The Road to Hawaii – The post office lies

The Road to Hawaii, or how we sold (almost) everything, quit our jobs and moved to Oahu, as told by one family who is experiencing the journey.

The United States Post Services lies.  I’m sure they don’t mean to.  When they tell me something shipping priority on Saturday will get there on Tuesday, they probably have great faith in their system.  Reports and analytical studies have proven their statistics.  However…

From personal experience, anything they tell you is a lie.  I’ve challenged them on it several times.  No, Mr. Clerk, the box I’m sending to my daughter in Nome, Alaska will not be there in two days.  Maybe a week, but most probably two.  I know.  You don’t.  Stop believing in this sad, sad propaganda.

When we knew we’d sold our condo, no, before then, we started packing our stuff in boxes.  Once Aaron and Holli arrived in Oahu, we shipped boxes to them in care of General Delivery.  Parcel Post.  We were told the boxes would start arriving August 20th.  Lies.  Today is the 23rd, we’ve received three boxes, two of them Priority.  We had been using one pan we bought used from Goodwill to cook with until we got a microwave yesterday.

Between us, there are about twenty boxes en-route.  Every delivery is a big deal.  It’s sad but exciting when we open a box filled with Scotch tape, markers and Q-tips.  Valuable stuff.

Of course, the first things we shipped have the least value in day-to-day living.  I don’t think receiving seven years of tax returns will bring as much joy as getting our pillows.

Eventually, everything will get here.  It’s just hard living without “stuff.”

And, Post Office?  As they say in the South – Bless your heart.

Cheryl, no longer on the road

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The road to Hawaii – L.A. Notes

Befolare I forget – impressions of Los Angeles, the good, the bad and the ugly.

We arrived late Thursday, the 16th and left on Monday morning, the 20th.  Four days of any place is tedious, especially when you’re waiting to start a new life and having nothing but time to kill.

Friday morning, we dropped off the car at Matson to be shipped to Honolulu.  Note to Matson – signage.  Even when our gps has the address, it’s f*@&ing hard to find your “Aloha” port, which is encased inside a high fence.  Thank you for the frustration.

L.A. good = the weather.  You can’t beat 85 degree weather year round.

L.A. bad – the freeways.  Eight lanes in each direction, mostly jammed with cars.  It was not fun.   Even on our tour along the Pacific Coast Highway, we encountered three lanes each way.  Thankfully, we got off soon after Zuma Beach and toured the Santa Monica Mountains (ie canyon roads).

L.A. ugly- the homeless.  I’ll admit, as a girl from the Midwest, I’ve been pretty sheltered from this phenomenon.  Waiting at a stop light, we witnessed someone eating from a garbage bin.  Not wolfing down the food, but meticulously peeling the toppings off pizza and pecking at the crust like a little bird.  The teenagers sleeping on the sidewalk on Hollywood Blvd – sad.  The one eyed, unwashed caveman living on the side of the road – creepy.  To say the least, my eyes were opened.

L.A., you were a good place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live with you.

Cheryl, no longer on the road.

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What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas…for a reason

You’d think a big, sophisticated city like Las Vegas would have the newest, spiffiest technology in the world.  Well, you’d think wrong.  It’s lacking a simple little thing called wi-fi.

Seriously, finding an open connection, free or otherwise, sucked up almost two hours of my time Wednesday night.  We rolled into town late afternoon.  Aaron and Holli were hot on the trail of an apartment.  They needed some financial information from us, because, apparently, the property management folks need to know if you’ll pay them rent.  Go figure.  I needed to access my bank account and send them a pdf of my statement.

No free wi-fi at the McDonalds.  Or Starbucks.  Lots of networks, most of them locked, and the ones linked to a hotel requested $$$$, which would be charged to my room.  Kind of hard to do when I didn’t have a room with them.  Finally, I returned to my own hotel, ready to swallow its fees.  A call to the front desk informed me they don’t have internet.  AT ALL.  Not free, not for sale, not for a minute, not for a second.  NADA.

But….their sister casino has free wi-fi in the hotel lobby.  ONLY.  And it’s at the other end of Fremont Street, past some sketchy areas.  I gave up joining the revelers on the street, Elvis, Jack Sparrow, Death, the showgirls, Brett Michaels, Queen and the woman with the enormous breasts and tiny pasties, and trudged to the hotel where I finally got a signal.  I did my Mom thing and sent the information off, which helped result in us getting an apartment north of Pearl Harbor. (Yeah!)  It will be ready Monday, the day we arrive.  No hotel rooms after Sunday.  Also, no furniture, but it’s a small price to pay (ask me again next week).

What happens in Vegas stays there because no one can get a connection to tell about it.

Next time, get a computer with wi-fi and cellular.  Or don’t schedule your trip with a major household move.  Just saying.

Cheryl, on the road, day 8

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