So Long, and Thanks for all the Comments

You may have been wondering why “The Traveling Newlyweds” is still alive and well, even though Brendan and I aren't technically traveling right now. The short reason is that we love this blog and enjoy taking subtle (and not-so-subtle) digs at each other in front of all you lovely people. It's been a ball, really.

But we aren't really “The Traveling Newlyweds” anymore. We're just a couple folks in an in-between stage of our lives, looking for work and eating a lot of microwave burritos. Unemployment isn't quite as exciting as crossing the Bali Strait during a monsoon, especially from a relationship perspective. So we're hanging up the hat here, at least for now.

I'd love to bust back onto iVillage in another form down the road, and I hope that if and when that happens, you'll come visit us again. Until then, thank you so much for your support, well-wishes, and advice. If want to keep up with us online, I'm still blogging regularly, and if Brendan gets bored enough, he may even start one up too. I wouldn't hold your breath, though. He watches an awful lot of baseball.

Take care, everyone.

Sarah

Go Barry!

Every night it’s the same. Barry Bonds walks to the plate. My mother-in-law hurries into the room and stands waiting, Sarah looks up from her laptop and claps, “Come on Barry!”

I am trapped in Giants fan hell.

See, I don’t like Mr. Bonds. If you follow baseball, you know what I’m talking about. If not, the situation is such that Barry Bonds will soon break the all-time home run record, arguably the most hallowed in American sport. And he’ll have done it with reported help from steroids.

“But you don’t know that,” Sarah says.

“Sure, I never actually saw him jab a needle in his butt, but there’s a lot of evidence that says he did.”

“Well, still you don’t know. I wish you’d just drop it.”

But she’s wrong. I do know, along with everyone else outside the Bay Area. What I don’t know is how the two of them can keep on fooling themselves. But again, maybe they know he’s a juicer, but they just don’t care. Baseball is turning into professional wrestling that way, with designated good guys and bad guys. The problem is that no one seems to care that this game shouldn’t be like professional wrestling. This is real. Barry Bonds really is going to stain the game. And yet, I keep watching and buying tickets, so I guess I’m to blame too.

I know this may seem trivial to non-baseball fans, but for reasons I can’t really explain, this whole thing means a lot to me. I fell like something good is being lost.

“You’re obsessed with Barry Bonds. That’s all you ever talk about.”

I just want someone to see my point. Another Cubs fan around the house would be nice.

“You love Barry. Admit it.”

I try to explain that what’s happening now is going to be remembered for years and years. Someday, there may be grandkids who want to know what it was like watching Bonds chase the record even though everyone knew he was juiced. Although, I’m almost positive this won’t happen. Something tells me kids two generations away won’t be as baseball-obsessed as I am. And maybe that’s a good thing, since it’s one less thing to fight about.

-Brendan

The Singular Ride

Staying with my mom has been pretty painless for Brendan and me. We all get along and she likes (or pretends to like) our company. The only somewhat annoying issue has been our car. Yes, car. Singular. Before we left on our trip, Brendan sold his Nissan. He was still making payments on his, and while my Honda is old and beat up, it's also paid off. So we kept mine.

Now that we're temporarily living in Californian suburbia, getting anything done requires our car. So if I'm out running errands, Brendan is stranded back at the house. I could take him along, but there's really nothing worse than dragging my husband through Whole Foods (for some inexplicable reason, he gets unbearably antsy when I compare the nutritional content labels of, say, competing brands of vegetarian refriend black beans for five short minutes). It usually isn't a big deal, but once in a while the singular car thing comes between us.

Tonight, for example. I belong to a monthly girls' potluck group and tonight the gathering is in Redwood City (about 1.5 hours from here, without traffic). Door to door, I'll probably be gone for at least six hours, which means that Brendan needs to plan accordingly before I leave. And the entire time I'm gone, I'll have that little nagging voice of guilt reminding me that poor Brendan is at home and lonely and that I shouldn't stay out any longer than absolutely necessary.

To combat my guilt, my new favorite internet pastime involves browsing various hybrid car models that we can't afford. It's a start.

-Sarah

Unemployed

We’ve been back in the states a month now, and when I think about it, not too much has changed since our big trip. The only major differences are now we have a car and the TV shows are in English. Aside from that, we’re taking life slow and trying not to spend too much money.

We’re still jobless. We’ve got prospects, so we’re not worried, but we’re still sitting around in our pajamas until two in the afternoon. And in an effort not to spend every waking minute around each other, we’ve developed a daily routine that keeps us out of the same breathing space. That is, I’m banished to the office while she gets the run of the living room and kitchen. She’s got a nice little spot picked out on the couch which she rarely ever moves from.

In the office down the hall, I can keep track of what she’s doing without having to set foot in her personal space. See, my computer lets me know whenever she adds a new update to one of her dozen or so blogs. The number of blogs is actually closer to four, but I can’t keep track. Their names all sound like something aliens might name their pets (Twitter, Tumbler, Snippet). So every time she adds a new random thought (Actual example: “I want sushi tonight. Like, real bad”), I’m on top of it, along with a few hundred other people.

It’s the only way to learn what she’s doing, since when I ask, she won’t tell me. I walk into the kitchen to make a sandwich, casually ask about her morning and she rolls her eyes like I just asked her to paint the house.

“Nothing. Just, you know, internet stuff (read: three hours on Baby Name Wizard).

“Oh. What’s new on the internet?”

“Go make your sandwich.”

She’s always so hesitant to tell me what she’s doing. I’m pretty sure she’s not downloading porn, so why the secrecy? I think she thinks I’ll judge her. But I won’t! Really, I tell her, we’re unemployed and in our pajamas all day. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.

-Brendan

Here's to Our Health

We need health insurance. Our travel coverage is about to run out, and we're just not the kind of people who can go without and hope for the best. We need to take care of ourselves, and we're willing and able to. But it's proving to be quite a project.

I've never needed to build my own insurance plan before. It's just something I always had through company benefits. Let me tell ya, it's a huge drag. Right now I can hear Brendan swearing in the other room over something called a "catastrophic plan". Apparently it's the one we want, but the details are rather difficult to dissect. They really shouldn't give insurance plans names like "catastrophic".

Before we left the country last year, we both got caught up on the essential teeth cleanings, paps, shots, and cholesterol level diagnoses (ok, just one of us for the pap... wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea). A few of those routine visits are due for renewal, but haven't lapsed long enough to a big concern quite yet (although I'm sure my old dentist in LA has been mutilating his Sarah voodoo doll ever since my 6-month check-up reminder bounced back in the mail). Even so, it's one of those things you can't just ignore the way you can ignore dustballs behind the TV or holey socks. If I get really sick, and I could, we'd probably go broke saving me unless we have a decent health plan.

Picking out your own health plan is like choosing a cell provider, but scarier. Instead of SMS fees, we have dismemberment deductibles. We only want coverage for a few months, in hopes that eventually our respective job benefits can take over, but not getting locked in will naturally cost extra. The information we got over the phone doesn't seem to match the information displayed on the website. It's all very necessary, yet soul-crushing. I'd rather be fishing.

-Sarah