First things first: the ankle is doing much better. There was a Quasimodo limp going on for a bit, but I'm walking normally now. There's pretty xtreme bruising (no E, that's how bruised it is) but I'll be fine. My first day home, Hannah kept calling me Beth, so I wrapped myself in a blanket and told her that the only gift I wanted for Christmas was for the war to end and father to come home.
But I'm healing. My time in Chicago has been another great vacation from my problems. I needed some time to just be with people I know, in a place I know, without stressing about working. And now I'm ready to get back to it.
It feels like every sentence I utter anymore is: "Once I have a job, I can..." and I'm tired of it. It's been a year since I felt safe enough to spend money and it's wearing me out. I mean, it's not like I want to toss my mink pelt over my shoulder and start ordering people around with my scepter, I just want to buy pure maple syrup without feeling "extravagant".
But it's more than money, too. I don't feel like a productive member of society without a job. Sure, I feel better when I get stuff done. I can exercise and write and clean and basically do ANYTHING besides scroll through Pinterest and Tumblr (Oh, Tumblr...your Parks and Rec gifs are so hard to turn away from). And I'll feel like at least there was something to define my day, to prove that I was here and I helped.
So I'm ready to go back. I'm actually still in Chicago right now, back in SF late on Wednesday night. At first I imagined myself leaving Chicago kicking and screaming (or at least slightly tearfully) just because I was so happy to be back with everyone and didn't want to leave them again. But now I'm ready. I'm ready to actually get this thing started FOR REALZ. The last few months laid the groundwork. I've made connections, I've interviewed, I've figured out a lot about where I want my next steps to fall. I just need that final leap to an offer. That way I can start the rest--the adventures, the extracurricular classes, the pure maple syrup--that will complete the circle of why I went in the first place.
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
The Ankle Saga: A Story In Pictures
So. Okay. OH MY GOD, I have started this blog post 80 times and deleted it and started it over, because I have no idea what to talk about right now.
Do I talk about how I rolled my ankle on the way back to Chicago? Yes, let's go there, shall we? In fact, let's go there with visual aids. Because everyone likes visual aids.
On my way to the airport, I walk out the door, down two blocks...
...and then as I'm lifting my suitcase over a curb I also step in a small pothole. There was a crunching noise. It was not awesome.
After about 5 straight minutes of whispered profanity, the girl at the bus stop asked me if I was okay. I told her yes.
When the bus came, I hobbled to the back where I thought I could stretch out. I put my foot up on my suitcase for...blood flow...or whatever reason it is that you elevate a twisted ankle. But then the bus actually filled up, and I kept getting dirty looks from people who assumed I was spreading out on public transportation. I wanted to shout, "NO! I usually mock those people! I am just like you! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM A HUMAN BEING!" But I couldn't say any of that because I was concentrating so hard on keeping myself from making wounded moaning noises. I refused to be the person at the back of the bus and MOANING.
Eventually I got to the airport...
And then THIS happened.
I had to sit down on the ground like a 3 year old to take off my shoes at security.
Of COURSE I was at the furthest gate. OF COURSE I was.
In Economy with limited space and an ankle hurting like holy hell, every time I crossed my legs I kept hitting the girl next to me. She was not amused. But for some reason, "Sorry, I twisted my ankle" didn't seem like a valid excuse for why I couldn't stick to my own assigned spot.
In the end, I made it and hobbled into the arms of my parents who came to pick me up.
Luckily my family has twisted their ankles so often that we were stocked with fancy Ace bandages and ice packs. Apparently my clumsiness is genetic. And at least I had an excuse to sit on the couch and demand other people feed me cookies and milk. Nothing like being surrounded by the people you love in a warm house with plenty of food (and no joke, 5 kinds of butter) to nurse you back to health.
And hey! On a separate note--check out that survey over on the upper right. Let me know what you think. Totally anonymous even to me, so you can answer even if you think you're a stalker for being here. (By the way, you are not. OR ARE YOU?...No, you aren't.) So give it to me straight. Twitter: Y/N/Meh?
Do I talk about how I rolled my ankle on the way back to Chicago? Yes, let's go there, shall we? In fact, let's go there with visual aids. Because everyone likes visual aids.
On my way to the airport, I walk out the door, down two blocks...
...and then as I'm lifting my suitcase over a curb I also step in a small pothole. There was a crunching noise. It was not awesome.
After about 5 straight minutes of whispered profanity, the girl at the bus stop asked me if I was okay. I told her yes.
When the bus came, I hobbled to the back where I thought I could stretch out. I put my foot up on my suitcase for...blood flow...or whatever reason it is that you elevate a twisted ankle. But then the bus actually filled up, and I kept getting dirty looks from people who assumed I was spreading out on public transportation. I wanted to shout, "NO! I usually mock those people! I am just like you! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM A HUMAN BEING!" But I couldn't say any of that because I was concentrating so hard on keeping myself from making wounded moaning noises. I refused to be the person at the back of the bus and MOANING.
Eventually I got to the airport...
And then THIS happened.
I had to sit down on the ground like a 3 year old to take off my shoes at security.
Of COURSE I was at the furthest gate. OF COURSE I was.
In Economy with limited space and an ankle hurting like holy hell, every time I crossed my legs I kept hitting the girl next to me. She was not amused. But for some reason, "Sorry, I twisted my ankle" didn't seem like a valid excuse for why I couldn't stick to my own assigned spot.
In the end, I made it and hobbled into the arms of my parents who came to pick me up.
Luckily my family has twisted their ankles so often that we were stocked with fancy Ace bandages and ice packs. Apparently my clumsiness is genetic. And at least I had an excuse to sit on the couch and demand other people feed me cookies and milk. Nothing like being surrounded by the people you love in a warm house with plenty of food (and no joke, 5 kinds of butter) to nurse you back to health.
And hey! On a separate note--check out that survey over on the upper right. Let me know what you think. Totally anonymous even to me, so you can answer even if you think you're a stalker for being here. (By the way, you are not. OR ARE YOU?...No, you aren't.) So give it to me straight. Twitter: Y/N/Meh?
Friday, September 9, 2011
Back To "Normal"
Whoa. Sorry for the time away. I've been hosting Michelle for the week and I was distracted by the giant tub of cookie dough we made and consequently consumed. It doesn't take much to distract me. At least it was a worthwhile cause. But she has gone home now, so it's back to blogging, working out, and lots and lots of Netflix.
So last weekend I went to Seattle for a wedding--Joe's old roommate, Mo, got hitched in a forest filled with treehouses. It was gorgeous, Joe kept making the same jokes about Star Wars, fun times were had by all.
The wedding ended a bit earlier than some were ready for because of the venue, so a few of us went out to a bar. The bar we landed at was filled with a bunch of pinball machines. As always when I find myself surrounded by pinball machines, I searched for the one Katie and I experienced as children. She will back me up on this--we believe it was S&M themed. YES, SERIOUSLY. All I remember is there was a picture of a sexy woman in black leather with big black hair, and when the ball hit a certain point, her voice would croon, "Don't touch me THERE!"
It was horrifying.
Anyway, it wasn't there. In fact, there were actually NEW pinball machines. Like a "Tron: Legacy" pinball machine. Which was weird. It was like a version of 2011 where the internet didn't happen. My life without Google flashed before my eyes. It was grim.
We drank a few beers and right when we decided it was about time to go, a guy in a Mexican wrestling mask walked in. He was about 5'4", 110 pounds. When we noticed him, Teo muttered to us, "Hey, Nacho Libre over here..." and we grimmaced with him. Next thing we know, the guy in the mask lifted it off his face and screamed directly into Teo's ear,
"JACK BLACK WAS A BITCH!!!" (<--Please imagine this also in 72pt font, it really drives the point home.)
We all sat straight up in our chairs, our eyes round as saucers. The man put his mask back over his head and walked on. God, humans are weird. Sajid laughed and said, "I think he was joking." Teo wiped the side of his face and said, "It didn't FEEL like he was joking." We were still chuckling when Jared came over and asked, "Who was just screaming? It wasn't the guy in the mask, was it? Yeah, he tried to light my face on fire."
Amazing.
Really, it was a great long weekend. Joe and I both loved Seattle. Here's what we realized: we were both raised in the suburbs and have fond memories of suburban living: riding bikes, playing in the yard, that kind of thing. But we like the options of activities that a city gives us. What's great about Seattle is that is has the feel of a suburb (clean, quiet, safe), with the amenities of a city (restaurants, bars, public transportation, museums). We were both quite impressed. Also the only litter we saw ever was Starbuck's related, which I find fitting. It was definitely the kind of city I could see myself living in, if only it offered me anything professionally. Sadly I don't work for Amazon and can't work from home quite yet, so it's not an option for now. Oh well! It was a great place to visit, and with our married friends there (and a few aunts out that way) we have an excuse to go back!
Here are a few pictures from the trip, just to prove that I actually DID go there.
(That's me, eating one of the best donuts from one of the best donut places ever, Top Pot. If you are in or around Seattle, go there immediately)
(My view from the plane, obv, as the Space Needle doesn't go THAT high. That's Mount Rainier)
(Pike Place Market. AKA, Tourists Walking Around Without Looking Where They're Going, plus a lot of fish.)
(See? Fish. GROSS. People were touching them. It was horrifying. You always hear about Pike Place and how they throw the fish, but it's really more of an occasional toss, so I didn't get a picture of it. I had to settle for these monsters with their mouths open and their eyes all looking at me. Shut up, fish, quit looking at me like that. If I had my way you'd still be alive in the ocean.)
So last weekend I went to Seattle for a wedding--Joe's old roommate, Mo, got hitched in a forest filled with treehouses. It was gorgeous, Joe kept making the same jokes about Star Wars, fun times were had by all.
The wedding ended a bit earlier than some were ready for because of the venue, so a few of us went out to a bar. The bar we landed at was filled with a bunch of pinball machines. As always when I find myself surrounded by pinball machines, I searched for the one Katie and I experienced as children. She will back me up on this--we believe it was S&M themed. YES, SERIOUSLY. All I remember is there was a picture of a sexy woman in black leather with big black hair, and when the ball hit a certain point, her voice would croon, "Don't touch me THERE!"
It was horrifying.
Anyway, it wasn't there. In fact, there were actually NEW pinball machines. Like a "Tron: Legacy" pinball machine. Which was weird. It was like a version of 2011 where the internet didn't happen. My life without Google flashed before my eyes. It was grim.
We drank a few beers and right when we decided it was about time to go, a guy in a Mexican wrestling mask walked in. He was about 5'4", 110 pounds. When we noticed him, Teo muttered to us, "Hey, Nacho Libre over here..." and we grimmaced with him. Next thing we know, the guy in the mask lifted it off his face and screamed directly into Teo's ear,
"JACK BLACK WAS A BITCH!!!" (<--Please imagine this also in 72pt font, it really drives the point home.)
We all sat straight up in our chairs, our eyes round as saucers. The man put his mask back over his head and walked on. God, humans are weird. Sajid laughed and said, "I think he was joking." Teo wiped the side of his face and said, "It didn't FEEL like he was joking." We were still chuckling when Jared came over and asked, "Who was just screaming? It wasn't the guy in the mask, was it? Yeah, he tried to light my face on fire."
Amazing.
Really, it was a great long weekend. Joe and I both loved Seattle. Here's what we realized: we were both raised in the suburbs and have fond memories of suburban living: riding bikes, playing in the yard, that kind of thing. But we like the options of activities that a city gives us. What's great about Seattle is that is has the feel of a suburb (clean, quiet, safe), with the amenities of a city (restaurants, bars, public transportation, museums). We were both quite impressed. Also the only litter we saw ever was Starbuck's related, which I find fitting. It was definitely the kind of city I could see myself living in, if only it offered me anything professionally. Sadly I don't work for Amazon and can't work from home quite yet, so it's not an option for now. Oh well! It was a great place to visit, and with our married friends there (and a few aunts out that way) we have an excuse to go back!
Here are a few pictures from the trip, just to prove that I actually DID go there.
(That's me, eating one of the best donuts from one of the best donut places ever, Top Pot. If you are in or around Seattle, go there immediately)
(My view from the plane, obv, as the Space Needle doesn't go THAT high. That's Mount Rainier)
(Pike Place Market. AKA, Tourists Walking Around Without Looking Where They're Going, plus a lot of fish.)
(See? Fish. GROSS. People were touching them. It was horrifying. You always hear about Pike Place and how they throw the fish, but it's really more of an occasional toss, so I didn't get a picture of it. I had to settle for these monsters with their mouths open and their eyes all looking at me. Shut up, fish, quit looking at me like that. If I had my way you'd still be alive in the ocean.)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
3 Things I Learned About San Francisco:
To be honest, I had a great trip. The weather was nice, the coffee was great, and I appreciate any place whose top two foods are bread and avocados. Now I have three things to share that I didn't know about San Fran and they are going to sound like I am complaining, but that is just my way and you will have to take it with a grain of salt because honestly I did like the city in general.
1. The public transportation system goes all over, but it is a hot, hot mess.
The Bart (the subway) is not connected to the other modes of transportation, governmentally, but it is physically. The buses and street cars have a different card, and there are multiple ways to pay and transfer. It made my eyes water in frustration when I tried to figure it out. Joe had to talk me off a few ledges.
2. No one sent SF the memo that they don't have to hand-paint their signs.
Perhaps this is leftover sentiment from being hippie central, perhaps it is a newer concept brought from Mexico. Perhaps it is maintained by hipsters and independent shops. But my word, San Francisco has a lot hand-painted signs.
They are also really big into hand-painted murals. There was a page about this in my Touristy Tourism book but I forgot to read it and then left it with Joe. So the murals are still a big mystery.
3. When you walk out the door, bring more layers than Joey wearing Chandler's clothes.
Could he BE wearing any more clothes?
I'm sorry, you think the weather in Chicago is unpredictable? Just because it rains once a week? In San Fran, you walk out the door and it is chilly and overcast. By noon it is sunny and warm. By evening a frost has settled upon your nose. So I walked around with a cardigan, hoodie AND fleece on--AT ONCE--and gradually stripped them off and then put them back on again throughout the day. If you are at the Golden Gate bridge you will want some kind of parka. And if you are at the Bay Bridge, a bikini will do fine. And keep in mind that the two are a FIFTEEN MINUTE DRIVE FROM EACH OTHER. Microclimates are WEIRD.
1. The public transportation system goes all over, but it is a hot, hot mess.
The Bart (the subway) is not connected to the other modes of transportation, governmentally, but it is physically. The buses and street cars have a different card, and there are multiple ways to pay and transfer. It made my eyes water in frustration when I tried to figure it out. Joe had to talk me off a few ledges.
2. No one sent SF the memo that they don't have to hand-paint their signs.
Perhaps this is leftover sentiment from being hippie central, perhaps it is a newer concept brought from Mexico. Perhaps it is maintained by hipsters and independent shops. But my word, San Francisco has a lot hand-painted signs.
They are also really big into hand-painted murals. There was a page about this in my Touristy Tourism book but I forgot to read it and then left it with Joe. So the murals are still a big mystery.
3. When you walk out the door, bring more layers than Joey wearing Chandler's clothes.
Could he BE wearing any more clothes?
I'm sorry, you think the weather in Chicago is unpredictable? Just because it rains once a week? In San Fran, you walk out the door and it is chilly and overcast. By noon it is sunny and warm. By evening a frost has settled upon your nose. So I walked around with a cardigan, hoodie AND fleece on--AT ONCE--and gradually stripped them off and then put them back on again throughout the day. If you are at the Golden Gate bridge you will want some kind of parka. And if you are at the Bay Bridge, a bikini will do fine. And keep in mind that the two are a FIFTEEN MINUTE DRIVE FROM EACH OTHER. Microclimates are WEIRD.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Can't Talk. Busy Eating Rice-A-Roni.
Hey kids! I'm in San Francisco visiting Joe (yippee!) for a bit, so posting might be sporadic at best. I'm back to Chicago on Tuesday. Expect at least 1 post about how I am lost and alone in a new city (while Joe is at work) and trying to navigate a city that has a rather confusing public transit system.
Remember all that complaining I did about the el not going anywhere but into the city and back out again? No? Well I do. And anyway, I take it all back.
Remember all that complaining I did about the el not going anywhere but into the city and back out again? No? Well I do. And anyway, I take it all back.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
5 Things I Learned About Los Angeles
Hey guys! I'm back from LA! Had a great time. Saw a lot of stuff. Took pictures next to Tom Hanks' AND Aunt Meryl's hand prints obv, and did a lot of nice-weather kinds of things. Drove past the Scientology...compound. CRAZY.
So now that I know a little more about LA than I did, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you.
1. It's Always Summer.
I cannot explain it better than that. I mean, I knew it was nice all the time. But it's a whole new thing actually seeing it in action. Everything is...clean. And not because they actually bother to clean it. No. It's clean because the city is not covered from skyscraper to sewer drain in rock salt once a year. The roads seem newly-paved and smoother than a baby dolphin. Which I imagine are VERY VERY smooth.
Also, people just have this air about them like...like they do this kind of thing every day. Like 75 and sunny ISN'T God's greatest gift to humanity (which, hi, it is) it's just another day. Do you have any idea what people do in Chicago when it's 75 and sunny? They stand around outside, marveling at how nice the freaking weather is. In fact, I think 99% of any given Chicagoan's time is spent talking about the weather. It's not a small talk nicety here. It's a way of life.
2. Driving isn't so bad.
That is, as long as you don't accidentally get into random, non-sensical rush hour traffic. Joe and I spent four days driving around LA and we were never particularly inconvenienced by bad traffic. BUT there were a few times that we just got lucky. We'd look over to the other side of the highway, packed with cars. Going into downtown mid afternoon. Like...where are you people going? Go home. Go longboard.
3. Celebrities are not that easy to find.
In our whole trip, Joe and I noticed one celebrity, and it was a That Guy that neither of us can place. All I can say is he's white, curly brown hair, middle-aged, possibly an angry comedian? Damn it, now I have to go back on Google and see if I can find him again. GAH, NO IT WAS NOT GARRY SHANDLING, GOOGLE. GOD.
OH MY GOD I just accidentally spent 40 minutes looking at pictures of photo bombs on College Humor after searching for pictures of "that guy". WHERE AM I?!
4. The Venice Boardwalk is full of crap I would have bought in Middle School.
In the movies, the boardwalk is an open, populated area full of blond women in neon bikinis rollerblading. But in real life, it's just a big paved road with shops on one side and burn outs on the other, playing the only Hendrix song they know and selling things ranging from "palm leaf art" to "hemp hats" to "give me weed and I'll let you pet my dog." The entire outdoor area smelled like patchouli and vegetable oil and there were multiple booths selling chauvinistic novelty tees. I had been warned, of course, that the boardwalk was not All That, but I guess I had to see it to believe it.
5. LA is where 'Nam era hippies go to live out their days.
If you think your parents were former hippies, guess what? They still could have been, if they'd just COMMITTED TO THE ROLE. The only thing we saw more than Priuses (We invented a game, btw, called "If you don't see a Prius in five minutes, you lose.") were old hippies. These are people who have not changed a single thing in their life since Lyndon B. Johnson was president. And why should they? The weather doesn't change from day to day, so how is anyone to know for certain that time itself isn't just standing still? It's like Groundhog Day over there, seriously, except instead of a horrible Punxsutawney February, it's just like...June 10th. June 10th, 1968. For the rest of your life.
And whether or not it really is, hope you like Hendrix.
So now that I know a little more about LA than I did, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you.
1. It's Always Summer.
I cannot explain it better than that. I mean, I knew it was nice all the time. But it's a whole new thing actually seeing it in action. Everything is...clean. And not because they actually bother to clean it. No. It's clean because the city is not covered from skyscraper to sewer drain in rock salt once a year. The roads seem newly-paved and smoother than a baby dolphin. Which I imagine are VERY VERY smooth.
Also, people just have this air about them like...like they do this kind of thing every day. Like 75 and sunny ISN'T God's greatest gift to humanity (which, hi, it is) it's just another day. Do you have any idea what people do in Chicago when it's 75 and sunny? They stand around outside, marveling at how nice the freaking weather is. In fact, I think 99% of any given Chicagoan's time is spent talking about the weather. It's not a small talk nicety here. It's a way of life.
2. Driving isn't so bad.
That is, as long as you don't accidentally get into random, non-sensical rush hour traffic. Joe and I spent four days driving around LA and we were never particularly inconvenienced by bad traffic. BUT there were a few times that we just got lucky. We'd look over to the other side of the highway, packed with cars. Going into downtown mid afternoon. Like...where are you people going? Go home. Go longboard.
3. Celebrities are not that easy to find.
In our whole trip, Joe and I noticed one celebrity, and it was a That Guy that neither of us can place. All I can say is he's white, curly brown hair, middle-aged, possibly an angry comedian? Damn it, now I have to go back on Google and see if I can find him again. GAH, NO IT WAS NOT GARRY SHANDLING, GOOGLE. GOD.
OH MY GOD I just accidentally spent 40 minutes looking at pictures of photo bombs on College Humor after searching for pictures of "that guy". WHERE AM I?!
4. The Venice Boardwalk is full of crap I would have bought in Middle School.
In the movies, the boardwalk is an open, populated area full of blond women in neon bikinis rollerblading. But in real life, it's just a big paved road with shops on one side and burn outs on the other, playing the only Hendrix song they know and selling things ranging from "palm leaf art" to "hemp hats" to "give me weed and I'll let you pet my dog." The entire outdoor area smelled like patchouli and vegetable oil and there were multiple booths selling chauvinistic novelty tees. I had been warned, of course, that the boardwalk was not All That, but I guess I had to see it to believe it.
5. LA is where 'Nam era hippies go to live out their days.
If you think your parents were former hippies, guess what? They still could have been, if they'd just COMMITTED TO THE ROLE. The only thing we saw more than Priuses (We invented a game, btw, called "If you don't see a Prius in five minutes, you lose.") were old hippies. These are people who have not changed a single thing in their life since Lyndon B. Johnson was president. And why should they? The weather doesn't change from day to day, so how is anyone to know for certain that time itself isn't just standing still? It's like Groundhog Day over there, seriously, except instead of a horrible Punxsutawney February, it's just like...June 10th. June 10th, 1968. For the rest of your life.
And whether or not it really is, hope you like Hendrix.
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Short Blog break
Joe and I are going to LA for the rest of the week, so I won't be around on the ol' bloggy blog. Not that it would be that noticeable considering my posting has shortened as of late (I'm trying to be a No Excuses kind of girl, but to be fair, I got an extra-ten-hours-a-week-for-no-extra-money project tacked onto my job in the past month, if that helps explain the lack of posts. So unless you guys would like to talk about branding strategy up in here [up in here], you've gotta give me some slack for a little bit. I have a lot less time to make jokes about how often I run into things. WHICH I STILL DO, DON'T THINK I'VE IN ANY WAY MATURED JUST BECAUSE I HAVE MORE WORK TO DO. Although I did wear heels for the first time in a year and I didn't fall down ONCE a-thank you. Wow this is a really long parenthetical aside. I probably should make this a new paragraph. BUT WILL I? No.)
Moving on.
So anyway. We're going to LA. I'm pumped for a vacation, but I've had two things dampen my spirits in the past hour and they're really harshing my mellow.
1. The weather is going to be in the 60s. Which, considering it actually snowed in Chicago this morning, is pretty great. But I was planning a week of beach laying, flowy skirts and flip flops. Now I'm going to have to stalk Tom Hanks and Aunt Meryl in pants and a light jacket and I'm BITTER.
2. I didn't know they jack up car rental prices the day before I need them. I'm not SURPRISED, I just didn't know it. I am a stingy old miser and am therefore disproportionately pissed that I missed my opportunity to pay $15 a day for a car. RUDE.
So yeah. That's all. Finally getting my ass to LA. Um...I have no way to end this post. So I'll leave with this.
Here is the reason I am taking a vacation.
Moving on.
So anyway. We're going to LA. I'm pumped for a vacation, but I've had two things dampen my spirits in the past hour and they're really harshing my mellow.
1. The weather is going to be in the 60s. Which, considering it actually snowed in Chicago this morning, is pretty great. But I was planning a week of beach laying, flowy skirts and flip flops. Now I'm going to have to stalk Tom Hanks and Aunt Meryl in pants and a light jacket and I'm BITTER.
2. I didn't know they jack up car rental prices the day before I need them. I'm not SURPRISED, I just didn't know it. I am a stingy old miser and am therefore disproportionately pissed that I missed my opportunity to pay $15 a day for a car. RUDE.
So yeah. That's all. Finally getting my ass to LA. Um...I have no way to end this post. So I'll leave with this.
Here is the reason I am taking a vacation.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Fail Year's Eve
Joe and I spent our New Year's Eve in Galena, Illinois. It was my birthday and Christmas present to him. He's a fan of small town charm. I'm a fan of him. Generally, it was nice! Sadly, our New Year's celebration were an utter failure. Of course, because it's me, and God forbid I let something go awkwardless for a day.
We started the night at the Galena Brewing Company. It seemed perfect: microbrews and a Beatles cover band called the Wheatles? WHERE DO I SIGN.
We told the waitress we'd wait a bit before ordering, and she took off to serve people on her harried, busy night of 20 people. At 10:10 we finally asked to order. She told us the kitchen had closed 10 minutes ago. At first, I was convinced it was our fault for not asking, or paying attention, or waiting so long to eat. But the more I consider it, the more I wish I had stood up, flipped the table over and breathed fire into that waitress' eyes. POSSIBLY an overreaction, but still. I wanted that fricken flatbread. It had caramelized onions, y'all.
So we left, out onto the streets of a tiny town after 10pm, looking for dinner. Shyeah. Likely. Besides the Sushi place (raw fish at 10pm in northwestern Illinois? Hand me some chopsticks, would ya?), we found one restaurant. It's name? Fried Green Tomatoes. "Oh," you may say, "that sounds like a fun late night diner."
WAS IT?
Fried Green Tomatoes was the fancy Italian restaurant in town. Because the name has such a classy ring to it, I suppose. I had already passed it by, assuming it was a overpriced, mediocre Italian food. Oh, was I wrong.
It was overpriced, TERRIBLE Italian food. First of all, people, you do not give me a soft loaf of bread covered in butter, hand me a dull butter knife to cut it, and then wish me godspeed. Oh, but I appreciate that you poured the flavorless olive oil for me. That was most instructive, as I have never poured oil before.
After that, I was served undercooked potatoes and Joe got overcooked pasta. But he was determined that we have a good time and appreciate that someone was open and willing to serve us food. I tried to cover my scowl with a smile, which sadly came across as an "I told you so" smile with just a TOUCH of the crazies. Finally, and because we both wanted to end on a high note, we ordered the creme brulee. "You can't mess up creme brulee!" we both agreed. Yeah...I wasn't aware that you could separate yolk from cream after you'd mixed them, but I now know it is quite possible.
So we paid our bill and went back to The Wheatles just in time for them to realize the TV wasn't counting down for the central time zone and it was 12:01. So "Paul" played Auld Lang Syne as "Ringo" counted down arbitrarily from 10. We fished out our party poppers for the occasion (neither of them popped) and we kissed heartily, ringing in the New Year.
So what I'm trying to say is: Happy 2011 everyone!
May your year be more successful than our night.
We started the night at the Galena Brewing Company. It seemed perfect: microbrews and a Beatles cover band called the Wheatles? WHERE DO I SIGN.
We told the waitress we'd wait a bit before ordering, and she took off to serve people on her harried, busy night of 20 people. At 10:10 we finally asked to order. She told us the kitchen had closed 10 minutes ago. At first, I was convinced it was our fault for not asking, or paying attention, or waiting so long to eat. But the more I consider it, the more I wish I had stood up, flipped the table over and breathed fire into that waitress' eyes. POSSIBLY an overreaction, but still. I wanted that fricken flatbread. It had caramelized onions, y'all.
So we left, out onto the streets of a tiny town after 10pm, looking for dinner. Shyeah. Likely. Besides the Sushi place (raw fish at 10pm in northwestern Illinois? Hand me some chopsticks, would ya?), we found one restaurant. It's name? Fried Green Tomatoes. "Oh," you may say, "that sounds like a fun late night diner."
WAS IT?
Fried Green Tomatoes was the fancy Italian restaurant in town. Because the name has such a classy ring to it, I suppose. I had already passed it by, assuming it was a overpriced, mediocre Italian food. Oh, was I wrong.
It was overpriced, TERRIBLE Italian food. First of all, people, you do not give me a soft loaf of bread covered in butter, hand me a dull butter knife to cut it, and then wish me godspeed. Oh, but I appreciate that you poured the flavorless olive oil for me. That was most instructive, as I have never poured oil before.
After that, I was served undercooked potatoes and Joe got overcooked pasta. But he was determined that we have a good time and appreciate that someone was open and willing to serve us food. I tried to cover my scowl with a smile, which sadly came across as an "I told you so" smile with just a TOUCH of the crazies. Finally, and because we both wanted to end on a high note, we ordered the creme brulee. "You can't mess up creme brulee!" we both agreed. Yeah...I wasn't aware that you could separate yolk from cream after you'd mixed them, but I now know it is quite possible.
So we paid our bill and went back to The Wheatles just in time for them to realize the TV wasn't counting down for the central time zone and it was 12:01. So "Paul" played Auld Lang Syne as "Ringo" counted down arbitrarily from 10. We fished out our party poppers for the occasion (neither of them popped) and we kissed heartily, ringing in the New Year.
So what I'm trying to say is: Happy 2011 everyone!
May your year be more successful than our night.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Our Camping Disaster: Part 2
So yesterday I explained to you our introduction to the camp site (Whoah. At first I almost wrote introfuction. Which, frankly, is more accurate.) Today I explain to you...
THE SHOWERS.
Oh so remember those "newly renovated, state-of-the-art" bathrooms we'd been told about? Well, I'll give you this:
- The toilets flushed. (er...2/3 of them did)
- The sinks ran.
- The doors closed...Ish.
I wish I could be so kind about the showers.
They were in the back of the bathroom, where the fluorescent light did not reach. So yes, they were in the dark, even in the middle of the day. For the left shower, the head came straight down from the ceiling. All along that ceiling were bugs. Some flyers, some crawlers. It was rusty and menacing looking. I mean this with no disrespect or with any sense of irony; it reminded me of the Holocaust.
There was no way I was getting under that stream of water.
On the right was a "handicapped" stall (disabled stall? Physically challenged stall? Person with physical disabilities stall?) Three fourths of it was taken up by one of those seats some people need to sit on to shower. There was no way in hell I was sitting on it. I pulled it out of the stall. This shower head was different from the other one. It was the hand-held kind. But there was no place to hang it on the wall to turn it into a regular shower. It hung straight down from the ceiling, and sprayed water at your knees when it turned on.
The best part was, the actual shower head was covered in rust, as well as some sort of green substance. And when the water turned on, it also leaked out of the ceiling and onto your head. This was the shower I chose. And yes, because I know you are wondering, I alternated between muttering profanities and softly whimpering the entire time the shower was happening. Eventually I was "clean."
List Of Diseases I Probably Will Have As A Direct Result Of That Shower:
1. Consumption
2. The Clap, Syphilis AND Gonorrhea
3. Chronic Nosebleeds
4. The Plague
5. The Vapors
6. Black Lung
7. Meth Addiction
8. Scarlet Fever
9. Polio
10. Paranoia
11. Shingles
12. Gout
13. Lime Disease
14. Eczema
15. Hep A
16. Hep B
17. Hep C
18. Diabetes (1 and 2)
19. Rabies
20. Malaria
21. Narcolepsy
22. Insomnia
23. Leprosy
24. Lou Gehrig's
25. And of course, Lupis.
The next day I took a shower via Secret Prescription Strength and a jug of water while the other campers watched.
It was magnificent.
THE SHOWERS.
Oh so remember those "newly renovated, state-of-the-art" bathrooms we'd been told about? Well, I'll give you this:
- The toilets flushed. (er...2/3 of them did)
- The sinks ran.
- The doors closed...Ish.
I wish I could be so kind about the showers.
They were in the back of the bathroom, where the fluorescent light did not reach. So yes, they were in the dark, even in the middle of the day. For the left shower, the head came straight down from the ceiling. All along that ceiling were bugs. Some flyers, some crawlers. It was rusty and menacing looking. I mean this with no disrespect or with any sense of irony; it reminded me of the Holocaust.
There was no way I was getting under that stream of water.
On the right was a "handicapped" stall (disabled stall? Physically challenged stall? Person with physical disabilities stall?) Three fourths of it was taken up by one of those seats some people need to sit on to shower. There was no way in hell I was sitting on it. I pulled it out of the stall. This shower head was different from the other one. It was the hand-held kind. But there was no place to hang it on the wall to turn it into a regular shower. It hung straight down from the ceiling, and sprayed water at your knees when it turned on.
The best part was, the actual shower head was covered in rust, as well as some sort of green substance. And when the water turned on, it also leaked out of the ceiling and onto your head. This was the shower I chose. And yes, because I know you are wondering, I alternated between muttering profanities and softly whimpering the entire time the shower was happening. Eventually I was "clean."
List Of Diseases I Probably Will Have As A Direct Result Of That Shower:
1. Consumption
2. The Clap, Syphilis AND Gonorrhea
3. Chronic Nosebleeds
4. The Plague
5. The Vapors
6. Black Lung
7. Meth Addiction
8. Scarlet Fever
9. Polio
10. Paranoia
11. Shingles
12. Gout
13. Lime Disease
14. Eczema
15. Hep A
16. Hep B
17. Hep C
18. Diabetes (1 and 2)
19. Rabies
20. Malaria
21. Narcolepsy
22. Insomnia
23. Leprosy
24. Lou Gehrig's
25. And of course, Lupis.
The next day I took a shower via Secret Prescription Strength and a jug of water while the other campers watched.
It was magnificent.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Our Camping Disaster: Part I
I really jinxed myself on that one. Really, I asked for it.
This weekend was, hands down, the largest camping disaster I have ever encountered.
Our story begins...
Joe and I had originally wanted to camp in Traverse City, Michigan for the long weekend and go to the cherry festival. Turns out, so did everyone else.
In the world.
We could not find a single campsite with an open space--they literally do not have grass area for a two-person tent and a s'more-sized fire. Finally we gave up and decided to change our plans and looked for camping in southwest Michigan, which is much closer to Chicago and much further from that g.d. cherry festival (good riddance.) OH BUT GUESS WHAT?! Nope. You, your brother, and your dog also decided to go camping in Michigan for the 4th of July. So thank you. Joe and I used our extreme Googling skills and finally--finally, we found a campsite that had one open space left. The man assured us that if we didn't take it in the next half hour, someone else would. So we jumped at it.
The place seemed lovely. Canoeing. Kayaking. Picnic tables. Hot showers. Electric hook ups.
We were sold.
Joe and I get to the site, voicing our trepidations that the place might not be all that great. We drive in, and our worst fears are realized. We actually drove past the park the first time because we couldn't believe that that was it. The campsite, as we could see it, was a large field filled with RVs, and a simple metal-sided grey building. "It must go back further," I muttered as we drove up. Joe and I walked to the door of the building so we could check in. A little girl, about 10 years old, opens the door. She is wearing the dirtiest pair of sweatpants I have ever seen not on a homeless person.
"Y'all need help with something?" (Don't ask my why rural Michigonians have southern accents...but they do.)
"Yeah, we're just looking to check in. Do we do that here?"
"See that man in the grey shirt?" We turn to our left and see a man a few yards away, hitching up his jeans more comfortably under his potbelly. "That's my daddy. He'll let you know what you need to do."
Immediately, Joe and I swooped onto this girl, kidnapped her, cleaned her, and got her a proper education. *sigh*
We turned and followed the man, who had walked away from us and to the area that we soon learned was the "office." It was also the location of a beagle and roughly 80 life jackets, all of which I assume used to be red but were now a nice salmon color.
"Hello, we'd like to check in."
"Okay," the man said. He pulled an 8.5x11 off the pile on his desk and began filling it out. "How many adults?"
We paused. We'd already given this information. "We have a reservation...?"
"Oh right, yeah. I forgot to ask that. So the two adults then?" He said.
".....Yes."
He continued to fill out the form as if we'd never even called in the first place. "And you want to camp in the Primitive area?"
"No, we'd like the electrical hook up." (We have cell phones, dude. We aren't animals.)
"Alrighty. I'll show you to your spot."
We jumped in the car and followed him as he drove his golf cart down the dirt road and around the corner. He stopped next to an R.V. where a woman with a scrunchie was blasting "Born in The USA". The man leaned out his golf cart. "How's this?"
Oh. You only get electricity if you have an RV. Got it. "Uh...where are the primitive spots?" we asked.
He pointed down the road, toward the trees where other tents are set up. "You just drive on down there, til you find a good spot."
"It isn't sectioned?"
"Nope, just find something dry."
"Okay, and what about bathrooms and showers?"
He gestured a few meters to the right. "Right over there. They've just been renovated. State-of-the-art facilities now. Hot showers."
Joe and I shot each other mirrored looks that said, we'll see. "Great. Oh, what about fire pits?"
"Don't have too many of those. Just set something up on the grass, that's fine. And there's only a few picnic tables, so if you find one, go ahead and scoop it on up."
And that, my friends, was our introduction to Paw Paw River Campgrounds.
(To be continued...)
This weekend was, hands down, the largest camping disaster I have ever encountered.
Our story begins...
Joe and I had originally wanted to camp in Traverse City, Michigan for the long weekend and go to the cherry festival. Turns out, so did everyone else.
In the world.
We could not find a single campsite with an open space--they literally do not have grass area for a two-person tent and a s'more-sized fire. Finally we gave up and decided to change our plans and looked for camping in southwest Michigan, which is much closer to Chicago and much further from that g.d. cherry festival (good riddance.) OH BUT GUESS WHAT?! Nope. You, your brother, and your dog also decided to go camping in Michigan for the 4th of July. So thank you. Joe and I used our extreme Googling skills and finally--finally, we found a campsite that had one open space left. The man assured us that if we didn't take it in the next half hour, someone else would. So we jumped at it.
The place seemed lovely. Canoeing. Kayaking. Picnic tables. Hot showers. Electric hook ups.
We were sold.
Joe and I get to the site, voicing our trepidations that the place might not be all that great. We drive in, and our worst fears are realized. We actually drove past the park the first time because we couldn't believe that that was it. The campsite, as we could see it, was a large field filled with RVs, and a simple metal-sided grey building. "It must go back further," I muttered as we drove up. Joe and I walked to the door of the building so we could check in. A little girl, about 10 years old, opens the door. She is wearing the dirtiest pair of sweatpants I have ever seen not on a homeless person.
"Y'all need help with something?" (Don't ask my why rural Michigonians have southern accents...but they do.)
"Yeah, we're just looking to check in. Do we do that here?"
"See that man in the grey shirt?" We turn to our left and see a man a few yards away, hitching up his jeans more comfortably under his potbelly. "That's my daddy. He'll let you know what you need to do."
Immediately, Joe and I swooped onto this girl, kidnapped her, cleaned her, and got her a proper education. *sigh*
We turned and followed the man, who had walked away from us and to the area that we soon learned was the "office." It was also the location of a beagle and roughly 80 life jackets, all of which I assume used to be red but were now a nice salmon color.
"Hello, we'd like to check in."
"Okay," the man said. He pulled an 8.5x11 off the pile on his desk and began filling it out. "How many adults?"
We paused. We'd already given this information. "We have a reservation...?"
"Oh right, yeah. I forgot to ask that. So the two adults then?" He said.
".....Yes."
He continued to fill out the form as if we'd never even called in the first place. "And you want to camp in the Primitive area?"
"No, we'd like the electrical hook up." (We have cell phones, dude. We aren't animals.)
"Alrighty. I'll show you to your spot."
We jumped in the car and followed him as he drove his golf cart down the dirt road and around the corner. He stopped next to an R.V. where a woman with a scrunchie was blasting "Born in The USA". The man leaned out his golf cart. "How's this?"
Oh. You only get electricity if you have an RV. Got it. "Uh...where are the primitive spots?" we asked.
He pointed down the road, toward the trees where other tents are set up. "You just drive on down there, til you find a good spot."
"It isn't sectioned?"
"Nope, just find something dry."
"Okay, and what about bathrooms and showers?"
He gestured a few meters to the right. "Right over there. They've just been renovated. State-of-the-art facilities now. Hot showers."
Joe and I shot each other mirrored looks that said, we'll see. "Great. Oh, what about fire pits?"
"Don't have too many of those. Just set something up on the grass, that's fine. And there's only a few picnic tables, so if you find one, go ahead and scoop it on up."
And that, my friends, was our introduction to Paw Paw River Campgrounds.
(To be continued...)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Why I Suck At Sports
WELL! It has been quite a successful vacation so far. My problems are far, far away from me back in evil, smelly Chicago (I'm sorry, Chicago. I didn't mean that. I love you. *pet pet* Although you are kind of smelly sometimes.) We've been to the beach, went to a jazz club, I ate fish--THAT'S RIGHT, ladies and gentlemen. I, Emily, ate fish. Grouper. And I only gagged a LITTLE. So suck on that. Ew but don't because sucking on fish is--*ACK ACK*--too late, gag reflex kicking in again.
Anyway, this isn't Emily's Private Diary (as is evidenced by the absence of Mead-brand notebook with KEEP OUT written in sharpie.) This is a blog. And today I'd like to discuss sports. And where is this coming from? QUESTION AND ANSWER TIME!!!
Q: Did Joe and his parents go golfing this afternoon?
A: Why yes, yes they did.
Q: Did I not bother to go with them, knowing my past (one) experiences with golf?
A: True.
Q: Did I instead choose to spend the day lounging and eating a 100 calorie ice cream bar I found in the back of their freezer?
A: Of course.
Q: Is Gilmore Girls softly playing in the background?
A: Oh, you.
Yes, I chose to be a hermitting recluse whilst the rest of the gang went away to whack a few golf balls hither thither and yon. And no. I have never played real golf before. But let's just say, you don't have to go to Indonesia to know they make terrible hot dogs.
Wow, I really need to work on my metaphors.
Here's the thing about me and team sports (and I'm counting golf as a team sport because other people are relying on you to EVENTUALLY hit the damn thing. Therefore, team sport.) We don't mesh. Reasons we don't mesh:
1. I am extremely uncoordinated. I run into door frames on a daily basis.
2. I don't like competition and the animosity that inevitably arises from it.
3. I get easily frustrated by things I am not good at right away.
4. I only like looking like an idiot when it's on MY terms. I'll punch myself repeatedly as long as it's on stage and people are laughing. But smack my face with a volleyball once and that's it. Game over.
5. I hate disappointing people. I didn't do homework for my health, people. I did it because I couldn't grasp the concept of NOT doing something I was specifically told to do. Same with sports. You tell me to hit that ping pong ball OVER the net? Damn me if I can't get that to happen for you.
I did play one team sport ONCE. I was six. It was tee-ball. We were the gold team. They put me over in left field, and any time the ball came to me, I would back away from it as carefully as a left-wing politician questioned about gay marriage. If that didn't work, I'd just chuck it to whoever was flailing their arms the most wildly. It was a pretty good strategy. Afterall, I won a trophy. Of course, everyone on every team got a trophy...but it was shiny. After that, I decided to stick to more fruitful endeavors, like chasing my brother around the yard and learning to quote Titanic back to front with Michelle.
So no. I am not good at sports. I don't like playing sports. I never really got into watching sports, either. Although, I think watching sports is like my realization with coffee. Walk with me here:
My parents drink their coffee black. So when I was young, I thought that in order to like coffee, you had to like it black. Imagine my glee when I discovered that you could dump 8 sugar packets and a gallon of cream into your cup and still call it coffee. Likewise is sports. Growing up, I thought in order to enjoy football, you had to sit there through the whole game, understand WHY they were throwing yellow thingies onto the field, and that you couldn't giggle every time they say "tight end" (tee hee!) But now I realize that you can call yourself a sports fan whilst spilling light beer down your shirt and yelling things like "GET HIM! No! Get HIM!!" and that makes a world of difference in my mind. I can get involved in that kind of spectatorship like WHOAH. Just not the kind where you need to know things.
So when Joe suggested that he and his parents go golfing today, I said mazel tov and good day. I attempted a golfing range once. I was horrendous, and that was quite enough for me. Moreover, it was quite enough for the ladies, if you know what I'm saying. Hell, I've used the excuse before and I'll use it again. These girls don't golf. I mean, look at this stance.
In what world would I be able to stand with my arms like that? I will tell you what world.
A world where I am good at sports.
Anyway, this isn't Emily's Private Diary (as is evidenced by the absence of Mead-brand notebook with KEEP OUT written in sharpie.) This is a blog. And today I'd like to discuss sports. And where is this coming from? QUESTION AND ANSWER TIME!!!
Q: Did Joe and his parents go golfing this afternoon?
A: Why yes, yes they did.
Q: Did I not bother to go with them, knowing my past (one) experiences with golf?
A: True.
Q: Did I instead choose to spend the day lounging and eating a 100 calorie ice cream bar I found in the back of their freezer?
A: Of course.
Q: Is Gilmore Girls softly playing in the background?
A: Oh, you.
Yes, I chose to be a hermitting recluse whilst the rest of the gang went away to whack a few golf balls hither thither and yon. And no. I have never played real golf before. But let's just say, you don't have to go to Indonesia to know they make terrible hot dogs.
Wow, I really need to work on my metaphors.
Here's the thing about me and team sports (and I'm counting golf as a team sport because other people are relying on you to EVENTUALLY hit the damn thing. Therefore, team sport.) We don't mesh. Reasons we don't mesh:
1. I am extremely uncoordinated. I run into door frames on a daily basis.
2. I don't like competition and the animosity that inevitably arises from it.
3. I get easily frustrated by things I am not good at right away.
4. I only like looking like an idiot when it's on MY terms. I'll punch myself repeatedly as long as it's on stage and people are laughing. But smack my face with a volleyball once and that's it. Game over.
5. I hate disappointing people. I didn't do homework for my health, people. I did it because I couldn't grasp the concept of NOT doing something I was specifically told to do. Same with sports. You tell me to hit that ping pong ball OVER the net? Damn me if I can't get that to happen for you.
I did play one team sport ONCE. I was six. It was tee-ball. We were the gold team. They put me over in left field, and any time the ball came to me, I would back away from it as carefully as a left-wing politician questioned about gay marriage. If that didn't work, I'd just chuck it to whoever was flailing their arms the most wildly. It was a pretty good strategy. Afterall, I won a trophy. Of course, everyone on every team got a trophy...but it was shiny. After that, I decided to stick to more fruitful endeavors, like chasing my brother around the yard and learning to quote Titanic back to front with Michelle.
So no. I am not good at sports. I don't like playing sports. I never really got into watching sports, either. Although, I think watching sports is like my realization with coffee. Walk with me here:
My parents drink their coffee black. So when I was young, I thought that in order to like coffee, you had to like it black. Imagine my glee when I discovered that you could dump 8 sugar packets and a gallon of cream into your cup and still call it coffee. Likewise is sports. Growing up, I thought in order to enjoy football, you had to sit there through the whole game, understand WHY they were throwing yellow thingies onto the field, and that you couldn't giggle every time they say "tight end" (tee hee!) But now I realize that you can call yourself a sports fan whilst spilling light beer down your shirt and yelling things like "GET HIM! No! Get HIM!!" and that makes a world of difference in my mind. I can get involved in that kind of spectatorship like WHOAH. Just not the kind where you need to know things.
So when Joe suggested that he and his parents go golfing today, I said mazel tov and good day. I attempted a golfing range once. I was horrendous, and that was quite enough for me. Moreover, it was quite enough for the ladies, if you know what I'm saying. Hell, I've used the excuse before and I'll use it again. These girls don't golf. I mean, look at this stance.
In what world would I be able to stand with my arms like that? I will tell you what world.
A world where I am good at sports.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
A Vacation from my PROBLEMS! You BET I Will!
I'm going on vacation! Leaving in an hour! (Due to my lack of guessing ability, we actually got ready a whole hour earlier than we needed to. Whoops! Oh well, now I have time to post this.) Joe and I are heading off for Hilton Head, where his parents live. His mother could not be more excited. There was squealing involved. At first we were going to go somewhere we'd never been, like San Francisco, but it turns out you actually have to plan when you decide to go places. WHATEVER.
So now we're off to South Carolina to lay on the beach. I tell ya, my life is just SO HARD sometimes.
I just want everyone to know that I recognize how ridiculous it is to need a vacation from being unemployed, but as Dr. Leo Marvin prescribed, I need a vacation from my problems. Sitting around every day wondering why even the people who ALWAYS get back to me are no longer responding makes me feel like my brain has been doing crunches and my stomach has been doing some philosophical thinking. And I would just like a week to be as relaxed as everyone else, to not feel like I SHOULD be doing something or emailing people or writing headlines or whatever it is that functioning members of society do.
Things I Hope To Acquire This Week
- A nice base tan
- A liking of at least ONE form of seafood
- Vast amounts of pralines
- The shirt from the Paula Deen restaurant with a picture of a cow saying "Hay Ya'll" to a pig and a rooster.
I figure I'll post a few things next week. I shouldn't be SO busy that there's no time for posting. But if you feel that next week is marked by my absence, now at least you know why.
So enjoy your week! I'll bring you back lots of fresh pralines! (And by "bring you back" I of course mean "eat".)
So now we're off to South Carolina to lay on the beach. I tell ya, my life is just SO HARD sometimes.
I just want everyone to know that I recognize how ridiculous it is to need a vacation from being unemployed, but as Dr. Leo Marvin prescribed, I need a vacation from my problems. Sitting around every day wondering why even the people who ALWAYS get back to me are no longer responding makes me feel like my brain has been doing crunches and my stomach has been doing some philosophical thinking. And I would just like a week to be as relaxed as everyone else, to not feel like I SHOULD be doing something or emailing people or writing headlines or whatever it is that functioning members of society do.
Things I Hope To Acquire This Week
- A nice base tan
- A liking of at least ONE form of seafood
- Vast amounts of pralines
- The shirt from the Paula Deen restaurant with a picture of a cow saying "Hay Ya'll" to a pig and a rooster.
I figure I'll post a few things next week. I shouldn't be SO busy that there's no time for posting. But if you feel that next week is marked by my absence, now at least you know why.
So enjoy your week! I'll bring you back lots of fresh pralines! (And by "bring you back" I of course mean "eat".)
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