So, You Know About the Atlanta Traffic, Right?

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When I began sharing the news that I had taken a new job near Atlanta and was moving . . . spreading my wings. .  . opening myself to new horizons. . . without fail the first comment from almost everyone was, “OMG. You know about the traffic there, right?”

Yes, I am aware of the traffic. Thank you for your loving concern and support.

So how bad is it really? Having lived here now for three months, I can tell you that the 12-mile drive to my office from home can take anywhere between. . .

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Will Run for Friends

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One of the hardest decisions in moving to Atlanta was knowing I would be leaving behind my 25-year network of friends. These are friends that saw me through job changes (insurance adjuster, librarian, author, marketing maven), life changes (divorce, moves, dating), as well as were there for everything from my first published book to my first marathon to holding my hand when my cat died. A lot of years, a lot tears, much more laughter, and oodles and oodles of love. 

In other words—not something easily replaced. 

Of course, I’m not “leaving behind” friends but since the five-hour drive between Atlanta and Greensboro isn’t convenient for a quick movie or fro-yo meet-up, the burden is on me to make new friends. 

The obvious place to make friends, for me, is the gym. I joined a big-ass Lifetime Fitness...

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The Saga of the License Plate

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As most of you know, after 20+ years in NC, I’ve recently relocated to Georgia, about an hour outside of Atlanta. More updates on that later. Right now, I want to share with you the saga of the license plate. It’s a story that more or less sums up my life. What takes other people twenty minutes, takes me 9 weeks, 8 phone calls, 4 DMV visits and a two-week plan to evade the law. 

It all started the week I moved to Georgia. I was checking things off my list right and left (pictures hung in new home -  check. Food in fridge – check. Wall art for half-bath – check, check, check) and in an effort to be pro-active, toddled off to the DMV to get my GA driver’s license. I showed up prepared for anything – NC driver’s license, passport, pay stub, and invoices from gas, electric and trash removal verifying my new address. I approached the teller window. 

Teller: “Social security card.” 

Me: “I don’t have that, but here’s my passport.” 

Teller: “I can’t issue you a license without a social security card.” 

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Table For One

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I just returned from a brief vacation—three days in the Virginia mountains. It was my first solo trip. Or rather, first solo vacation. I’ve travelled alone for business, but have always shied away from the idea of vacationing alone. On a business trip, I may be eating dinner alone at the bar but it should be quite obvious I’m not in Orangeburg, SC for a relaxing get-away, so there was never any awkwardness. But eating at a renowned local tavern in a quaint VA town where people are sporting “I ❤ VA” t-shirts and everyone is holding hands and taking selfies, red alert: Solo single female traveler in your midst.

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