Saturday, September 29, 2012

Spending my nights with serial killers and horny toads

I consider me 'n Corey city kids.

I grew up on the wild side of Long Beach, California.

Corey grew up in Air Force town, Plattsburgh, New York just south of Montreal.

And now we live in the city of Saratoga Springs.

In other words, we like it when light shines in our apartment all hours of the day and night.

Because serial killers live in the dark.  Everyone knows that.

But go just 10 miles east and you're in a whole other world where you can almost reach out and touch the dark and "traffic" is whichever toad dares to cross the road.

I was there last night.

And I lived to tell about it.

Corey and I have a friend who is a born and raised country girl, bless her heart.  Now she lives on an honest to goodness horse farm complete with, well, horses and horse accoutrements, and last night it was about time I visit her neck of the dark.

One thing, people, about this sprawling expanse of green is that your typical directions are useless.  There's no "go two blocks, turn where you see the Starbucks then go about half a mile and turn again at the other Starbucks and then BAM, you're at Macy's."

This is the only way I know to get to her house:

  • Head up (I don't know my directionals, please excuse) route such-and-such.
  • Keep going until you think you've gone too far.
  • Go further.
  • Turn onto P. Road.
  • Try not to vomit on the hills.
  • Veer left and then turn onto the street that comes out of nowhere.
  • Veer every which way because now streets are laid out according to the wandering paths of cats.
  • Turn onto the road that comes out of nowhere.
  • Also the road that smells like cow crap.
  • Turn at the end of that road.
  • Drive just long enough to wonder which serial killer is living in this very field you're driving past.
  • Turn where you don't think there is an actual road.
  • Reach your destination.
Obviously on the return trip you do the reverse and hope and pray she someday finds a cozy, well-lit home in the city.


  1. I'm familiar with these directions minus the hills. After "turn where you don't think there is an actual road," insert "follow banjo music."

  2. Hey, I live in the LBC! We're like sisters now!
    Plus, you're forgetting about the urban serial killers, who live in places like the pay-by-the-week motel down the street from us...