We have to move again

It’s not what you think. Not my gypsy wanderlust or my refusal to realize that geography is less my problem than the reality of my personality being located deep in the heart of F—ed Up Head Case Land.

No, the problem is that our choice of Northern California, land of the local, slow food movement, means there’s no crappy high fructose craving food for MILES. My favorite, a confection involving soft serve blended into a grittle-y ice granule and syrup concoction, is available 14 miles away, if I’m willing to drive into the center of the solar flare that is the east East Bay. My second favorite, an ice granule and syrup concoction (one more toothsome that then whirred popular stuff the consistency of cold mashed potatoes, and where, at least in my childhood, you could control your own application of syrup which unleashed possibilities of flavor mixing and sugar comas the likes of which thrilled a younger me), is nowhere nearby. I emailed the company, which is still in business 20 years after my last craving, to find out where they sell my sugary ice crystals. Two states over, it seems, is a safe bet…

So we have to move. Because mama needs a blue raspberry something, and I don’t want that ubiquitous air and mashed potato frozen nonsense from a convenience store.

What do you NEED from your childhood that is nowhere nearby? Wanna borrow my wayback machine when I’m done with it?

11 thoughts on “We have to move again

    • @ Tim, Yeah, since I only want the crappy sugar concoctions every 20 years or so, I *guess* I prefer to be walking distance to dozens of great music and theater venues. And great non-crap food.
      But, since I promised I’d move and all, yes, you can have the machine after I get a few drinks. ;-)

  1. My Darling Nap,

    Hustle your sassy ass right over to Colorado. To my neighborhood. The house across from me is up for sale.

    And you will be less than 5 minutes away from a Mr. Misty Freeze!

    Problem solved!

  2. When I was pregnant with Evan ALL I WANTED was these things called Eegees, which sound awfully familiar to your stuff. They’re only in my native Tucson. Think stawberry darquarri with hunks of strawberry or lemon or pina colata. I heart strawberry. Any one visiting me during my pregnancy was required to bring one to me. My parents figured out to buy it the night before they left, stick into the freeezer, then it came in an ice chest, slowly defrosting to the right consistancy by the time they arrived in the OC. Thank God, I moved back.

  3. Faemom, I love Eegees strawberry thing. I have family in Tucson. Thanks a WHOLE lot for adding that to my New Mexico cravings. I have a list of nasty nams for you, but I have to fly to Tucson before I have the strawberry energy required to type them.

  4. Well, I guess you have to fly here. I’ll buy your first Eegees and listen to all those creative nasty names. Then I’ll buy you a second one.

    • I’ll buy you two, faemom. As long as we don’t go to Kartchner Caverns, which I did 8 months pregnant with Peanut and STILL have panic attacks about the lack of O2 and general claustrophobic conditions therein.

  5. Why would anyone take a pregnant woman there? She needs to be pampered at a spa. Jeeze, does no one read the rule book?
    Deal. If you have to bring Peanut, I have a handful of babysitters or we could let the children terrorize the local establishment.

  6. 99% of compulsive thinkers’ thinking is about themselves; that 99% of this self-directed thinking consists of imagining and then getting ready for things that are going to happen to them

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