Driving in Atlanta drives me crazy!

Happy Halloween!

Wanna hear my scary Halloween story? (don't worry, it's not that scary)

Erik worked the 3pm - 11pm shift again tonight, so I packed him some dinner and snacks to last him till his midnight snack (he's always hungry when he gets home). However, he left his dinner here, and I didn't realize it until he was already at the hospital. Abigail and I had dinner with my sister-in-law Kris and her family, but we finished up around 6:30 and headed downtown to Crawford Long to deliver Daddy's dinner.

Suffice it to say that I hate driving in downtown Atlanta. No, on second thought, that will not suffice. I need to do some venting. Let me tell you why I hate driving in Atlanta. If it were just the awful traffic, I could deal with it. If it were just the aggressive, reckless drivers, I could handle that. If it were just the pathetic street signs and the stupid roads always changing names, I could live with that too. But what REALLY drives me crazy about driving in Atlanta is the fact that 90 percent of the streets seem to be one-way. I am a seasoned expert at getting lost while driving. I can't go anywhere for the first time without getting lost, and often I get lost the second and third times too. That's why my Dad is #2 on my speed dial. He is a walking, talking map of Atlanta/Georgia/United States. I can give him the names of any two streets, and he can tell me how to get home. Besides that, he is also the sweetest, most patient man alive and never tells me he's too busy to be my personal GPS. The first year I was married, I probably called him 3 times a week because I was lost somewhere in downtown Atlanta on my way to or from school. (It's such a blessing--for both of us!--that we both have Verizon! Otherwise I'd have racked up his phone bill.) The reason for my calls became so predictable that he would just start laughing as soon as I said hello. I tend to get really panicky when I'm lost, but every time I heard my sweet father's voice on the phone, I calmed down and knew everything was going to be all right.

Ok, enough nostalgia. Back to my ranting.

The one-way streets in Atlanta kill me because they make it impossible for me simply to turn around and "retrace my steps" when (when, not if) I miss a turn. Since I do NOT have an internal working map of Atlanta (like Erik and my dad do), I am 100 percent dependent on my mapquest directions. So when I miss a turn and can no longer go by them, I am immediately and hopelessly lost. Oh yeah! I almost forgot another one of my top reasons for hating to drive in Atlanta. I can almost never find a place to pull over! (you know, to press #2 on my speed dial) So that just adds to my panic; not only can I not just turn around and go back, but I can't quickly pull over to determine my bearings (ok--to call my dad to figure out my bearings). So my options are either to keep going straight on the same road until I stumble upon another street name that looks familiar (that happens one out of a hundred times, and invariably I turn the wrong way down the road), or I can make the nearest right hand turn and try to find my way back to the street I missed. Nine and a half times out of ten, the result of either approach is that I become increasingly more lost.

So, with that brief bit of background, let me continue with my story of tonight.

Erik had given me directions to Crawford Long, and his directions are always very thorough. (as in he tells me the name of every street I'm going to cross--not just the ones I'm going to turn down--in order and what gas station/restaraunt/hardware store is on every corner of each intersection I'm going through...You thought I was kidding about the map inside his head?) So tonight I knew that I was going to pass three major things going down Peachtree St. before I got to Crawford Long: North Avenue, Lindon St., and the Bank of America building. So I'm going down Peachtree Street, and I cross over North Avenue. Check. Then Lindon Street. Check. Now what was the third thing? I quickly grab my directions and try to read my handwriting in the dark: Bank of America. I look up, trying to find the building ahead of me (it's the tallest one downtown--how could I miss it?), and then.....was that the hospital emergency entrance I just passed? Yes, it was. Ok, stay calm. Stay calm. That's hard to do when your daughter's screaming in the back seat, you just missed your turn, you can't read the names of the street signs in the dark, and even if you could, it wouldn't do any good because you don't know where you're going! Noting the one-way street sign in the upcoming intersection, I decided on the keep-going-down-this-road-until-something-familiar-jumps-out-at-you approach, but after crossing a few streets, I decided to switch tactics, and I quickly made a right-hand turn. Then, seeing a Mellow Mushroom sign and praying that it was somehow accompanied by a parking lot, I made another right-hand turn. No parking lot. What?? So I made another quick right-hand turn and pulled into the only available space off the side of the road--the loading dock of some big building. Abigail started to cry again, and, with tears streaming down my face, I said, "Abigail, please stop crying!" Then I called Erik. No answer. What?? What emergency could he possibly be dealing with that was more important than the one his driving-impaired wife and helpless daughter were in?! I said another prayer (about the tenth one in the last two minutes) and called again. He answered this time, and when I told him the name of the street I was on, he told me it was right behind the hospital! All I had to do was continue down the street, and I'd see the hospital emergency entrance on my right. And, he added, if I missed the turn (he knows me so well!), I just needed to make a right at the nearest light, and that would take me back around to the front of the hospital. How come it all sounds so ridiculously simple when he tells me?

Well, I made it. And Erik was outside within a minute. When he opened the door, I managed a watery smile before bursting into tears again. So he just sat there holding my hand, telling me it was all right, while Abigail began chattering away happily at the sight of her daddy. Fortunately, the way back home was really easy; I only had to make two turns. (I still managed to miss one of them...) Needless to say, I was extremely relieved when we finally got home.

Here are some pictures of my beautiful baby that have nothing to do with this post.

Abigail returning with her spoils from a trunk at our church's recent chili cook-off and "trunk-or-treating" activity. The few pieces of candy she got were quickly confiscated when we got home. I did let her keep a pack of raisins, though. I know, I'm such a mean mommy!

Abigail in her one-year birthday outfit from Great-grandma Heiss (which finally fits her at 19 months). I asked her to smile, and this is what I got. It'll have to do for Great-grandma, though. I couldn't keep Abigail still long enough to get another one.