We could get lost together

My friend's wedding was a month and 3000 miles ago. I spent the better part of a year anticipating, planning, and purchasing for it. By the end, I'd sworn off ever having my own wedding (elope!), but I miss having something big to look forward to. Big events have such a delicious build up, logistical nightmares and high-strung co-conspirators aside.

Me and a friend in Oakland, one bright August morning before the wedding. I swear this is an extremely steep hill, but you'd never know from the camera angle. So this is how they made hobbits in the LOTR movies; oh camera angles.

I'm on this nostalgia kick because the former bride, now termed "the Missus" to highlight her wifely status, feels guilty that her East Coast friends had to shell out money for plane tickets and hotels. (She knows she has poor friends.) She wants me to tell her it was worth it.

I do tell her. I don't think I've ever had a travel experience to a new place that wasn't worth it. Born traveler here. As an infant, my parents strapped me on their back and climbed mountain ranges, crossed deserts, hiked in redwood forests, picked up and moved across the country a dozen times. I've never been carsick in my life and I don't understand how it's possible. If I'm not driving, I spend hours looking out the window. I see what I can see. I adore getting lost with a friend. Okay, not with all friends. The ones who freak out are no fun, but the ones who just sit back and laugh and stop with me at the funky diner on the corner and make fun of my driving, those are the ones to get lost with.