I could talk about the beautiful bride, one of the most beautiful brides I’ve ever seen, and the look on the groom’s face when he saw her walk down the aisle.

I could talk about their wonderful family and friends who introduced themselves to me with open and inviting arms.

I could talk about requesting the song Springsteen from the DJ at the reception, because I really, really wanted to make a memory with them to the line ‘It’s funny how a melody sounds like a memory’ so bad.

My memory from that moment is pretty fuzzy, but I’m sure it was a special moment that we all shared.

Maybe. I don’t remember.

I remember looking at the two of them when they were dancing, when they were coming up to me trying to find each other in the crowd (My response: “She’s wearing white.”) and I remember the way they danced and held each other while the Eric Church song Like Jesus Does was playing.

All the crazy in my dreams

And both my broken wings

Every single piece of everything I am

And she knows the man I ain’t

She forgives me when I can’t

The devil, man, he don’t stand a chance

‘Cause she loves me like Jesus does

I remember thinking that these two beautiful people with beautiful souls just made me believe in love and happily ever afters again. 

--

I took a screenshot of the background on my phone the night the Maryland couple got married. I remember looking at my phone and thinking...you know, EC, this is all your fault. 😆

--

If you are a cumulation of everyone you meet and everyone you surround yourself with, then these two wonderful Maryland souls are literally the best of the best and come from the best of the best.

This is just the best of humanity.

The night of that concert was mentioned in the maid of honor’s speech, as was the shenanigans and tomfoolery that was born that night. Also, the maid of honor mentioned that there was this girl named Monica at that concert and that she was from Kansas, and that she is here tonight at the wedding!

Comments I remember people making at the wedding to me:

“You’re the sparkly shoes girl?”

“Why do I recognize you? Are you the concert girl?”

“I don’t remember your name, so I’m just going to call you Eric Church.”

That comment did me in. I grabbed a beer, laughed my ass off, and headed to the dance floor.

Because why not?

--

When I got back from that concert back in December, I thought that the people I met were great, but I wasn’t expecting them to keep in touch with me. 

And then they asked for my address and then sent me a save the date.

I never thought it would happen. In the middle of that concert night when drinks were flowing, hugs were aplenty and we were drunkingly singing at the top of our lungs, all I remember is being so damn happy and thinking that the people I just met were so cool.

I’m sure they weren’t expecting some short introverted Kansas girl with a drunk alter ego and a blog at their wedding eight months later.

I mean, who really expects that? 

But life is life and sometimes you have a keep a drunk promise.

--

Their wedding was a perfect day and night filled with newfound friends, love, family, friendship, drinking, singing and dancing.

We gathered again.

At the concert, we talked about where we could meet up for shows in the future. At the wedding, I mentioned to the groom that I like traveling and have little to no impulse control when it comes to music.

He looked at me like I had three heads. 

He said: “I know that about you. Everyone in this room knows that about you.”

He continued: “We’re going meet in some random city for a show. How about Tallahassee?”

I’m down, I said.

Groom: “I know. Everyone here knows."

It was a perfect moment for a perfect night.

--

Back in December, I told my parents that I drank rum at that concert and that Tiffany made an appearance on the East Coast. I told them about the people that I met who invited me to pre-game with them at the bar across the street from the venue.

(If there’s a bar, I’m in. No questions asked. I’m in.)

With that look in his eye, that disapproving Dad look, and with a slight eye roll, my Dad said something like: “Let me guess. The people you met that night, you hugged them and told them you loved them, didn’t you?”

Perhaps.

Tiffany is a force to be reckoned with. 

I would like to think that fate led me to meet these people. I switched spots with the family beside me with little kids at that Eric Church concert, because I thought the little kids needed to be closer to the stage.

By doing that, I met this wonderful group of people. My Maryland people.

I would like to think I met them though being a good person and giving little kids my spot, through fate, through God, or whatever entity you believe in. Divine intervention, maybe.

I met these people and ended up at their wedding because of rum.

No good story starts with a salad and water. Good stories and blog posts start with alcohol and live music and drunk introverts with alter egos (the groom has one, too, the only other introvert I've met with the same infliction as me).

--

As I was leaving the reception that night, someone shouted as I was walking out the door.

“When’s the party coming to Kansas?”

Any time, guys. You are welcome whenever you want. I might add that the concerts Eric Church puts on in Kansas City are some of the best of the best. We can stumble into the Power and Light bars afterward, if we’re still able to stand upright after the show, and we could have ourselves a great time.

Also, I’m pretty sure we’ll have a great time wherever we go. Kansas City, D.C., Tallahassee, Nashville, North Carolina or Alaska, or in whatever random ass city we end up gathering at again.

It will be fantastic. 

Like I told them on Saturday night: “I can’t wait to make more memories with you that we won’t remember.”

--

Congratulations to the bride and groom. It was amazing to celebrate your love with you. 

--

Kansas.

Darkness and light

I like history

I like it a lot.

When I booked my DC trip, the first museum I booked was the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

I don’t even know what to say about it, other than I cried the whole time.

What struck me immediately was the use of darkness and light — a detail that was not lost on me, and one that I hope everyone else picks up on, too.

It’s incredible. 

The shoes. 

The newspapers.

The walls of photographs. Hundreds or thousands of them, probably.

I’m glad I got to have this experience. I’m thankful that my life led me here. 

Saucy

 I like saucy flight attendants: “In the words of my Mom on my 18th birthday, ‘Get your stuff and get out.’”

Screaming across Lake Pontchartrain

I’m terrified of water, especially water that I can’t see the bottom of. Lakes and rivers and oceans are a no-go for me. 

It’s a phobia. 

I’m mildly to moderately afraid of heights, and won’t walk near a railing in a mall that overlooks floors beneath it. (Looking at you, Galleria in Dallas. That’s totally creepy.)

Yet taking a flight in a tiny airplane over Lake Pontchartrain didn’t bother me at all. I loved it and would do it again in a heartbeat.

I’m kind of weird like that. 

Beautiful places

I had a cute conversation recently.

A friend and I got on the topic of the most beautiful things we've ever seen in person.

As far as physical places, I came up with a few off the top of my head. I would not consider myself a well traveled person, but I've seen some pretty amazing things.

One, Cancun.

Two, some of the flights I've taken.

Third, Kansas sunsets.

Fourth, Colorado.

Heaven & Hell

I never published this post from a while back. Here you go, folks.

-----

A friend shared a Facebook memory today, which made me think of this story.

Two years ago, around this time, I flew to South Carolina for a conference. It was the first time I had ever flown alone, and I flew into the Atlanta airport at noon.

A person with an anxiety problem flew into the busiest airport in the country at noon. Ha, ha.

The amount of people there was overwhelming.

Anyway, I was thinking of that trip this weekend. The thing I remember the most is the clouds from Atlanta to South Carolina, which was a 22-minute flight.

They looked like giant cotton balls exploded. That, combined with the rolling green hills below, made me think that that's what heaven will look like.

The thing about that week, though, is that I was in a lot of pain. I had a dry socket that week. If you don't know what that is, imagine praying for the sweet release of death for days. Dying would feel better than a dry socket.

I had already bought my plane tickets for that South Carolina trip, so I figured offing myself wouldn't be worth it. After a very bad, awful weekend praying for death, a trip that looked like heaven was very, very welcomed.

My Dad flew this week, and sent me the picture below. The South Carolina clouds were way better than these puny little clouds, but you get an idea of what it looks like.

Borrowed from my Dad, who flew this week.