Unemployment 2009: Just Go Away

You did What to a Goat?! Getting’ Down at Playas, Record Breaking “Lengths” and Embarrassing More Family and Friends

2009-10-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

After the excitement of “Taylorpalooza” at Auburn, we got a late start out of Alabama Thursday morning. And if you’ve been following our blog thus far, you already know the drill with our ability to judge distances- we told Lori’s cousin Willie at UNC that we’d be in Chapel Hill around 6pm. Psych! After navigating through Atlanta and the Carolina’s we rolled in somewhere around 10pm.

An exciting weekend, a big night in New Orleans, the party at Auburn and a long drive would not stop us from making the most of another night in a new place, especially with the knowledge that we were back east and our journey would be concluding in a mere two days.

After classy drinks on a rooftop bar with cousin Willie, he departed for an obligatory event with his frat’s pledges and we hit the town to continue the night. We wanted to go dancing, our favorite late-night pastime, and, to continue the classy kickoff to the night Willie had suggested a bar called “Playas.” Given our directional abilities, we did not find Playas and ended up at the end of the line of bars at a spot with hip-hop pumping and co-eds grinding. Left only to dance with each other, we grabbed drinks and hit the dance floor unashamed. After a few dances however, we decided the bartenders were the hottest catches in the bar and the music and crowd inhibited our getting to know them better. “On to Playas!” we decided.

We finally found it, and it was quite the scene. Again, we were the only two girls that hadn’t arrived with male dance partners, and since we were rocking the “I-just-spend-the-entire-day-in-a-stuffy-car-without-washing-or-even-brushing-my-hair-before-I-left-look” and were the only ones without short skirts and high heels it looked like it would stay that way. Not to be daunted, we got right to the middle of the stage and if nothing else, provided some entertainment for the paired up onlookers.

The night ended at what was supposed to be another “classy bar” where we sipped our nightcaps antisocially in the corner and, for whatever reason, spend the better part of half an hour fixated on the various shoe choices of the boys at the bar.

Willie kindly picked us up at last call and we enjoyed an amusing slumber party conversation that included joking about the rights of passage in a frat (think the uptight Omegas in Animal House on initiation night), speculation over the size of a certain male appendage among Tar Heel athletes and whether they might break the Guinness Book of World Records (when we checked the book the next day we discovered that it is PG-rated and therefore omits such categories), and realized it was a good thing no one had asked our names at any bar or on any dance floor in town because had we admitted that we were Willie’s guests we may have embarrassed him beyond social repair.

Leaving Our Legacy In Auburn - "Jessica has the runs upstairs"

2009-10-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

When you put two wash-up college grads from small artsy fartsy liberal arts schools in the northeast into a sorority at Auburn University in Alabama, it is pretty much a given that things are going to get weird. And no, we were not going to disappoint. Quite honestly, it’s a miracle that we weren’t kicked out within the first few hours and we are willing to bet it’s a good thing that we spent just under 48 hours total in Auburn – any more might have meant death by sorority.

After being welcomed by Taylor, drinks (shocker there), and a tour of the school, we tried to be pretty tame. But alas, that can only last for so long. While waiting for Taylor in the lobby (we don’t know what else to call it) of her sorority house, we saw a whiteboard right next to the front desk. The little sorority sister who was supposed to be waiting at the desk had apparently had to step out for a few minutes. The sign read “Jessica had to run upstairs”. Really Jessica, really? She was setting herself up for humiliation and amusing us endlessly. This being said, naturally, Lizzy had the brilliant idea (within seconds of seeing the sign) to change around the words a bit to “Jessica has the runs upstairs”. Who knows, maybe no one else would laugh but we knew we would, even if it meant getting caught on camera and humiliated again (oh wait, no dignity left to lose so all was well).

We giggled, we chuckled and we went on our merry way to spend the afternoon with Taylor. We were overjoyed to see that Lizzy’s brilliant sign was still there hours later when we returned and even happier to find out that a) Jessica was a bitch and b) the girls in the sorority found it hilarious. We continued to prance around the house, mocking and posing for our own sorority headshots, mooning unsuspecting students, dressing like hobos, and acting like general idiots.

We found out just a few days ago (2 weeks after our sorority experience) that not only was the note on the board a hot topic of conversation, but that our new sorority sister friends have kept it alive. Apparently different girls in the sorority are having issues in the upstairs bathroom now on a daily basis and we think it’s safe to say that we left our legacy in Auburn.

San Pedro's... No Wait, We Mean Pat Obrien's

2009-10-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

As we drove out of New Orleans on Tuesday morning Lizzy asked “What was that place called, San Pedro’s?” referring to the piano bar we’d visited the night before. “I think it was called Pat O’Brien’s?” Lori thought aloud, checking to see if she still had the napkin from the bar, which had the recipe to their delicious, and deceptively strong Hurricanes written on it. Yea, it was Pat O’Brien’s, only like, the most famous bar in the French Quarter. Forgive us our cultural confusion, we were hadn’t yet recovered from the daze Austin City Limits had left on us, and we’d been spending a lot of time almost south of the border recently.

Thanks to the great company of Meg, Willie, and Mellow, we spent Monday night in the French Quarter, hanging out in Meg’s amazing apartment and seeing the best of what Monday night in New Orleans had to offer. Which was, eating gumbo, having the amazing discovery that open containers are totally okay on the streets of the French Quarter, dancing on Bourbon Street, seeing topless women, and almost getting Lori to do karaoke… New Orleans kept us up and up, pushing back any slump the post-Austin weekend could have otherwise imposed on us.

Girl Talk Video

2009-10-20T08:54:00.000-07:00

Live on stage with Girl Talk !

2009-10-20T08:27:00.000-07:00

Woodstock 2009 - Austin City Limits

2009-10-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

We had heard of Austin City Limits - a massive three day music festival in Zilker Park in Austin, Texas. It sounded cool, we had high hopes of seeing some of our favorite musicians, but we had NO idea what to really expect or what we were getting ourselves into. Three days of live music, mud, and debauchery turned out to be yet another one of the highlights of our trip.

1 On Friday, day 1 of the festival, we had to make the embarrassing yet necessary decision to take a bike taxi to beat the crowds and make it to the concert in time to see K’naan perform (this was after a considerable amount of wine that led to the two of us wandering around the city and getting lost on our way). We finished off the night with Kings of Leon who gave a truly kick ass performance despite Lori being berated by some crazy girl about (yet again) nailing her in the face with her hair while dancing.

We woke up Saturday to pouring rain that turned out to be so relentless and so oppressive that in the course of a few hours, Zilker Park transformed into a mud pit that was oddly similar to Woodstock in the 60’s. I don’t think we saw as much acid-tripping and nudity but it was certainly a sight to see. After watching various artists perform throughout the day – Bon Iver, John Legend, Flogging Molly – and being literally drenched from head to toe, covered in mud, and barefoot, we decided that the best thing to do wasn’t to find some respite from the storm and the mud but to push to the front of the Livestrong Stage 2 hours before Dave Matthews Band would be performing in order to ensure a good spot. And that we did. We stood in the rain, next to the crazy drunk groupies who had been there for hours if not days (who for some reason, could not understand why we didn't want any of their mystery drink or shots of whiskey from their suspect flasks) without adequate clothes or an umbrella (or shoes for that matter because they would be sucked off by the mud when walking) for just short of 2 hours. When the band came on, it was worth every minute. DMB’s performance was absolutely unreal and ironically enough, they ended up closing with the two songs that we had been hoping to hear most. When we got back to our friend Andrew's apartment where we were shacking up for the weekend, we were so foul and covered in filth that running into his apartment straight to the bathroom to shower was not a possibility because we would have destroyed the place. We instead dropped trough, jumped in the pool, and came out feeling like we had been washed of all of our sins. I guess it was pretty Woodstock of us to be running around naked on a high after an awesome concert (though it was a natural high, not an LSD-induced trip - maybe some other time...)

Sunday came around and low and behold, the grounds were a mess. It didn’t matter though – we had gotten a good nights’ sleep, rethought our footgear (we were willing to wear and sacrifice sneakers and hiking boots for the sake of our safety/in order to not contract a disease from the mud), and were ready to go. After experiencing Passion Pit perform for the first time Sunday afternoon (and developing a new obsession), we knew that we had at least an hour until Girl Talk was supposed to get started. We figured what the hell, why not go to the front and push up as far as we could get? Dressed like fools in old lacrosse pinnies, sweatbands, high socks, mardis gras beads, a fake dreadlock and fanny packs, we trekked through the mud and joked about trying to get on stage. How exactly it happened, we will never know. But we thank our little hippie friend who we serendipitously ran into, chatted with, and who suggested that “yo girls, this is your chance, go for it” as people began jumping the gates and running behind stage with hopes of being one of the few who would make it up there. We took our guardian angels advice, Lizzy grabbed Lori’s hand, and we ran. And we made it. We ended up as one of the 30 or so people who were up on stage for the concert, and the hour and fifteen minutes that we spent up there was indescribable.

Dead sober, dressed like fools, and acting like our typical uninhibited borderline embarrassing selves, we literally and figuratively danced our pants off. Beyond just experiencing Girl Talk on stage, what was so unreal was the masses of people - as we looked out from stage, we saw a sea of literally thousands and thousands of heads. The farthest thing we could see in the distance were more and more flocks of fans. At the end of the day, I suppose our uncanny ability to be OK with how filthy we were (we are essentially hippies at heart), our perseverance and 'what the hell why not' attitude got us somewhere.

For Darren

2009-10-01T22:34:00.003-07:00

Almost South of the Border Part 1

2009-10-01T22:34:00.002-07:00

After leaving San Diego, we were feeling good about hitting the open road and heading to Austin. While blasting music, laughing, and taking in the scenery, we found it thrilling that we were right on the border of Mexico until...

Almost South of the Border Part 2

2009-10-01T22:13:00.001-07:00

During day 2 of our drive from San Diego to Austin, we had a UFO/alien sighting, both suffered a few injuries after a harmless stop on I-10 somewhere in western Texas, and had yet another run in with the authorities during an attempted photo shoot at the Border Patrol Station...

SoCal in a Nutshell

2009-10-01T21:37:00.000-07:00

Big Sur to San Diego (via Santa Barbara, San Marino, LA)

The Pacific Coast Highway is a natural wonder in itself and the jagged cliffs, glassy blue ocean, and endless mountains are other-wordly. Though we didn't get to spend as much time as we had hoped during our 48 hour jaunt down the coast from Big Sur to San Diego (we are headed for Austin and need to be there by Friday), it was well worth it.

After spending a night in Big Sur in Pfeiffer State Park shacked up in a cabin with no internet, no TV, and good cheap red wine, we got going early the next morning to begin making our way down to San Marino where we were planning on spending the night.

Our first stop was Santa Barbara where we fell in love with the quaint, picturesque, surfer vibe of the town and marveled at the natural beauty surrounding us. The contrast of the seamless ocean, light sand, and all-encompassing mountains is absolutely captivating.

Also captivating were the humping cows we saw along the road somewhere between Santa Barbara and San Marino. We were laughing far too hard to get a picture, but they kept us amused as we made our way to San Marino where we spent a night with the lovely Moores, family friends of Lori's.

The following morning we headed for LA to experience Rodeo Drive, check out Beverly Hills, and look for Kathy Griffin (who, sadly, we did not find). We were pleasantly surprised by the city. Yes, people were primped and near-perfect looking and no, we didn't fit in wearing our wrinkled t-shirts and jeans that we scrounged up from the floor of the car, but we thoroughly enjoyed our morning spent poking around the city and marveling at everything that we could not afford (given our unemployed status).

We headed out of LA and south to San Diego, stopping at La Jolla and then Coronado Beach, two of the most picturesque and stunningly beautiful havens on the coast. The weather is perfect, the people are cool, and the scenery is unreal - we were sold. We were once again kindly hosted by family friends, the Heils, whose enthusiasm for San Diego only made us that much more fond of SoCal.

The following morning we wandered downtown San Diego for a few hours, checked out Balboa Park, and hit the road hoping to make it to Austin by Friday. What will happen on that ride to Austin, god only knows...

We Left Our Hearts...

2009-10-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

Welcome to San Fransisco! It’s no wonder Tony Bennett left his heart there- we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge in the fog with the water below and the city before us and felt like we were on a movie set. Once we’d bid farewell to our moms we headed to sunny Pacific Heights to see Linnea, our hostess with the very mostest. We entered her beautiful apartment to find not only the one thing we were really looking for in San Fran (her) but typed itineraries of a perfect weekend in the city.

After making dinner, we hit “the Mission” where Linnea, our classy city girl, had checked out the best bars in the area. Coincidentally, one of the bars happened to be celebrating Slovakia with music and a performance. Too cheap to pay for the show, we opted for the bar downstairs to rub elbows with Linnea’s cute and employed friends. Maybe there was a job opening? Somewhere?

Though we were slowly getting over our fear of strangers, our mothers, having been with us for the past 72-plus hours, were close in mind. On the initial drive west, we had discussed who we could safely talk to after learning that by our mothers’ estimations most of the people we would encounter on the journey would be psychotic killers. We like to meet people and traveling the country would give us that chance, but who could we safely talk to? Then it came to us- gay couples. If they were in happy relationships, not interested in the female sex, and as stylish and friendly as we were willing to stereotype them to be (we also watch a lot of Kathy Griffin) they were definitely our “men to befriend.”

To Lizzy’s joy, she thought she spotted such a pair that night. The safe, “gay” couple turned out to either just be playing the gay game to get girls or they couldn’t help how very metrosexually European they were. What seemed like the chance to make a set of lasting friends that we could look cool with and start a coast to coast friendship with turned out to be one big headache for the rest of the night as we stayed on constant watch to keep Lizzy away from the lovesick, forty- something year old Slovakian man who kept “bumping” into her all evening.

The rest of San Francisco was awesome, from the next morning at the farmer’s market where we met the coolest bee keeper on the west coast, to the aquarium where we visited the rain forest simulation, saw beautiful fish, got a hankering to see a shark in the wild, got uncomfortably close to a stuffed version of the bear that almost killed us mere days ago, and had lunch across the courtyard at the de Young. After broken farrow and Blue Bottle coffee for breakfast the next morning on the pier we bid farewell to lovely Linnea and headed down the coast to Big Sur for a night.

A Bouchon is a Bouchon!

2009-09-30T21:40:00.000-07:00

Two full days of sun, wine, and mother-daughter bonding time found us at our last dinner, and though it was hard to pull away from our routine at Hurley’s Restaurant, we decided to branch out and try a French restaurant that allegedly served good cosmos in deep glasses. So Sex and the City of us, right Brüno? Leave it to us not to learn our lessons though- Lori forgot her ID and was grilled by the bartender, forcing her to run back to the room to prove, yet again, that she was legally allowed to drink. Once served, however, the drinks let us down. They were pretty, but not very strong. As Lizzy aptly put it, someone thought they could trick us and serve the contents of a kid’s juice box in a martini glass and get away with it. We like our Cosmos leaving us cross-eyed, not pre-diabetic.

The night was saved, however, when we discovered the mantra that we would adopt for the rest of the evening and that we will probably never really move beyond, though no sane human will ever really understand why. We were served our menus once we were seated which were printed with the restaurant’s name, Bouchon, on the cover. “What is a Bouchon?” Eileen was prompted to ask. Lizzy sagely replied, “A bouchon is a bouchon.”

Obviously John (who was our wine guide at Rombauer, the second, and may we add, better vineyard who taught us to taste wine based on personal olfactory memories and held, we strongly believe, the keys to the universe and it’s secrets), his wisdom and the wine had rubbed off on us. It’s also just a really fun and expressive word to say (try it!) which meant that we decided to substitute it into every saying and expression we’d ever heard. “That is the bouchon’s pajamas” or “Bouchon unto others as you would have them bouchon unto you” and, “I am so bouchoned” or “Wow, she is such a bouchon!”

Needless to say, whether anyone but us gets that joke and the universal usage and brilliance of the bouchon, which, in French, technically means “cork” (but if you believe in the power of wine then the bouchon, door to a bottle’s contents, truly is the gateway to the universe) we had a blast of a night, and another excellent champagne brunch for a third morning in a row before heading off to San Francisco where we dropped off our mothers, leaving them to fly home in what looked like a white pleather party plane courtesy of Virgin America as we hit the city for a weekend on the town with Linnea.

Wine Tasting Part 1: Vino Vino

2009-09-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

Well rested and over our morning champagne buzz from brunch, the Dickey and the Griffin girls were looking forward to a day at the vineyards. We set out with a map of the vineyards up the road, and decided to work our way from the top down (less of a drive means less space for danger when you’re tipsy, right?) which led us to Sterling Vineyards. We bought our tickets, got on the gondola and headed to what Mrs. Dickey aptly called “Disneyland for adults.”

Wine Tasting Part 2: Revenge on Sterling

2009-09-30T20:27:00.000-07:00

Excited at the prospect of our first taste of the vineyard's chardonnay, we skipped over to the first booth, only to meet a harsh and utterly frustrating situation. Now that we were well past the ripe legal drinking age of 21 at 22 and almost 23 respectively, we never thought our IDs would be required- wrong. We hadn't even made it to our first taste before we were turned back to ride the gondola back down in shame, our champagne buzzes being replaced by the buzz of indignation and frustration. However, we were not to be thwarted...

Welcome to Napa!

2009-09-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

We have often written about how words are not enough to describe the natural beauty we’ve encountered along our way from east to west coast- the Badlands, Grand Teton, and Yellowstone are just a few of the places that have left us lost for words. This past week we also learned that words also don’t do justice to the hills around Napa, and they really aren’t enough when it comes to our mothers, who flew out to visit us for our three day stay.

Eileen and Betsy arrived in Napa several hours before we did. By now you’ve learned, as we have, to estimate our arrival time at least two hours past what it should be. After taking a very worthwhile detour through the Redwood National Park where we hugged trees, hid in their hollows, ran around their trunks, stared at the utterly beautiful quality of light that falls softly through the air and branches to the forest floor, and took turns doing our best impressions of Gollum among the trees, we headed to Napa, allowing our mothers plenty of time to catch up and relax over a “glass” (realistically half a barrel was tackled that afternoon) of wine by the pool. We had the pleasure of getting to the valley on our way to Yountville at sunset, affording us the chance to see vineyards lit up with that unique California hazy glow.

Pulling into the Villagio Inn and Spa (now, it’s no Grand Gateway in South Dakota, but it will do) blasting “Hey Mama” in honor of the two lovely ladies who came out to see us, we reunited with our wonderful mothers and got down to business- showering, dressing up for real, and hitting the town for dinner and drinking. One three-hour dinner over seafood, salad, and bottles of white wine later, we were immersed in good conversation, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt the next day. It is cool to get to the point where you kind of become a fellow “big girl” and your mother can treat you not just as her charge but as a friend. That and the fact that we made a point of getting enough wine in all of our systems that it seemed acceptable to ask about dirt from when they were in their twenties. Being our mothers, of course, they didn’t disappoint, and we had a great night acting like we were all young, crazy, and ready for a three day party in California wine country.

Portland - False Identities, Fake Accents, Financial Stability, and Fun

2009-09-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

We rolled into Portland after driving all day and were more than ready for a shower (which we skipped and decided to instead change our clothes and put on some mascara), a drink, and a taste of the city itself.

We were staying at the Ace Hotel and decided to hit up their bar, the Clyde Common. We were warmly welcomed by our bartender, Ansel, who bellowed "Hello mateys ! What can I get you to drink tonight gals?" in a very Aussie type accent. We had fun and giggled at Ansel's accent and his supposed 'foreign' charm as he made our drinks, some sort of house special made of gin, bourbon, and god knows what else (Lizzy also couldn't get his name and called him both Antel and Antler before getting it right).
When Ansel came around to ask us for our next round, his accent had mysteriously disappeared. Further conversation led us to finding out that he was not in any way foreign and had grown up in Pittsburg before moving to Portland. Really Ansel, really? Fakeness aside, he was an absolute doll.

That was round one of false identities we encountered.

Following Clyde Common and Ansel's contrived Aussie charm (we're willing to bet he was trying to get lucky), we headed to Kells, an Irish Pub in town. It was 10 PM on a Sunday night, and we were two of the few people who were out. Our bartender, Jake, turned out to be yet another fraud. After carding us for drinks, serving us his favorite local on tap, chatting it up and giving us his number on a place mat, it became quite apparent that he was not only younger than us (which he initially denied) but was also not Irish (which he had originally claimed). However, the lack of foreign appeal and underage status didn't change the fact that we loved the man.

Now based on these two encounters it may seem like we are in some way hating on Portland and we want to make sure to point out that this is not the case AT ALL. We came home after our first night doubled over in fits of laughter and proceeded to then spend two awesome days exploring the city.

Looking back on Portland, we find the accents and false identities both hilarious and endearing and quite honestly, if copping an accent and lying about your age like that has led both Ansel and Jake to some sort of employment and financial stability, then we had better start working on our accents and pick up lines.

Seriously.

Glitches on the way to Portland...

2009-09-26T22:42:00.001-07:00

Driving from Seattle, Washington to Portland, Oregon in one day is quite a feat. When you are dealing with two mentally incapacitated people, it may seem nearly impossible.

Surprisingly, the two of us were able to make our way from Seattle to Portland in one day, in one piece, and with only a few minor glitches along the way. None of them were serious or led to any sort of near-death experience, and we like to believe that they add to the overall character of our trip and ultimately speak to the true nature of our complete inability to ever flawlessly stick to or execute any plan that we vaguely outline or vouch to follow...

After our graceful exit from Seattle (glitch #1), we headed to Olympic National Park and through the Hoh Rainforest. As we drove through yet another indescribably gorgeous national park, we stopped for pictures, marveled at the natural beauty surrounding us, and continuously cracked up at the fact that the name of the Rainforest could be synonymous with some sort of outdoorsy, jungle brothel.

All was going well, we were on schedule, and then glitch #2 came into play. No it didn't involve any seriously promiscuous behavior in the Hoh Rainforest, we simply wanted to stop and go for a swim along the way. Maybe it involved us taking off an article or two of clothing, but that was as far as it went. As we pulled over at what seemed like the perfect spot in the rainforest, we were eager to jump in the water, revive ourselves, and then again sit on our bums for hundreds of miles. Just as we were out of the car, in bathing suits, and ready to rock, an ominous-looking, trashy, old white station wagon pulled up and parked way too close for comfort. Now we are not judging any books by their covers, but three bumbling, creepy, alien-look-alike bums came tumbling out of their hot ride and gave us a look - and the type of look you don't exactly want to see when you are miles and miles deep into an foreign rainforest known for housing hookers.

Taking into consideration our mothers' "Everyone is out to get you and kill you" mentality, we decided to get back in the car, lock the doors, and leave. As we pulled out, we were grilled by our three vagabond followers and quite happy that we had chosen to put on our clothes and not risk being mistaken for prostitutes in the woods of Washington. In typical Lizzy and Lori fashion, another disaster was averted.

Now, our 3rd and final glitch on the way to Portland may be the most embarrassing. Everyone is aware of the vampire craze in the wake of the 'Twilight' series and of course, on our way south, the two of us just happened upon Forks, Washington, the town in which the books take place. This glitch doesn't need much describing (and to die-hard Twilight fans it may seem like a valiant act, not an embarrassing one) but long story short, the two of us were apparently in some sort of vampire/other-worldy haze and spent far too much money at the "Dazzled By Twilight" store in Forks. T-shirts, bracelets, pins, glitter, lunch-boxes, sunglasses and chocolate all seemed so normal and so soo necessary for the thirty minutes we spent in that god-awful store.

This being said, the lunch box is pretty damn cool and useful, the t-shirts have been worn, we are still covered in glitter, and we now fondly look back on our 12-hour stretch from Seattle to Portland as nothing short of an adventurous glitch. In the very best sense.

The Not so Smooth Exit

2009-09-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

We got up early Sunday morning in Seattle, having slept on the downstairs couches in our sleeping bags in an attempt to be polite and discreet. Polite? After having made ourselves comfortable in not one but two beds belonging to our hosts, who we'd known now for less than a grand total of 48 hours, and having drank their alcohol, ate their food, accompanied them to concerts and sporting events, and to top it off then nearly burned their home down after forgetting to turn off our hair straightener we were trying to be less noticeable guests. Yes, sleeping downstairs may have, on top of all that, been a polite attempt to pay them back or at least stay out of their hair for the last night that we were in their care. Polite we may have been at the eleventh hour. But discreet? No, discreet we were not.

Lizzy had set her alarm for 8am so that we could be on our way by 9. Unfortunately, though we had packed our things the night before, we did not think to move them downstairs with us so that we could make a quick and quiet exit. No, we had to return to our kind host's room, risking waking him up in the process of moving out. Too late.

Lori had long given up on her finicky alarm which would sometimes forget to go off or simply go on silent, therefore being no help. However, as we crept up the stairs, we heard the all too familiar sound of a Blackberry alarm that had chosen, on this of all mornings, not to be silent. Lori, mortified that her phone was disrupting the sleep of our already too generous and tolerant hosts, ran to open the door behind which her phone lay until- the angry voice of a girl came from behind it. She was, understandably, sounding very peeved and upset that a phone she couldn't find was waking her far too early after what we had to assume had to have been a late night. But what are you going to do, right? We looked at each other, took a deep breath, and ran in- however, Lori, in her desperate attempt to turn off her phone, forgot completely to get anything but the bag containing the phone. Which meant that when we'd composed ourselves downstairs, Lizzy had all of her bags and Lori had a cell phone and wallet. Her clothes, laptop, and dignity remained scattered in the room upstairs...

After a five minute pump up from Lizzy, Lori crept back upstairs, ready to knock, enter the room, grab everything, make no eye contact, mumble a thank you, and run. Fast.

All things considered, both members of the rightfully offended party took Lori's re-entrance well, joking, passing it off as no big deal, even cracking a joke about the pink butterfly pajama set her mom had sent her for Valentine's Day that she was wearing, the color of which was blending with the her rapidly reddening cheeks. Needless to say, between the fuchsia cover of her phone and the raspberry color of her pj's, Lori will never look at pink quite the same again.

Because we hadn't already made a stellar enough impression on boys we'd barely known for more than a day, we dragged and ran and generally made a ruckus as we exited, then, still in pajamas, ran through the neighborhood until we found our car, changed in the backseats, and grabbed coffees down the road, hightailing it for more rural, anonymous ground.

Dazzled by Twilight: A Trip to Forks, WA

2009-09-26T22:03:00.002-07:00

We had to do it. Given that we had already planned the detour through Olympic National Forest on our way down to Portland after a very eventful weekend in Seattle, it was hard to resist the allure of dazzling vampires on the way. But before we felt the full impact of Edward Cullen in all his sparkling glory in his hometown of Forks, WA, we had to get out of Seattle...

Homeless in Seattle: Hospitality, Huskies, and Hangovers

2009-09-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

Quite honestly, we didn't know exactly what to expect as we headed toward Seattle after leaving Bozeman but I think it's fair to say that we had quite the weekend..and for a variety of reasons...

After spending Friday being total tourists - wandering the city, exploring the Sculpture Gardens, searching for the best coffee shop in town, hitting up Pike Place Market, spending money on things that we really didn't need at all, getting tipsy at lunch off of one glass of wine and marveling at Mount Rainier and the overall beauty of where we were - we found ourselves at 5:30 PM, lost and wandering homeless around Seattle...

We decided to forget about our dignity (which was, quite honestly, long gone), acknowledge the fact that we would not be able to get a hotel for under $200 a night, and shamelessly text a friend of a friend (who we had been in contact with via Dick Dickey) asking for a spot to crash on a couch, floor, backyard, or sidewalk curb (as long as it was in a semi-safe area...preferably where we would not be risking attack by bear or vagrant). We were ever so kindly taken in by a group of four guys who opened up their home to our shameless and filthy selves, let us know the word on the street regarding where to go in Seattle, and showed us an all around awesome time.

We headed to a Girltalk concert Friday night and it turned out to be an absolute blast thanks to our wonderful hosts. Despite an attack on Lori from an angry, bitter, and all-around bitchy blonde who had bird-like qualities and was generally angry at the world, the concert was four hours of bliss - dancing, singing, and acting like our usual idiotic selves. There was (and we mean this in the best sense) a midget scare as well...

For whatever reason, Lizzy is deathly afraid of midgets and of course, of all places, there happened to be one dancing above her on a set of stairs for the second half of the concert. Trying to be a good sport, she tolerated, but it was painful. Fortunately, when Lori was affronted by the god-awful blond, Lizzy was able to forget about her fears of a small person looming on her horizons and dealt with the bimbo instead.

So after Friday, a day of homelessness and a night of hospitality, Saturday rolled around and turned out to be a day of hangovers, Huskies (we're talking the Washington v. USC football game), more hangovers and (not surprisingly) further hospitality.

After waking up a bit drunk, semi-coherent, and with a general sense of confusion regarding life (as per usual), we were both greeted by our lovely housemates who were all full of energy, excitement for the game, and more booze. Barely 20 minutes later, we were wandering toward the nearest coffee shop for a bit of caffeinated revival thanks to Seattle's Best as well a liquor store for the best drunk in town - a few bottles of $6 Champagne paired with OJ to start out our morning right.

Walking from 215 E. Boston Street (in Eastlake where we were shacking up) to the game was an adventure in itself that involved a brief monsoon, endless laughter, insanely enthusiastic fans, nasty blisters, and an all around sense of fun. Once we arrived at the stadium, the tailgate was an event all its own. We were bombarded by throngs of people dressed in purple and gold, dogs rocking football jerseys, screaming fans, laughter, purple drink (that we somehow stole but still are unsure as to what was in it), and as you might expect, further hospitality.

The game was nothing short of incredible and after the upset of the year (we like to say of the century since we were there and all), we rushed the field with the crowd (again, an unreal experience), cheered with our fellow fans (acting as if we were totally from Washington), and then made our way back to Eastlake where we were staying (rather mooching/crashing/being tolerated).

In our typical fashion, we had taken to our new friends very quickly. After returning to Eastlake, changing into sweats, chugging water and feigning some sense of being respectable human beings, we ended up cuddled in one of our new friends' beds watching Lord of the Rings and taking a long evening nap. After coming to (with yet another hangover) we pulled ourselves together (at least pretended to), got dressed in whatever clean or semi-clean clothes that remained after 2 weeks on the road, and headed out to meet further strangers. We were again met with welcoming and kind hosts (no bitchy blondes or midgets) and had great a night centered around Husky pride, celebration, partying, and general debauchery.

Sunday morning came all too soon and as we (again, hungover) wandered out of our dear friends house and back to our car, we both had an unspoken moment of realization as to how lucky we have been both in Seattle and during our whole trip to be serendipitously connected with so many awesomely open, kind, fun, and tolerant people across the country.

Seattle had provided not only wonderfully fun and hospitable hosts, but also a unique sense of the city itself that could only be experienced through something as unique as a hometown sporting event (that was the precursor to and later led to one of our many consecutive hangovers). From the natural beauty to the open-hearted people to the overall lifestyle, Seattle left us with a true sense of wonder.

One of our new friends we met along the way gave us the greatest compliment of all - "You two are East coast girls with West coast hearts".

Could we honestly ask for anything more?

Hooked on Fishing

2009-09-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday morning we decided to take advantage of the amazing scenery and beautiful mountain men in Bozeman. Combining the two, we hired a private fishing guide to take us wading into the creeks around Gallatin National Preserve where we tried our hands at fly fishing. Our guide Colter, a fellow free spirit and all around good guy was great to us and a patient teacher, even when we hooked ourselves and him.

One massive crush on our guide and several trout later, we'd had an awesome morning. We each caught fish, got to take in the amazing natural beauty from a new angle in the streams, and, whether it was because of Colter, the fresh air, or the thrill of wrangling rainbow trout, we found ourselves hooked on fishing.

Week One

2009-09-16T16:27:00.001-07:00

As it is Wednesday the 16th, we are happy to report that we survived our first week out on the open American road!

PLEASE READ: Regarding the Following Two Videos...

2009-09-16T15:48:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Bozeman, Montana yesterday (Tuesday) and had a wonderful time exploring the city. After hours spent in the car, we decided to go for an afternoon hike to breath in the fresh air and get our blood pumping - well, we got a hell of a lot more than we bargained for...

Being the savvy travelers that we are, we decided to ask the front desk at our extremely classy hotel (shout out to Peter Griffin) where we should head for a pleasant afternoon hike. Prior to his suggestion (which was Hyalite - somewhere just a few minutes away), he asked us where we were from. We shared with him the details of our trip and our East Coast ties which he did not take well. After hearing we were from Connecticut, he expressed his extreme dislike of the East Coast at large and told us to "Make sure that they stop moving out West." To top it off, the loser was wearing a Red Sox watch which is wrong for two major reasons - a) the Red Sox suck and b) it was an extremely tacky watch.

This may seem like an endless and pointless story but here is where it all comes together --

Unable to find Hyalite Road after leaving our hotel, we found what appeared to be an innocent looking trail called Kirk Trail. I guess we should have known something was up when there were no cars parked anywhere nearby, no humans within a ten mile radius, an extremely overgrown and narrow path, and an overall "Blair Witch Project" type feeling.

Feeling sprite yet eerily alone, we hiked up to the top and found an awesome panoramic view of Bozeman that was absolutely worth the trek. As we began our descent down a different trail, Lori paused and stood in silence while staring at the ground at what appeared to be and were bear tracks. (Note: we knew for a fact that they were bear tracks based on a prior experience in Jackson where a knowledgeable outdoorsman identified them for us - so, NO, we are not making this shit up).

Trying to stay relaxed but also somewhat safety conscious (of course we didn't have bear spray on us), we began booking it down the mountain. We made as much noise as we could (which is what everyone tells you you're supposed to do in bear territory to scare them away) as the trail became narrower, more overgrown, and just plain creepier the farther we went. The first video posted below is of that initial jaunt down the mountain as we sang and tried to poke fun at and mask the fact that we were both actually fearing for our lives a bit.

Here's where it gets really hairy. We continued for about 20 minutes, praying to any God willing to listen to us that we would see a clearing in the distance and a way back to our car without being mauled. While following the narrowing trail, we saw poop. It didn't look big enough to be bear poop and it was certainly not fresh so we weren't overly concerned. As we kept going, the poop kept coming but we kept our heads up and didn't think about it. Seconds later we stumbled upon a whole lot of huge, fresh animal droppings. It was undeniable that something large was or had been lingering nearby. We convinced ourselves it was horse manure but wanted to double check and make sure.

Lizzy, having ridden horses for years and years, decided to pick up an unassuming stick and poke around to smell and make sure it was in fact what we were hoping it was. After poking around, sniffing (and no, it did not smell like manure), she glanced down again and realized that what she was holding was not a stick but a bone. And it was big.

This was truly the icing on the already terrifying and miserable cake we found ourselves stuck with.

Terrified and at this point actually thinking these could be our final moments, we panicked.

Running through rivers, unmarked trails, and overgrown bushes, we somehow made it back.

The second video posted below shows our post near-death experience confessional. We are hoping that it actually conveys some of the intense fear, trauma, and scarring that we have experienced in the past 24 hours.

And finally, the moral of this story - never trust men wearing Red Sox watches and working at hotels in the wild wild west - it could lead to your demise. The bastard led us into bear-land and looked extremely unhappy when we returned from our hike still breathing and walking.

Cheers.

Would You Rather....

2009-09-16T15:16:00.001-07:00

Flirting With Death (In Hindsight..)

2009-09-16T14:53:00.000-07:00

How Not to be Charged By a Buffalo

2009-09-15T13:19:00.000-07:00

After an awesome night thanks to the kindness and hospitality of our new favorite quartet of guys, we left Jackson on Monday morning with plans to drive through Yellowstone and stay at the west entrance to the park just over the border in Montana.

Having learned our lessons on lodging the weekend prior in Jackson, we made plans early to stay in West Yellowstone, which turned out to have the nicest people, great coffee, and an array of painted buffalo statues to play on and around.

As we drove through the park happy with our early start, we saw amazing natural beauty. The forests, valleys, falls, lakes and gorges were remarkable, and we soon began to hope for various kinds of wildlife to show up as well. Our first sighting was a buffalo, grazing at the side of the road. Yellowstone is really cool because people stop to just, you know, let a family of elk or passing bison cross the road, have a nonchalant picnic on a hill above moose or be so close to a grazing buffalo that if you felt inclined you could reach out and french braid the crazy hair on its back. The animals, while dangerous, don't mind the cars so as long as you keep your distance and if your limbs stay safely behind metal car doors, you're good. It should also be noted that we picked up a bear, and by bear we do not mean a wild and rabid grizzly intent on hunting us down like the one we'd find mere days later, but rather a sweet stuffed animal named Mo (short for Moses.) In what was clearly a sign of a disturbed and deprived childhood, Lizzy admitted she had never developed an attachment to a stuffed animal of her own. Clearly jealous of the deep (though embarrassing, at age 22) attachment Lori felt to her own stuffed duck Willy who had joined the ride cross country, we set out to right the wrongs done to Lizzy in her youth. As elk migrated and Old Faithful erupted behind us, we pored over the many souvenir shops until Lizzy locked eyes with "the one," a small, chocolate brown bear we later named Mo. (We were as of yet unaware of the ironic twist this would all take up in Bozeman when the very same kind of animal Lizzy sought comfort in would later be her very near end on a mountainside.)

Mo in hand, we continued our drive, meeting more bison. We also had an amazing elk cross our path, and we spotted a moose. Towards the end we pulled up to a beautiful valley and walked down to a bluff to watch a family of elk below in the stream. It quite honestly blew our minds that a place existed where, as we said, you could drive beside bison, picnic with elk, and spend the day coexisting feet away from moose.

We passed into Yellowstone early in the day and after surviving an outhouse (aka hole in the ground) more upsetting than the possibility of being charged by a bison, we started our drive through the park. The scenery is incredible and much like Grand Teton, it left us in love and in awe of the beauty of the American west. Forgive us for waxing poetic, but seeing the scale and scope of the trees, mountains, valleys and rivers makes you feel small in the most comforting of ways. For all we try to control our lives and to order the chaos, when you look out over Yellowstone Falls, the Hayden Valley or Mount Washburn you realize that many things are already taken care of, that some of the most incredible parts of this world have already been done and have existed far beyond our years and without our help.

Practicing Interviewing Skills in Jackson Bars (Or the Art of BS)

2009-09-14T20:54:00.001-07:00

Typically, right around our age and time in life you hear a lot about how to “sell yourself” or “highlight your talents” and “market your skills” when writing your resume and/or interviewing for a job. Aka, you learn how to best subtly and gracefully walk the lines between telling the truth, stretching it, and just plain bullshitting your way to your very own cubicle and sense of place in your post-grad world.

We did not master this art, as evidenced by the fact that we are rapidly gaining ground between ourselves and the offices we interviewed at across the east coast. This doesn’t mean we aren't still looking. Having cut our losses in NYC and not letting our dashed dreams of meeting Warren Buffett in Omaha get us down, we headed to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson, WY for drinks, atmosphere, and a good look at line dancing with renewed hopes that we might find employment, this time as waitresses, bartenders, or heck, even backup dancers for the country band.

We forgot our resumes this time, too overwhelmed by the fact that we'd finally found a place to shower, store our bags and lay our heads for the night. And after realizing that line dancing was more involved than we'd expected, we headed to the bar to try our luck making friends with the bartenders and see if they were in need of any extra help.

The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar is a great spot- there is live music, the bar is made out of wood from Grand Teton and instead of bar stools you sit on saddles and everyone wears cowboy boots and hats and looks cool doing it. Awesome, right?

After ordering our cowgirl drinks and feeling really cool astride our saddles, we set in to observe the scene and make friends with the bartender who, might we add, wore his tight jeans quite well. However, we were soon approached by an older man, who, though nice, did not fit our idea of people we wanted to talk to- he was not sporting a cowboy hat, he was not wearing tight cowboy jeans well, and he was not going to be offering us any job prospects.

Again our mother's voices of warning came into our minds- do not talk to strangers, use the buddy system when out, go nowhere alone. We didn't know who our new suitor was or where he came from, but rather than flee, we crafted a story. To make the long, sixty minute lie we told short, essentially we ran with Lizzy's initial lie that Lori was a math major from Princeton and Lizzy wanted to pursue her passion for pottery. Many an elaborately woven lie later we had crafted a great story of ours youths and college years where Lizzy was an art major from Skidmore, Lori wanted to teach math and was engaged to a law student, and we were both on our last hurrah before Lori settled down and Lizzy's long term boyfriend inevitably popped the question. (This was both funny and kept us looking unavailable.) We entertained ourselves and our new friend for an hour, and while we won't name names, we must thank the many friends and family we drew on to make the fabricated story run smoothly.

One elaborate lie and two drinks later, we were still not to be daunted that we left another spot sans jobs. We were, after all, newly outfitted with with t-shirts and cowboy thongs bought from the souvenir shop, and we got the chance to practice an important skill for one day actually getting a job- the art of stretching the truth about ourselves (or just plain bullshitting.)

*An addendum: We thank you, Eileen and Betsy for reminding us to be safe and leading us to create stories that provided good interview practice and entertained us endlessly. However, though you may have protected us from the many human dangers we might encounter, in your ignorance you forgot to tell us that wildlife poses a fatal threat. We hiked Phelps Lake the morning after the Cowboy Bar, blissfully unaware that we were in danger of being killed or brutally maimed by local animals. It was only until that evening when our more informed friends told us that bears roamed Jackson and that no safe hiker went anywhere near forested places without bear spray that we realized it was only by the grace of our guardian angels that we made it out alive. Just something to think about when you do decide to let, say, Sam or Taylor go on a post-grad road trip.

PS

2009-09-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

We are writing this from a steakhouse, interestingly enough the only place in Jackson where we could find wireless. If you ever happen to be at the Teton Steakhouse, we recommend the elk burger.

Jackson and Grand Teton

2009-09-14T20:43:00.001-07:00

After a good night's sleep, a shower, and some time to just sit process the past few days spent in Wyoming, we realized that we definitely owe it to Jackson and Grand Teton to offer our words of praise, reflection, and wonder, however corny they may be.

As seen in the picture below from an earlier post, sunset over Grand Teton is magical and impossible to adequately put into words. This being said, we'll give it a go...

After much pondering, we have realized that driving through this spectacular sunset as the sky changed from shades of blue and purple to pink and orange, the mountains essentially defined for us the sense of wonder that we feel and never want to lose. It is extremely humbling to experience something so vast and at the same time, the way in which something so grand makes you feel so small is an extremely comforting feeling. Simply being in the presence of natural beauty so grand, stoic, and timeless offers a true sense of perspective. Both welcoming and humbling, as we drove into Jackson, the never ending mountains really just seemed to say "Chill out, everything's fine".

We Are the People Our Mothers Warned Us About

2009-09-13T17:30:00.000-07:00

Vagrants, hippies and hitchhikers, oh my! To put it lightly, we were terrorized by our mothers before we left on this trip with horror stories of the many ways we could meet a, and again, to put it lightly, brutal end.

The road to Jackson, albeit a long one, was beautiful and, at the end of the day, worth the trek out, if only to see the stunning Teton Park at sunset. In typical fashion, we underestimated the length of our trip from Rapid City to Jackson by roughly five hours. Literally.

But that's a story you've already heard.

We pulled into Jackson around 8:30, five hours after we two had anticipated but just on schedule with our Mapquest directions. "Mapquest says it will take nine hours to get there?" we thought incredulously and laughed it off as we toured Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and various rest stops throughout Wyoming. "It doesn't look that far on the map, we will be in by 3pm!" we thought. Wrong.

We also didn't anticipate having planned our stay in Jackson the same weekend of the year that a big bike race occurs. When you get into a popular town all the more populated by hundreds of bikers and their gear, it isn't easy finding a place to stay. We passed "No Vacancy" after "No Vacancy" sign, begged receptionist after receptionist to let us into a room, a lobby, even an attic. No dice.

As we aimlessly wandered around Jackson homeless, in need of a shower, generally confused and willing to lie to strangers to get what we wanted, we had a revelation- we have become the people our mothers warned us about.

A Fresh Start We Were Proud Of...

2009-09-13T17:29:00.001-07:00

After waking up at 6 AM in Rapid City with high hopes of 'seizing the day', it's fair to say we were pretty damn proud of ourselves. Not even the monsoon outside could put a damper on our excitement of seeing two major national monuments and getting out to cowboy country in the same day.

After experiencing both Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse before 10 AM, we were on a high and could not wait to hit the road and make our way into Wyoming. Naturally, stopping for gas before hitting the open road seemed like the next 'logical' step in our nearly perfect morning so we stopped at 'Fresh Stop' (you no longer 'Kum and Go' at gas stations, you get a 'Fresh Start') to fill up. Lizzy left the gas station with water, Red Bull, Tootsie pops, and no recollection of the fact that we were actually getting gas. Pulling away from the gas pump, Lori was busy assuring Eileen Griffin that all was well and under control when all of the sudden we heard a huge crack behind us. Fearing we'd run something over, or part of the car had fallen off, we looked back to see the gas chord hanging behind us. Eileen knew something was up but we did a halfway decent job of saying goodbye and getting off the phone while masking our fits of laughter that left us literally crying. So much for our "fresh start" at "Fresh Stop."

Turns out we shouldn't have been quite so self-congratulatory.

This was only the first of many similar events on our imperfectly perfect trek to Jackson...

A run in with a bird while driving at 80 MPH on Route 90 left us with a skidmark and feathers on our windshield that left both of us in tears (and didn't come off until a massive rainstorm somewhere near Gillette, Wyoming).

As if the murder on the windshield wasn't enough, after popping an Adderall and downing a Diet Coke and a large coffee, Lizzy was feeling like Jeff Gordon behind the wheel and left poor Lori huddled in the fetal position in the passenger seat. A fear of heights (the road was frighteningly close to cliffs that dropped hundreds and hundreds of feet of the side of a mountain) paired with her general sense of safety (that Lizzy lacks) left her carsick and scared for her life.

After safely making it up and down a number of precarious mountains and bombing across hundreds and hundreds of miles on the open road of Wyoming, we spotted the Teton Range from a distance just as the sun was beginning to set. Yes, we had left Rapid City 14 hours earlier an yes, our asses had been numb for hours on end from sitting for so long, but nothing else really mattered compared with this:

Sunset Over Grand Teton

2009-09-13T17:28:00.001-07:00

THE BADLANDS

2009-09-11T22:25:00.001-07:00

A picture is worth AT LEAST 10,000 words in the case of THE BADLANDS...

The "Steak" Out (A Night with Warren Buffett)

2009-09-11T21:25:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Omaha, Nebraska Thursday night after cruising through hundreds of miles of corn fields. In the Midwest's defense- don't knock it till you try it. For example, Lizzy's road journal includes observations like "not too many creepers, fields of Black-eyed Susans, and relatively clean rest stops and interesting trees." We heard a lot about the monotony of flat lands, had seen Children of the Corn, and were wary of characters we might encounter. However, as our experience unfolded, both of us developed a little bit of a crush on Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Iowa.

Eleven hours later, wearing Mardi Gras beads and a Hawaiian lei respectively, we made it to our second home away from home, the Best Western Kelly Inn. Once unpacked, it was time to get down to fulfilling a dream and maybe getting a job in the process. Originally, Omaha was just going to be a place to spend the night, until Peter Griffin pointed out that it was hometown to the famous, brilliant, (and loaded) Warren Buffett. Might the Sage of Omaha not have a little advice for two east coast college graduates on the road west?

Having heard that Mr. Buffett was a "regular guy" who liked regular things, we Googled his favorite restaurant in town. Despite a discrepancy between Piccolo's Steak and Cocktails and Gorat's that our search produced, we opted for Piccolo's, mostly because of the name and the giant disco ball in the dining room, keeping our fingers crossed that a regular guy might be looking to employ/talk with/pay for the dinner of two regular girls.

With resumes in hand, we were seated in the dining room just next to the disco ball, which did not disappoint. And, over a glass of red wine and a filet mignon we began the Warren Buffett "steak out."

Unfortunately, Warren didn't show. Embarrassed, we sheepishly decided not to leave our resumes with the hostess.

However, Piccolo's delivered- despite the absence of the person we came to Omaha for in the first place, the classic music, family dining room, delicious food and above all our adorable waitress and the disco ball made the night.

You Know You're in Iowa When...

2009-09-11T21:16:00.000-07:00

The gas stations are named "Kum and Go" and the most popular fast food chain is "Taco Johns".

Needless to say, between Greenwich, CT and Omaha, Nebraska a lot changes.

Day #1 consisted of a mad dash out of Connecticut (with a ridiculously overloaded car - apparently we "pack like girls"), a brief glimpse of New York, a sniff of the dirty Jerz, hundreds upon hundreds of miles of Pennsylvania corn fields (which were beautiful, just the slightest bit superfluous), and our arrival in Toledo, Ohio where we were kindly taken in by the George family.

Waking up on Thursday morning feeling well-fed, well-rested, and ready to sit on our asses for another 10 hour trek, we left Toledo with high hopes of seeing the country and getting THAT much farther away from home. With a 70 MPH speed limit, which in the Midwest means you can comfortably cruise at 80/85, we hit the pavement (and our fathers credit card for more gas money). If time is money and money is time then speeding across the country on your parents dime is totally logical, right?

Girls Gone West

2009-09-08T11:40:00.001-07:00

Sometime in August, as we realized September was rapidly approaching and our summer jobs would soon be over, we decided to take action. We began the process of coming to terms with the fact that we were no longer college students and without definitive plans or full time jobs, the coming fall was looking bleak. Therefore, in lieu of grabbing life by the horns and finding employment, we grabbed it by the balls instead and decided to embark on a monthlong tour of our grand country.

With our parent's generosity and our own sense of adventure paired with undertones of extreme panic and the fear that we were on a fast road to being wash ups (if it wasn't already too late) we mapped a route across the United States and back. Armed with restlessness, music mixes we made when we should have been packing, pepper spray our fathers insisted we buy but that we still can't get out of its plastic casing, debilitating fears of vagrants, hippies and hitchhikers thanks to our mothers, but an overall excitement and hope that with adventure will come a grain or two of wisdom, our parents and siblings held their breath as we tore out of Greenwich ready to take the country by storm.

America, get ready... we might not be wiser, more employed, or any closer to moving out of our parent's houses by the end of this, but we have high hopes that we will at least have figured out how to get the pepper spray out of it's plastic casing. A little too ambitious? Only time and the American roadways will tell.

~Lizzy and Lori