& that's the way life goes

I’m guess posting over at Supergirl’s.  In her words, check it.

The Beauty of Detroit

Day seven of My Michigan Bloggers is Mel from The Melodramatic. First off, I need to meet Mel!  We’ve been talking about it for awhile now and it just needs to happen.  Mel has the cutest dachshund Ike.  I love all the cute pictures she posts and the one video of him in his little booties was adorable.   Mel’s blog is honest and heartfelt in every post she writes.  I love that about her.  And the story she is sharing today, I can totally relate to.  I smashed my car almost 3 years to the day.  Scary stuff!

Enjoy!

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Around 6 years ago now, even though I have lived in Michigan my entire life, I finally learned the importance of driving carefully and slowly in the snow. It frustrates me to no end to be passed on the highway by insane psychos who aren’t even considering for a moment how awful the road conditions are. The scariest part for me is when I’m driving a little under 70 MPH (miles per hour) when a semi-truck passes me. On the left. I’m a little scared of semi-trucks to being with and you’ll understand why in a minute. But I need someone to explain something to me. If you have lived this long in this state, you have lived through these winters for many years. You know how dangerous driving is. So why do you still act like an idiot? Because you think you’re not going to be one of the people in the ditch? Well, that’s what I thought, too.

I had just returned from Florida, where I had taken a vacation over winter break. Seriously, the DAY I flew back, a winter storm was just winding down and making its way out of the area.

Driving home that afternoon from the airport, I had pulled off the highway for some delicious Burger King to consumer when I got home. Getting back on the highway, I’ll admit it, I did get on that highway too fast. I was driving too fast for conditions, point blank.

Just getting onto the highway, I hit a patch of slushy-ness mixed with ice. I lost control of my car. My dog, Ike, was in my lap (I had picked him up from a friend’s house on the way home, by the way). The next thing I knew, I was headed toward a ditch and I tried to correct myself by steering to the left….and I shot into the highway instead of getting into my lane correctly.

I don’t remember a lot after that. What I DO remember is thinking that something was going to hit me. I KNEW something was going to hit me. But I never looked out my window to see (which turned out to be a good thing — if I had, I would have very likely had a some nasty facial scars)…I slightly remember getting hit. Blacking out. Waking up. Confusion. Realization. Shock. Screaming. Oh, yeah, I remember freaking out quite vividly. Not because I was hurt or that I had been in an accident. It was the realization that my dog was not in the car. My door had been jarred open in the hit. Where was my dog!?

Within no time, there were witnesses around my car, trying to calm me down, looking for my dog, who was found about 6 feet behind, wandering around confused. I know I was in and out of consciousness at this time. I went into shock for sure after I realized i had blood all over me, and no one could figure out right away where it was coming from. Later, I would find out it came from a 4 inch dash on my scalp (15 stitches AND staples in my scalp to fix that up). I also ended up suffering from a crushed pubic bone (part of the pelvis).

So…What did I hit? A semi. On my driver’s side door. Thank God that the weather was bad enough that the semi was only going 30 miles an hour.

There are so many factors that really could have made that accident worse, but it wasn’t. I’m just thankful to be alive. It took me a few years to even want to drive in the snow. And once I finally got over the anxiety, I started driving smart. Like the other jerks who don’t? Should.

My poor poor totaled car….

Day six of My Michigan Bloggers is Lauryn from LauReality. I’m so envious of Lauryn’s photography skills.  I hope as the year goes on she posts more of her photos! She is a super sweet lady with a blog that is always sincere.  She’s getting ready to go on an awesome Caribbean cruise.  We should all be jealous!

Enjoy!

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Hello friends! Lauryn of LauReality here, blogging for our lovely Miss Ria as she soaks up those California rays while the rest of us freeze our bums off. I can’t say I blame her for getting away as quickly as humanly possible, as I too will be heading for warmer climates in the next few weeks too. What can I say? Sometimes a Michigan girl’s gotta do what a Michigan girl’s gotta do.

I’m very excited for Ria to be visiting the Sunshine State. I’ve learned from personal experience that it’s the perfect vacation destination: perfect weather, plenty to do, and while there’s no passport required it’s far enough away that it somehow still feels exotic.

Do you see how desperate for warmth we are here? I just called California exotic.

In addition to those wonderful attributes, California is the perfect place to have yourself a little adventure. I traveled to Californ-I-A a little over a year ago to visit my best friend, and while my “adventures” weren’t exactly wild and crazy, they definitely brought me a taste of something outside of my every day life.

Let me give you the Reader’s Digest version:

Whilst in California, I:

Learned what the heck aperture was and fell madly in love with my SLR:

Saw a whale:

Drank grass and chased it with an orange slice:

Was mistaken for Sarah Palin on the street in Long Beach:

Saw Dr. Phil’s Car:

And pretty much had an amazing time.

Here’s hoping Ria and her man have as many random, fun little adventures as I did. Can’t wait to hear all about it!

Day Five of My Michigan Bloggers is Mae from Thereafterish. Most of you don’t know that Mae is actually my cousin, but since it’s by marriage I haven’t known her my whole life.  She is creative and inspiring.  Many areas that I lack knowledge or experience in Mae has.  I’m so glad to have her as part of my family.  Hanging out with her is like hanging out with an old friend and my mouth seems to just let all my thoughts come pouring out.  Luckily she stands it and keeps the secrets that seem to rush out.  Love you cuz!

Enjoy!

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Because my cousin Ria is visiting my hometown, I though I’d write about it. (Have fun, Ria! Make sure my town treats you well!)

San Diego.

I once lived there. All of my formative years, and most of all my childhood memories were formed there. It is sometimes my pride for close to twenty years to say I grew up there. It’s such a golden, warm, beautiful town that it’s really easy to forget that there’s a whole world out there to be experienced and explored. In Southern California, we all lived in some sort of sheltered bubble, encased with our endless seas and perfect sandy beaches.

About five years ago I met a man on the internet that tore me out of dull-brained existence, and woke me up. Meeting him left me salivating for a greater world. And in June of that year, I packed up most of my worldly possessions and moved across the country to Detroit.

Before I left, I wrote San Diego a good-bye letter.

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Dear San Diego, Once upon a time, I loved you.

As a little kid, growing up on the border of the ghetto, I would feign a ghetto-fabulous accent and holler “reppin’ the 6-I-9″ (for 619, the original sole area code of the Greater San Diego Area). I’d frequent San Diego-only chat rooms on AOL as a teenager. If we saw a San Diego Store (like the Made in Detroit store in Detroit) I’d go there and try to find a bunch of San Diego gear to sport my loyalty for you.

But the thing is, you’re just one big typical Southern California town with a big attitude, pretensions of being a big, bad bustling metropolis with edgy urban things to offer, but you’re really just a vacation town for old Republicans to retire in if they have the money, and stupid fat head frat boys and sorority girls from all over the US to come and make party time hell for the people who actually live here.

You’re stunningly beautiful, don’t get me wrong. Very beautiful. And you have a history and culture all your own. There’s no denying that. There is an artistry in some of your neighborhoods that cannot be found anywhere else in the world. There is a poetry that can be felt in the nature found here. Balboa Park and it’s gardens and museums. Historic Gaslamp Quarter and its restaurants and old building facades, and the many drunken Friday and Saturday nights I spent there, giggling and dancing with my best friends… Hillcrest and all its vintage shopping grandeur. La Jolla Cove and its cliffs and small grotto. The beaches. God, the beaches. The mountains. The quaint tea and coffee shops hosting acoustic folk pop and poetry slams well into the indigo night.

You’ve got a simple gorgeousness that you won’t find in big, complicated, drama-filled LA. There’s nothing else like you anywhere else in CA.

But after living here for so long, you’ve lost your lustre for me. Even this letter is losing its lustre.

Let’s just say I’m ready to move on. For now. My eyes are looking East. Detroit. Chicago. Toronto. Enyce? Maybe. Anything is possible. And the only thing I know is that my love for this city no longer resides in the city itself but in the people who live here who love me and I love in return.

After all, home is where the heart is. So, I guess, you’ll always be a home to me. A place where I can return and still feel all the warmth of love I’ve always felt.

I just didn’t know it was possible for me to call more than one place home. I guess I can now.

Take care of yourself. And never change. I’ll see you again some day.

Love, Mae

Img cred: Balboa Park Lily Pond (www.sommersetsuites.com>; Historic Gaslamp (Ron Niebrugge via www.californicating.wordpress.com ); Hillcrest (hillcrestlodgings.com); La Jolla Cliffs (www.pdphoto.org); San Diego Beach (www.cbnsandiego.com).

Day Four of My Michigan Bloggers is Mandy from Gingermandy. This lady has some mad fucking talent.  Seriously, she’s all snarky, witty and heartfelt.  I asked her bottle that talent up and sell it so I can drink it, but you know that’s kind of creepy.  And without Mandy I never would have experienced aerial yoga, that would have been a tragedy.   Anyways be sure to check out Mandy’s articles on examiner too, she has some hilarious dating stories and advice.  And speaking of jealous…her career move (freelance writer, yo!) totally makes me turn green!

Enjoy!

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Hey kids! GingerMandy here. Since Ria decided to bail on all of us and head to sunny San Diego amidst our big winter storm, I’m going to take over her fort for a day (Hey Ria – I HOPE IT SNOWS.)

Just kidding, I’d never do that. I hope it’s 80 and sunny. (No I don’t. This is the jealousy talking. Sorry. Don’t mind this.)

Anyjealous, I always feel weird going on someone elses blog and talking about myself, but Ria asked me and the other awesome Michigan girls to do it, and I’m never going to pass up talking about myself to a group of new people, so I’ll tell you about the most interesting and random vacation I’ve ever been on.

I’ve been to a lot of big cities including Vegas, DC, Chicago, LA, NYC, Miami, Nashville, Phoenix, the list goes on… I love big city life, I love the thought of walking everywhere I go, the thought of walking to a Starbucks down the street from your high rise loft when you’re bored, and the thought of possibly being able to stalk famous people. What?

That’s why this particular vacation was not only incredibly out of my element, but what I’d presume to be an absolute nightmare, equivalent to leaping off the empire state building and catching my eyelid on a nail and then being set on fire.

When I was 16, my Dad brought my family out west. He’d been out there quite frequently for work and discovered a lot of things he knew we’d all love doing. We were in LA for 3 days, where we did all the touristy LA stuff (Hollywood, all the beaches along highway 1, you get the idea) and then drove to Vegas for 4 days. On the way to Vegas we drove through Arizona. He was always talking about this “small town” in Arizona he’d discovered, and insisted we had to stop there. Whatever, Dad.

We began driving there, and apparently this “little town” was in “the middle of the mountains.” Like literally. The. Middle. Of. The. Mountains. He drove the windy mountain offroads for about 20 minutes, scaring the living piss out of us around every curve until finally we drove up onto this little patch of…. driveway or something. I figured we were stopping to pee maybe, there were a few small buildings and some random burro’s walking around the 1/2 mile dirt road. I had no idea why my Dad chose to stop here. The town we were supposed to be visiting couldn’t be THAT far.

“Well kids, we’re here!” He said with a big smile on his face.

“………………………………………………………..”

“Seriously Dad?”

“Yep, welcome to Oatman, Arizona.”

This little road with the burro’s walking around and the handful of buildings and the handful of people? Yea. This is the town he’d been raving about.

Upon arrival in Oatman, your mother will make you stand in front of a burro for a picture the second you get there. Once you take the picture, she will look at her camera in horror when she discovers she chose the “horny” burro. Then you’ll stand in front of another burro for another picture, but first she’ll check to make sure his frank and beans aren’t as excited as the first and your little sister will say “Mom why are you looking at the donkey’s weiner?” And we’ll all giggle and Dad will say “WELL let’s go get ice cream!”

Once you get ice cream, the burro’s will flock to you and show you their teeth. Sadly, they have more teeth than anyone in town. You’ll offer them a lick to your ice cream, but before the burro has a chance to take a lick, a wrangly, toothless lone ranger will come out of the woodwork and tell you to get your ice cream away from the damn burro’s, otherwise they be shittin’ all over the porch. True story.

It turns out the little town wasn’t all that awful. It wasn’t what I was hoping for, definitely not the glitz and glamour of Vegas and DEFINITELY not a town that is familiar with a dentist, but we had fun shopping for raccoon hats and moccasins, buying beef jerky by the pound, chasing burro’s up the mountain and hunting for a full set of teeth. There was also some really interesting history about how the town came to be. The population is something around 13, or maybe 130, no… 130 sounds too industrious. Anyway, the people are happy and loyal to their town and apparently learned the hard way about feeding the burro’s ice cream.

For a fun vacation, you don’t have to go somewhere big and fancy. I mean, I’d still prefer NYC to Oatman any day, but I’m really glad we went. It gave a whole new meaning to the term “hung like a horse.”