It was a Saturday afternoon early in October, the weather still ridiculously warm for the season. I'd just finished my allotment of studying for my World Music midterm the coming Tuesday, and Sara, Dan, and I were melting in a heat-induced stupor, trying to decide what we should do with the rest of our day.
"We should have an adventure," Dan posited.
I raised my eyebrows and replied, "What kind of adventure, Dan?"
"I dunno. An epic adventure."
There was a brief silence while we considered this statement, and then someone, maybe it was Sara, said, "We should go to Lake Michigan."
So we did.
We went to dinner early, woke up Tasha, grabbed some snacks from the c-store, and started out of town. There was a bit of a hitch in the beginning, as there always is with this sort of thing: Sara's car was making a strange rattling noise, and we, being calm and reasonable teenagers, were worried it might to explode, fall apart, or otherwise cause us serious bodily harm or death. So I called my mother, saint that she is, and described the noise to her, and she, being a genius as well as a saint, correctly diagnosed a loose muffler, which ailment we verified and then, deciding it was not a life-threatening condition, opted to continue on our quest to put our feet in Lake Michigan.
We arrived in downtown Chicago shortly after 10:00 PM and managed to find a free parking place quite close to the lake shore. We then played in the sand, waded in the lake, looked at the few stars we could see (being in the middle of Chicago and all), and contemplated the immense black void of lake and sky before us.
Then we drove through a pretty sketchy area, a not-too-sketchy area, and into the western suburbs, which are very large and suburban and odd.* There, we met Dan's friend and her friend, and we went to a Denny's at something like 1:00 AM, and found that Denny's has exactly no entrées that do not include meat. So I got a Western burger, sans burger, which ended up being absolutely delicious, in a Denny's-at-one-in-the-morning kind of way (which, let's be honest, is often the best kind of way).
Then we parted ways with our new friends and piled back into Sara's car to go home. Sara drove the whole way, and the rest of us slept or dozed or looked at the stars. Once we got away from civilization, we could see quite a few of them, as well as the moon (a lovely crescent, with the dark part visible—so cool) and a really bright planet (we think it was Venus). It really was a gorgeous night.
Meanwhile back in the car, Dan was curled up in the front seat with Sara's teddy bear, and it was both hilarious and adorable. I think Tasha was asleep for a good portion of the trip also, but it was dark, and I couldn't tell for sure. I dozed in almost exact 15-minute spurts, as is generally my habit when I'm comfortable, and stayed up to make sure Sara stayed awake the last half hour. And I have to say, props to her for the driving; there aren't many drivers in whose cars I can sleep half that well.
We rolled back into Galesburg sometime around 5:30 AM, having completed our epic adventure and achieved our quest. It was probably the best time I've had so far this year. I love these people.
*I'm sure there's nothing really all that odd about West Chicago, as suburbs go. I'm just not used to suburbs in general, and therefore they all seem immensely sprawling and empty and odd to me.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
calm
So, September was apparently a bust month for blogging. For me, at least. Hey, cut me some slack, I was mourning the death of summer break.
Anyway, here I am, back at school, and despite my many peevish complaints, I really do love it here. Words cannot express my utter delight at having a house full of friends instead of a dorm full of random people or some other housing nonsense. It's definitely a very different experience from living in the either the quads or the townhouses last year; we have bedrooms that are just that: bedrooms. We can hang out there if we want, and sometimes we do, but we can also be in the living room, the kitchen, the front or back porch, or just sprawled out somewhere on the lawn. There are so many options.
Of course, living in a house with ten friends and seeing them so very often does have its downsides. We've got our fair bit of drama floating around, and it can get pretty nasty sometimes. Anybody who knows me at all knows how I feel about drama: I just won't do it. But it's still kind of odd hanging around the periphery of a lot of awkwardness and unpleasantry, and sometimes it gets upsetting. I think that's partially why I haven't blogged in awhile; I keep feeling like the biggest things on my mind are mean or gossipy issues, or things that aren't mine to tell. I mean really, there's not that much fascinating stuff to write about in the first month of school. But I've decided, as I always do, that I'm not going to let it get to me. As I said, none of these are really my issues, and insofar as they don't concern me directly, I'm not getting involved. I'd like to think that at least most of the people living in this house have the capability to handle themselves as mature adults and can manage to work out their issues enough to keep the peace.
Anyway, enough of that blather. It's a gorgeous afternoon; I've spent most of it reading peacefully in the quiet sunshine in my room. Now I'm hungry, and I'm going to dinner. Self-determination is a lovely thing.
Anyway, here I am, back at school, and despite my many peevish complaints, I really do love it here. Words cannot express my utter delight at having a house full of friends instead of a dorm full of random people or some other housing nonsense. It's definitely a very different experience from living in the either the quads or the townhouses last year; we have bedrooms that are just that: bedrooms. We can hang out there if we want, and sometimes we do, but we can also be in the living room, the kitchen, the front or back porch, or just sprawled out somewhere on the lawn. There are so many options.
Of course, living in a house with ten friends and seeing them so very often does have its downsides. We've got our fair bit of drama floating around, and it can get pretty nasty sometimes. Anybody who knows me at all knows how I feel about drama: I just won't do it. But it's still kind of odd hanging around the periphery of a lot of awkwardness and unpleasantry, and sometimes it gets upsetting. I think that's partially why I haven't blogged in awhile; I keep feeling like the biggest things on my mind are mean or gossipy issues, or things that aren't mine to tell. I mean really, there's not that much fascinating stuff to write about in the first month of school. But I've decided, as I always do, that I'm not going to let it get to me. As I said, none of these are really my issues, and insofar as they don't concern me directly, I'm not getting involved. I'd like to think that at least most of the people living in this house have the capability to handle themselves as mature adults and can manage to work out their issues enough to keep the peace.
Anyway, enough of that blather. It's a gorgeous afternoon; I've spent most of it reading peacefully in the quiet sunshine in my room. Now I'm hungry, and I'm going to dinner. Self-determination is a lovely thing.
Monday, October 1, 2007
OUCH!
↓THIS THING stabbed my foot. IN. MY. FOOT. Right through my shoe. See?→
Okay, so I'll back up a minute here. Sara and I went for a walk last night, because it was a lovely evening and we felt like taking a stroll around the 'burg. We went north on Seminary and ended up going rather farther than we'd expected (all the way to Fremont St., actually), and then we went back home via Academy. A grand total of 3.5 miles, according to Google Maps.
Anyway, during the eastbound portion of our trek, I managed to step on the monstrous bolt in the above picture, which punctured my flip-flop and the bottom of my left foot, necessitating a 15-block limp back to the house to fetch my wallet and then a 1:00 AM drive to the emergency room for a tetanus shot, during which I crushed the life out of Sara's hand.
And I ended up fifty dollars poorer, with a sore foot, achy arm, and unfinished journal entry for the class I ended up skipping today because I was too damn tired to go to it after being up so late last night. Oh, life.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My adventure with cars and a ditz
Yesterday evening, my mom had a meeting at church, and she also wanted to get some grocery shopping done. So she asked me if I would drop her off at the church, go get groceries, and then come back and pick her up. No problem. So I go drop her off, and as I'm pulling out of the parking space, I don't turn sharply enough, and I scrape the car behind me. Shit. So Mom comes hurrying back across the parking lot, and I hop out of the car and we go inspect the damage.
You can hardly see it. I mean, I didn't think I hit it very hard, but it was even less than I'd expected. No dents, barely a scratch; nothing much that won't come off with a bit of buffing. So Mom said to go on and get groceries, and she'd go in and find out whose car it was (assuming it was somebody in the meeting; I mean, who else would be parked in the church parking lot, right?) and it would be no problem. Seriously, if you didn't know it happened, you wouldn't notice the mark.
But no. As I'm getting back in the car and she's turning to go in the church, this chick comes running up from the house next door, looking like the sky is falling. Apparently the car belongs to her fiancé, and they can't park it in the garage or driveway on their property, due to some vague reasoning having to do with the landlady. (Right.) She asks if I hit the car, and we reply that yes, I did indeed make contact. She comes around to look at the front of her (fiancé's) car, and has to ask where the damage is. I would assume that having to have the damage pointed out would make one realize that it's not serious, but no, she says her fiancé is "paranoid" about his car and we'd better just call—well, who do we call? The insurance company, right? Or the police? She doesn't know—she's apparently on the point of a nervous breakdown or something. So my mom, amazing person that she is, is trying to communicate to the woman that we don't have to call anybody; there's not enough damage to meet any insurance deductible in existence, so we exchange phone numbers and info, and if repairs are required, we'll pay for it. No big deal. We'll come and buff it out ourselves; it's not difficult.
Well, no, we have to do it exactly by the book, 'cause her fiancé's paranoid, and he'll kill her if anything happens to his precious car, blah, blah, blah. (Sidenote: It's a dingy-looking, late-90s Pontiac Grand Prix. Does anyone else see the ridiculousness here?) So who do we call? Well, my mother says, first you call the police. The ditz is ready to call 911, I swear to god. So my mother (I'm really glad she was there; I woulda killed this chick. As it was, I didn't have to talk much.) explains to her that no, you don't call 911 for a parking lot ding, if you insist upon calling someone, you call the local police station. So she does, and we wait half an hour for a cop to finally show up, and when he gets there and sees the "damage," you can tell, he just can't believe he got called for this. So he gives us "exchange of information forms" and we exchange information, like Mom suggested we do in the first place, and so we ended up wasting 45 minutes getting each other's phone numbers.
My god, the stupidity.
So now we get to wait and see if her fiancé's as big an idiot as she is. I swear, if I end up paying for them to repaint the bumper on their decade-old Pontiac, I will lose what little faith I have left in humanity.
You can hardly see it. I mean, I didn't think I hit it very hard, but it was even less than I'd expected. No dents, barely a scratch; nothing much that won't come off with a bit of buffing. So Mom said to go on and get groceries, and she'd go in and find out whose car it was (assuming it was somebody in the meeting; I mean, who else would be parked in the church parking lot, right?) and it would be no problem. Seriously, if you didn't know it happened, you wouldn't notice the mark.
But no. As I'm getting back in the car and she's turning to go in the church, this chick comes running up from the house next door, looking like the sky is falling. Apparently the car belongs to her fiancé, and they can't park it in the garage or driveway on their property, due to some vague reasoning having to do with the landlady. (Right.) She asks if I hit the car, and we reply that yes, I did indeed make contact. She comes around to look at the front of her (fiancé's) car, and has to ask where the damage is. I would assume that having to have the damage pointed out would make one realize that it's not serious, but no, she says her fiancé is "paranoid" about his car and we'd better just call—well, who do we call? The insurance company, right? Or the police? She doesn't know—she's apparently on the point of a nervous breakdown or something. So my mom, amazing person that she is, is trying to communicate to the woman that we don't have to call anybody; there's not enough damage to meet any insurance deductible in existence, so we exchange phone numbers and info, and if repairs are required, we'll pay for it. No big deal. We'll come and buff it out ourselves; it's not difficult.
Well, no, we have to do it exactly by the book, 'cause her fiancé's paranoid, and he'll kill her if anything happens to his precious car, blah, blah, blah. (Sidenote: It's a dingy-looking, late-90s Pontiac Grand Prix. Does anyone else see the ridiculousness here?) So who do we call? Well, my mother says, first you call the police. The ditz is ready to call 911, I swear to god. So my mother (I'm really glad she was there; I woulda killed this chick. As it was, I didn't have to talk much.) explains to her that no, you don't call 911 for a parking lot ding, if you insist upon calling someone, you call the local police station. So she does, and we wait half an hour for a cop to finally show up, and when he gets there and sees the "damage," you can tell, he just can't believe he got called for this. So he gives us "exchange of information forms" and we exchange information, like Mom suggested we do in the first place, and so we ended up wasting 45 minutes getting each other's phone numbers.
My god, the stupidity.
So now we get to wait and see if her fiancé's as big an idiot as she is. I swear, if I end up paying for them to repaint the bumper on their decade-old Pontiac, I will lose what little faith I have left in humanity.
Monday, August 20, 2007
relaxing afternoon
It's been raining all day. Most of the past few days, actually. This rather limits my mobility, given my current driving policy and my desire to stay relatively dry. I was feeling particularly disappointed this morning, because I'd composed a couple of emails last night and was hoping at least to get to the library today to send them. And of course, I haven't been on a decent bike ride in at least a week, and was considering this as a possible addition to my afternoon activities. But no, the morning's thunderstorms have been followed seamlessly with a strong, steady rain that has rendered me stationary, at least until four o'clock obliges me to go pick up Michael when he gets off the bus.
Having little else to do, I retired to my room and commenced reading, thinking to finish a few more chapters in Frankenstein before I got too bored. I had previously found the book oppressively dull, and so I despaired of finding some way to entertain myself when it grew too tedious, but I resolved to cross that bridge when I came to it, and settled down to read. I found myself pleasantly surprised, however, with the rest of the story. Perhaps it just suited my mood today; at any rate, I ended up finishing the whole thing.
I must say, I'd forgotten how delightful it can be, on a gray and dreary day such as this one, to sprawl out upon one's bed and become entirely lost in fiction. The house was quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, and my only soundtrack was the steady tapping of the rain outside my open window. I began with the intention of reading another few chapters, spending perhaps half an hour, and ended up over two hours later, looking up from the last page with the realization that my feet were numb with cold and I desperately needed to use the restroom. I haven't done that in a good long while, and it reminded me quite pleasantly of long afternoons I used to spend thus occupied as a child. It's good to know I can still do that.
And now four o'clock approaches, and I must be off to pick up Michael at Mom's house. I shall use the wireless internet there to post this and send my emails. Excellent.
Having little else to do, I retired to my room and commenced reading, thinking to finish a few more chapters in Frankenstein before I got too bored. I had previously found the book oppressively dull, and so I despaired of finding some way to entertain myself when it grew too tedious, but I resolved to cross that bridge when I came to it, and settled down to read. I found myself pleasantly surprised, however, with the rest of the story. Perhaps it just suited my mood today; at any rate, I ended up finishing the whole thing.
I must say, I'd forgotten how delightful it can be, on a gray and dreary day such as this one, to sprawl out upon one's bed and become entirely lost in fiction. The house was quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, and my only soundtrack was the steady tapping of the rain outside my open window. I began with the intention of reading another few chapters, spending perhaps half an hour, and ended up over two hours later, looking up from the last page with the realization that my feet were numb with cold and I desperately needed to use the restroom. I haven't done that in a good long while, and it reminded me quite pleasantly of long afternoons I used to spend thus occupied as a child. It's good to know I can still do that.
And now four o'clock approaches, and I must be off to pick up Michael at Mom's house. I shall use the wireless internet there to post this and send my emails. Excellent.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I live! and other miscellany
Woo, I return! So, the past three weeks, Kim was here, and then I was at Kim's, and in short, I wasn't online like, at all. I know, I know, you missed me terribly, all you imaginary people who read this stupid thing.
Anyway, yeah, well, nothing much has been going on anyway, so it's not like I've failed to report anything noteworthy. My mother's in China, and I'm chillin' at Dad's, like I have been for most of the summer, so, nothing new. I went to a ballroom dance at IPFW on Saturday with John, and it was pretty frickin' sweet. Except, of course, for the fact that I wore my new shoes, forgot to bring Band-Aids, and ended up with a grand total of seven more or less huge blisters on my feet. I was limping all of yesterday. But it was fun nonetheless. AND (drumroll please) a guy asked for my number. Of course, it couldn't be some hot college student (honestly, I didn't really see any of those there, though there were college kids around); no, it was this guy, I'm pretty sure his name is Scott, but I could be completely wrong, as I'm completely awful with names. But anyway, I've seen him at the studio I've been going to with Mom, and we've danced before, and he seems like a nice enough guy, if a little on the geeky/socially awkward side. But the thing is, I was (and still am, honestly) under the impression that he was significantly older than me, like, late twenties at least, possibly thirty or so. So, I'm not really sure how this rates on the creepy scale. I mean, I hardly know the guy (I can't even for sure remember his name!), so I don't wanna pass judgment or anything, but, well, eh. I dunno. I told him I didn't have a cell phone and gave him my email instead, so, we'll see. He hasn't emailed me yet, which I take as a good sign; hopefully that means he's not creepily obsessed or something. *sigh* Where's my prince charming, dammit?!
Anyway, in completely unrelated news, my dad is being weird this evening and it's getting on my nerves. Adults should not be allowed to act like children. Just...no. But I made a reasonably non-disgusting vegetable stir-fry this evening, and for a first attempt, I consider that a success. Michael actually said he liked it a lot, which amazed me, being that it was composed entirely of vegetables and tofu. I love being pleasantly surprised. It was kind of funny though, when I went to the store; going through the checkout line, I had a sudden image of what the lady checking me out was thinking of me. Here I was in sandals and a tie-dye t-shirt, my hair in braids, checking out with a bunch of fresh (some organic) produce and package of tofu, explaining to my little brother the difference between two brands of veggie burgers. Total hippie, you could see it on her face. But she seemed to not mind and was quite friendly, which is not always guaranteed around here. I enjoyed myself, anyway, and my dinner was, if not the most delectable thing I've tried, at least passable. My skills shall improve, I am certain, with practice.
Anyway, yeah, well, nothing much has been going on anyway, so it's not like I've failed to report anything noteworthy. My mother's in China, and I'm chillin' at Dad's, like I have been for most of the summer, so, nothing new. I went to a ballroom dance at IPFW on Saturday with John, and it was pretty frickin' sweet. Except, of course, for the fact that I wore my new shoes, forgot to bring Band-Aids, and ended up with a grand total of seven more or less huge blisters on my feet. I was limping all of yesterday. But it was fun nonetheless. AND (drumroll please) a guy asked for my number. Of course, it couldn't be some hot college student (honestly, I didn't really see any of those there, though there were college kids around); no, it was this guy, I'm pretty sure his name is Scott, but I could be completely wrong, as I'm completely awful with names. But anyway, I've seen him at the studio I've been going to with Mom, and we've danced before, and he seems like a nice enough guy, if a little on the geeky/socially awkward side. But the thing is, I was (and still am, honestly) under the impression that he was significantly older than me, like, late twenties at least, possibly thirty or so. So, I'm not really sure how this rates on the creepy scale. I mean, I hardly know the guy (I can't even for sure remember his name!), so I don't wanna pass judgment or anything, but, well, eh. I dunno. I told him I didn't have a cell phone and gave him my email instead, so, we'll see. He hasn't emailed me yet, which I take as a good sign; hopefully that means he's not creepily obsessed or something. *sigh* Where's my prince charming, dammit?!
Anyway, in completely unrelated news, my dad is being weird this evening and it's getting on my nerves. Adults should not be allowed to act like children. Just...no. But I made a reasonably non-disgusting vegetable stir-fry this evening, and for a first attempt, I consider that a success. Michael actually said he liked it a lot, which amazed me, being that it was composed entirely of vegetables and tofu. I love being pleasantly surprised. It was kind of funny though, when I went to the store; going through the checkout line, I had a sudden image of what the lady checking me out was thinking of me. Here I was in sandals and a tie-dye t-shirt, my hair in braids, checking out with a bunch of fresh (some organic) produce and package of tofu, explaining to my little brother the difference between two brands of veggie burgers. Total hippie, you could see it on her face. But she seemed to not mind and was quite friendly, which is not always guaranteed around here. I enjoyed myself, anyway, and my dinner was, if not the most delectable thing I've tried, at least passable. My skills shall improve, I am certain, with practice.
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