That's the extent of my personal knowledge about this place. I mean, unless you count Anne Rice novels as legitimate history texts...
Hrm.. Perhaps I should pack a little differently.
Speaking of internet facts, according to my Firefox spell checker I have no idea how to actually spell Lousianna... Lousiana... Lousiananana... Lou.. Oh, Fuck it! It's printed on my ticket and I guess that's what matters.
Speaking of tickets... Mom's already calling me a pussy for this one... I'm refusing to fly again. Listen to me, Ladies and Gentlemen, I like trains. They're big and sturdy, and most importantly they stay on the ground. The train has nothing to prove by, you know, taking flight.
Also, nobody's hijacked a train since, what? 1843?
So, train it is.
For those of you who may have no idea what I'm talking about... I'm moving.
Yeah, again.
Three months shy of a year back in New Jersey and I'm packing up my tiny collection of possessions (I never did make it back to Philly for my bread maker...) and moving along.
What, you ask, would prompt me to do such a thing? Oh, kids! What else causes a starry eyed Jersey Girl to pull up her stakes and head South?
Love.
((Cue Love Boat theme and get me that barf bag I saved from my last trip.))
We'd been talking about the idea of my relocating for a while now, but it was leaving him at the airport yesterday (after the greatest 8 days I've ever spent with another human being) that pretty much sealed the deal. Tired of the back and forth to see eachother, sick of the million hours of accumulated phone and web conversations, I finally put on my big girl panties and made the decision. I went directly from the air port to work and gave them my notice. The calendar there boasts in red permanent marker on the square marked April 30th: "EMMA'S LAST DAY!"
The next day I'm bidding farewell to the East Coast entirely and starting a new life as a displaced Jersey Girl bumbling around down south... In a place I can't even spell.
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