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Sep. 7th, 2004 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosSo, I'm back after a busy weekend, desperately needing to shower (ick, it took me ten total hours from getting onto the bus to walking into the apartment). And if you want to know what I did this weekend, herein is where I ramble.
Saturday
I get up on Saturday at the butt-crack of dawn and catch a taxi to the bus station in DC. I'm so out of it, I go to the bus station wearing my top backwards, and I say that like I care. I get on the bus, curl up with a bottle of raspberry lemonade, and start watching Buckaroo Banzai.
Halfway through, I fall asleep. Not because it's bad, which it wasn't, but because I forgot I was in a coma until my eyelids reminded me.
Eight hours later, I'm in downtown Scranton, six blocks from the bus station. An hour after that, we make it to the bus station, because nothing says "urban renewal" like somehow refurbishing the same building for about a year, and doing so from the middle lane of traffic while closing the two lanes in between. The bus pulls in, and I spot my brother, who's picking up a pretty girl in the parking lot, like you do.
I get in the car and we immediately head home. Er, I meant Burger King. And then American Eagle Outfitters. And then FYE. And then Spencer's Gifts. Okay, wait ... now we're home. I am fresh out of an eight-hour bus ride, I've been dragged out to the mall, I'm tired, I'm sweaty, so of course, the first thing I want to do upon getting home is go to the Italian Festival in Scranton with my parents. I try to change clothes while a cat winds his way around my legs so fast my ankles may have gone back in time.
So my parents and I head off to pick up my cousin Laurie and her husband Kevin. I'm stuck listening to Jimmy Buffett for a half hour straight, the downside being that I could have sworn doing so for longer than fifteen minutes at a time caused a margarita to spontaneously appear in your hand.
We head off to Scranton to wander the Italian Festival, where I learn several things -- I will do anything within reason and even a few things beyond human comprehension for funnel cake, my cousin Laurie is voting for Bush because "we know what we'll be getting with him, at least," I can manage to keep from throttling Laurie even when I'm premenstrual, and the second I left Northeastern Pennsylvania, dozens of eligible hot men moved in. Gee, thanks, guys.
Then we go home, where Spencer, the most friendly cat, has decided that while he can't remember me all that well, I have hands with opposable thumbs that can open cat food cans and he is therefore my willing slave. Methinks I need to establish a height requirement for my slaves.
********
Sunday
I wake up on Sunday to discover that my help is not needed for the cookout (yay!) and my brother is heading off with his friends to Perkins (and is not taking me, the bastard). I proceed to spend the rest of my morning plotting my TroNoWriMo.
By the way, if you've seen the sequence in The Day After Tomorrow where Jake Gyllenhaal is chased by fuckin' frost, then you have a good idea of the weather conditions in Forest City on Sunday. I rummage in the attic for heavy parkas and a sled dog team. Curiously enough considering the outside temps, we have neither. (I do, however, find a gazikajillion old MP3 CDs I made a while back that may or may not still have viable music on them. What with my usual reaction to blank CDs being "Look, Frisbees!", I am pretty sure a good chunk of them might not work, alas. I also found my monkey. Do with that information what you will.)
Relatives start arriving. Everybody tells me my red hair looks nice, so of course, my loving and supportive Aunt Marion tells me it looks like shit. My aunt and uncle bring my year-old cousin Erin, who's spoiled rotten and won't leave their side or let strangers pick her up without wailing. Laurie dares me to pick her up. I tell her to set fire to the neighbor's house and I'll have a good reason to.
My mother suddenly whips out an ice cream cake from nowhere and everybody sings Happy Birthday to Aunt Marion and I, who share the same birthday. Mom gives me a big pile of DVDs, and I resist the urge to look at my aunt Phyllis and point and laugh, because I now have fifty more DVDs than she does. Obviously, I'm turning five at the end of the month.
Bryan shows up with his friends Jonathan and Kevin, who's sporting a monster black eye. Apparently, Bryan, Kevin and Jonathan got taunted by a couple of older guys (Bryan's 18, the other two are 16, and the guys who taunted them were in their early-to-mid twenties) and Kevin went to fight them and got the shit beat out of them. Bryan and Jonathan told everybody that they refused to fight the guys, and once they heard "a couple of black guys", my family -- being the loving nuts that they are -- said they should have had the fight. Then when the kids left the room, the family proceeded to tell my mother that they shouldn't have fought, and it was good they hadn't, so she should go tell them so. Once again, proof that my entire family is collectively schizophrenic. (During this, my uncle Richie uses the phrase "black jellybeans". I feel the need to mention once again that I was premenstrual and at no time did I shove his bottle of Smirnoff and mine up his nostrils.)
After this, every person at the party proceeds to ask me when I'm getting married and/or offers to set me up with someone. I double-check all the cabinets for one of those number-dispensing machines like at the butcher, but alas, there was none. After all this time, I finally develop enough common sense to start avoiding people.
The party dispenses, and my brother and I go to see "Hero". Boy, that was pretty, and desperately in need of a Q&A review, if you know what I mean. On the way home, Bryan mentions the fight and says that he "hates black people". Still premenstrual, but you'll notice that there wasn't any Oddly Enough news on Yahoo! about an eighteen-year-old in Pennsylvania whose sister ripped off his car's steering column and shoved it up his ass. I grind my teeth to powder and point out that he doesn't hate black people, he just hates assholes. Reluctantly, he agrees. I swear that if I ever hear that shit from him again, I'm going to make up for the fact that at no time in our childhoods did I ever beat the crap out of him, and I've got tons of punches to very personal body parts due to me.
********
Monday
I wake up, and everybody's gone. Goodbye, everybody!
I sit down and work on TroNoWriMo pretty much all day, although I don't have a precise word count right now because, well, food first, writing second. (But this is the only time that rule doesn't go the other way around, honest. Witch's honor.) All of this writing stuff is made difficult by marathons of Monk, Night Court, and CSI, of which all of the "Best Of" episodes featured Warrick taking off his shirt. No, seriously. I kept track.
My mother comes home from shopping ad says she bought me something. It turns out it's a long-sleeved T-shirt with a cute cartoon guy on it writing in a journal with the caption, "Write on." I squeal at the top of my lungs and thank Mom for the rest of the day. Mmm ... pretty shirt. *hugs*
********
And that's about it, because today was mostly sit on bus, deal with weirdos.
Ick. Still need shower. And also, to write. *scurries off to work on the TroNoWriMo story*
EDIT: Also, thanks for the T-shirt, AW! *hugs* Now to do the dance of new T-shirts ...
Saturday
I get up on Saturday at the butt-crack of dawn and catch a taxi to the bus station in DC. I'm so out of it, I go to the bus station wearing my top backwards, and I say that like I care. I get on the bus, curl up with a bottle of raspberry lemonade, and start watching Buckaroo Banzai.
Halfway through, I fall asleep. Not because it's bad, which it wasn't, but because I forgot I was in a coma until my eyelids reminded me.
Eight hours later, I'm in downtown Scranton, six blocks from the bus station. An hour after that, we make it to the bus station, because nothing says "urban renewal" like somehow refurbishing the same building for about a year, and doing so from the middle lane of traffic while closing the two lanes in between. The bus pulls in, and I spot my brother, who's picking up a pretty girl in the parking lot, like you do.
I get in the car and we immediately head home. Er, I meant Burger King. And then American Eagle Outfitters. And then FYE. And then Spencer's Gifts. Okay, wait ... now we're home. I am fresh out of an eight-hour bus ride, I've been dragged out to the mall, I'm tired, I'm sweaty, so of course, the first thing I want to do upon getting home is go to the Italian Festival in Scranton with my parents. I try to change clothes while a cat winds his way around my legs so fast my ankles may have gone back in time.
So my parents and I head off to pick up my cousin Laurie and her husband Kevin. I'm stuck listening to Jimmy Buffett for a half hour straight, the downside being that I could have sworn doing so for longer than fifteen minutes at a time caused a margarita to spontaneously appear in your hand.
We head off to Scranton to wander the Italian Festival, where I learn several things -- I will do anything within reason and even a few things beyond human comprehension for funnel cake, my cousin Laurie is voting for Bush because "we know what we'll be getting with him, at least," I can manage to keep from throttling Laurie even when I'm premenstrual, and the second I left Northeastern Pennsylvania, dozens of eligible hot men moved in. Gee, thanks, guys.
Then we go home, where Spencer, the most friendly cat, has decided that while he can't remember me all that well, I have hands with opposable thumbs that can open cat food cans and he is therefore my willing slave. Methinks I need to establish a height requirement for my slaves.
********
Sunday
I wake up on Sunday to discover that my help is not needed for the cookout (yay!) and my brother is heading off with his friends to Perkins (and is not taking me, the bastard). I proceed to spend the rest of my morning plotting my TroNoWriMo.
By the way, if you've seen the sequence in The Day After Tomorrow where Jake Gyllenhaal is chased by fuckin' frost, then you have a good idea of the weather conditions in Forest City on Sunday. I rummage in the attic for heavy parkas and a sled dog team. Curiously enough considering the outside temps, we have neither. (I do, however, find a gazikajillion old MP3 CDs I made a while back that may or may not still have viable music on them. What with my usual reaction to blank CDs being "Look, Frisbees!", I am pretty sure a good chunk of them might not work, alas. I also found my monkey. Do with that information what you will.)
Relatives start arriving. Everybody tells me my red hair looks nice, so of course, my loving and supportive Aunt Marion tells me it looks like shit. My aunt and uncle bring my year-old cousin Erin, who's spoiled rotten and won't leave their side or let strangers pick her up without wailing. Laurie dares me to pick her up. I tell her to set fire to the neighbor's house and I'll have a good reason to.
My mother suddenly whips out an ice cream cake from nowhere and everybody sings Happy Birthday to Aunt Marion and I, who share the same birthday. Mom gives me a big pile of DVDs, and I resist the urge to look at my aunt Phyllis and point and laugh, because I now have fifty more DVDs than she does. Obviously, I'm turning five at the end of the month.
Bryan shows up with his friends Jonathan and Kevin, who's sporting a monster black eye. Apparently, Bryan, Kevin and Jonathan got taunted by a couple of older guys (Bryan's 18, the other two are 16, and the guys who taunted them were in their early-to-mid twenties) and Kevin went to fight them and got the shit beat out of them. Bryan and Jonathan told everybody that they refused to fight the guys, and once they heard "a couple of black guys", my family -- being the loving nuts that they are -- said they should have had the fight. Then when the kids left the room, the family proceeded to tell my mother that they shouldn't have fought, and it was good they hadn't, so she should go tell them so. Once again, proof that my entire family is collectively schizophrenic. (During this, my uncle Richie uses the phrase "black jellybeans". I feel the need to mention once again that I was premenstrual and at no time did I shove his bottle of Smirnoff and mine up his nostrils.)
After this, every person at the party proceeds to ask me when I'm getting married and/or offers to set me up with someone. I double-check all the cabinets for one of those number-dispensing machines like at the butcher, but alas, there was none. After all this time, I finally develop enough common sense to start avoiding people.
The party dispenses, and my brother and I go to see "Hero". Boy, that was pretty, and desperately in need of a Q&A review, if you know what I mean. On the way home, Bryan mentions the fight and says that he "hates black people". Still premenstrual, but you'll notice that there wasn't any Oddly Enough news on Yahoo! about an eighteen-year-old in Pennsylvania whose sister ripped off his car's steering column and shoved it up his ass. I grind my teeth to powder and point out that he doesn't hate black people, he just hates assholes. Reluctantly, he agrees. I swear that if I ever hear that shit from him again, I'm going to make up for the fact that at no time in our childhoods did I ever beat the crap out of him, and I've got tons of punches to very personal body parts due to me.
********
Monday
I wake up, and everybody's gone. Goodbye, everybody!
I sit down and work on TroNoWriMo pretty much all day, although I don't have a precise word count right now because, well, food first, writing second. (But this is the only time that rule doesn't go the other way around, honest. Witch's honor.) All of this writing stuff is made difficult by marathons of Monk, Night Court, and CSI, of which all of the "Best Of" episodes featured Warrick taking off his shirt. No, seriously. I kept track.
My mother comes home from shopping ad says she bought me something. It turns out it's a long-sleeved T-shirt with a cute cartoon guy on it writing in a journal with the caption, "Write on." I squeal at the top of my lungs and thank Mom for the rest of the day. Mmm ... pretty shirt. *hugs*
********
And that's about it, because today was mostly sit on bus, deal with weirdos.
Ick. Still need shower. And also, to write. *scurries off to work on the TroNoWriMo story*
EDIT: Also, thanks for the T-shirt, AW! *hugs* Now to do the dance of new T-shirts ...
