dallas. fort worth. pit of hell.

Though I lived in Houston for five years, I had forgotten what it was like to drive through Dallas. The traffic is hideous. Atrocious. Worse than any other city I've ever been in, though I've never been to LA. People stop and traffic backs up for miles ~ no reason. They're dreadful drivers and thus there are wrecks every 5-10 miles, backing up traffic forever. Twelve lanes, eight lanes, I don't think we hit an expressway with any less than eight and they were packed, all the time. I. Hate. Traffic. Plus, it's one of those places where each road has 2-4 names and the one on your map may or may not be the one on the exit sign. Maybe I'm spoiled, since I walk to work every day and don't have to fight it, but if I had to live where the traffic was that bad, I'd shoot myself. Or somebody else.

But aside from the traffic, there was the heat which, due to the insane number of cars, was made worse by horrible air. I ~ with my very own spoiled hands ~ loaded furniture into my pickup and a U-Haul trailer between 11 am and 3:30 pm yesterday. It was 105 degrees. I drank eight 20 oz. bottles of water and for six hours only peed out my forehead and down my back. Crimifuckinitly it was hot. And hard work. By the time we were done we had one space left into which fit our suitcases. Couldn't have fit in another stick of furniture.

Having loaded that mess, I am going to give my delivery guy, the one who has kept me from having to load my own stuff now for over three years, a raise. If I ever bitch about paying him $300 to bring a truck full of furniture again, I will slap my own self.

So I was a hot, spoiled, peeing-through-my-skin, wet in my clothes, dehydrated headache-having woman yesterday. Did I say it was hot??? And did I bitch about the traffic? On a happier note, we stayed in a great hotel, the manager let us swim at midnight after the auction, I ate the best ribs I've ever had in my entire life, bar none, and I won't tell you where I got them. It was, overall, a fine trip.

We rolled back into town like two hillbillies, with armoires towering over the cab of the truck, shrink-wrap billowing behind us, ropes dangling, trailer rattling and creaking along. I was gripping the wheel like a crazy woman after the four double shots of espresso it took to get us back home safely. I was half mad from listening to southeast Oklahoma / north Texas country and western (there is nothing else on the radio but country, gospel and Spanish language stations).

By the time we hit Stringtown, Oklahoma, home of one of our finer prisons, I said "fuck the furniture," and drove hell for leather for home. Fortunately, all is well and the stuff's gorgeous and I'm never going back unless I fly in and rent a truck there. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.