Maria's Travel Log

6:37 AM, pulling out of Grandma's driveway:
Me: Man, it's early.
Dad: Man, it's late. I'd be at work by now.

And we're off.

10:00 AM, discombobulated and on a highway somewhere:
I just woke up from a half-hour nap to the sound of obscenities flowing from my father's mouth. He thought for a moment that we were going the wrong way, but we weren't. Thank God for Boy Scouts. I think he just wanted me to wake up and navigate and switch CDs to number three in his six disc hand-made collection.

10:30 AM, rest-stop somewhere in New York:
We needed a bathroom break. I hopped out of the car and started stretching. Mid-stretch, dad yelled at me to hurry up and stretch while walking, we're losing time. HEIL MICHAEL!

11:05 AM, on the highway perhaps still in New York:
We just passed some gigantic food production factory. After a couple of guesses, dad and I decided the smell permeating the car doors was mashed potatoes. Can you imagine living in a town that smelled like mashed potatoes all the time? Wow.

11:34 AM, some gas station with a Subway:
We ran out of food. Only one meatloaf sandwich made and packed by grandma remains. We stopped at Subway to refill. (It's just not the same without Omar.) Adolf yelled at me for wasting two minutes throwing out a can then ordered me to put his straw into his drink. The heavy rain is indicative of the passenger's destitute mood.

2:24 PM, on the highway in Philadelphia... I think:
About two-and-a-half hours ago, dad slowed down the car in the middle of the highway, stopped on the side, said, "I hope you put on anti-perspirant" while chuckling then making me Chinese Fire Drill to the driver's seat. I held back tears while adjusting the seat forward significantly and lowering the rear view mirror. Luckily, the road was empty. I lightly placed my foot on the pedal and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles whitened. Dad kept screaming "pick it up, come on" until I hit 65. Two hours later, my hands feel like I have arthritis, my ass is numb and I am ten pounds lighter after sweating uncontrollably trying to control the car amid near tornado winds, torrential downpours and large, dead animals. (And lunatics who shouldn't have licenses.)

3:47 PM, on the road:
Roadkill is disgustingly fascinating. We've seen enough dead animals to stuff and re-create a full road-side habitat.

6:53 PM, Michigan. Close to home:
We haven't stopped for (over?) three hours and I finished a raspberry Snapple (that told me only male turkeys gobble) hours ago. I'm starving and ready to pee my pants. We just passed 8 Mile. I think I saw Eminem and Britney Murphy making out! Six and a half miles to go. Food better be on the table.

7:31 PM, at home in the driveway:
Having relieved myself and smelled dinner, I feel much better. My mom hugged me for 5 minutes while digging her chin into my cheek. Joe almost made me pee myself when he lifted me up and shook me like a half-broken piñata full of undiscovered goodies. We are now unpacking and Joe declared that he's done after this load because, "I will not touch your boobie holders!"

Aaaah. Home.