It should be Friday

Not much new out here in Seattle. I was just thinking about you all and wanted to post a quick hello.
We’re leaving for Ohio tomorrow night. To save a little on the plane tickets, we’ve opted to fly a red-eye, which puts us in Columbus at around 11:30 in the morning. I’m planning on drugging myself with large quantities of Dramamine and alcohol in order to sleep the whole way. Either that, or Adam and I will duel it out on the computer Scrabble game we were nerdy enough to buy.
I’m looking forward to seeing my family – especially my sister and her kids, who I haven’t seen in quite a while. It’s always a little tiring being there though – family tensions and all. But we’ve got a jam-packed schedule already full of plenty of picnics, shopping, and golf outings, which should keep everyone happy.

Adam and I got lost in the ghetto last weekend. I’ve been trying to keep the whole experience on the DL, just because it was completely his fault and I didn’t want to embarrass him. But enough time has now passed that I think it’s safe to really blame the whole traumatizing experience on him.
We had gone downtown for the day, and Adam decided we should try taking a different bus home than the one we normally ride so as to avoid being smooshed into the back against the wall between two stinky homeless people. Yeah, I’m really that insensitive.
The bus he chose, however, took us far, far away from our home and dropped us off in the middle of a construction zone on the loneliest, most crime-infiltrated street in the city. There were no bus stops nearby, so we walked. And walked. And walked. Until we reached a gas station and a bus stop. Not a normal bus stop, though, where buses actually visit – but a bus stop so far away from civilization that a bus stops there about once every seventeen days.
Not willing to wait in the ghetto for seventeen days, I decided to call a cab. But no, cabs don’t even frequent this part of the city – it’s that bad. So we sat there, waiting for a bus, a cab, or a drive by shooting for over an hour.
Well, a bus finally showed up and took us closer to our home, though still on the edge of the ghetto. So we walked some more. And finally made it home almost three hours after we had left downtown.
The moral of the story is that being smooshed in the back of a stinky bus is much better than being stranded in the ghetto with whores and crack dealers. Remember that, girls.

Love you all!