so, my lymph nodes are swollen on the left side up my neck and near my ear and jaw and collarbone. i should be freaking out right now, but i'm abnormally calm and resisting every effort in googling 'out of remission?' and 'lymphoma'. people have spreading around germies at work so i kinda hope that i have the flu or some really crappy cold and not the other thing. unless it gets worse, i'm not making a doctor's appointment. why? because if it is the other thing, i'd like to have a couple weeks without testing and waiting, testing and waiting. that sounds pretty selfish of me, and it is. i can't really explain it without sounding like a spoiled kid. cross your fingers for a cold, okay? i think it's a cold anyways!
i've never really been consistently pro-active about my health, but i've always been pro-active about my dad's health. seriously. i buy all these foods to trick my dad into eating better. i make him go to the doctor when he's sick or evenwhen he's not for check ups. i'm always trying to get him to go to NIH for those sleep apnea tests because i swear he has that condition. i make him take vitamins. when i was in middle school, he was home and my grandmother told me he was very, very sick. i went upstairs, and my dad was in fetal position puking his guts out over the side of the bed. i totally freaked out and started crying and told him i was driving him to the hospital. my mom ended up taking him....like eight hours later, and he ended up having major surgery. my aunt took me to visit him, and i ended up sobbing so loudly and so badly that she had to take me outside. i get kind of sensitive when i talk about my dad.
i probably get my storytelling abilities from him. he spent most of his life traveling far away from here, even when i was younger. he would bring back all sorts of weirdness (and candy) from his trips. i was a budding philatist as a kid so i have stamps from every country he visited, most from postcards he used to send. he also brought his camera, which i think was pretty advanced for the time. so, i was able to see all the pigeons on my dad's arms in venice (literally hundreds), basque country platters of food (for which i am very jealous), his little hotel room in china with take-out chicken feet on the table, the costumes (and insanity) of rio carinval, and belgium, belgium, belgium. my dad loves beligium. he hasn't been there in years, but he still talks about it like he just left and is about to go back. the people are nice, he says. the food is so delicious, but he can make it at home, he says. i crossed that bridge before, he says. il est belge.
actually, i probably also got my nomadic nature from him because if anyone's trips had an impact on me, they were those of my dad.
now, we're both stuck with jobs that imprison us in one area. haha. i shouldn't say that. i think dad is content to only work until 230 and get every single international relations question right on jeopardy. he's watches anthony bourdain and says 'i've been there.' it's kinda annoying, but i'm glad that he's proud.
i have no idea how to end this post. i could probably talk about my dad and his adventures for a long time. god knows i have all the stories.
well, that's it. i'm done! i want pancakes so i'm leaving!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
twenty five overshares
1. i have some mega authority issues. i hate when people tell me what to do. i'm much more receptive if someone treats me as an equal.
2. there is never a better time for pancakes than the time at hand. in fact, i'm eating one right now.
3. i hear i'm hard to surprise.
4. whenever i visit richmond, something terrible ends up happening. (the charlie on grace street fiasco a la october 2008)
5. zero is the number of times people should call me if they want reliable directions.
6. my myers-briggs type indicator is INFP. my keirsey temperament is idealist; my role variant is 'healer'.
7. marrakesh is at the top of my travel list.
8. i despise the snow. there really is never a time that i enjoy the snow. not even on christmas.
9. i am pretty self conscious about my voice. it seems to attract lecherous men.
10. i have over 300 books and no book shelf.
11. i don't believe in making things from scratch just to say that you made them from scratch.
12. i can't stand peanut butter.
13. generally, i'm pretty cheerful. it's kinda annoying. i even annoy myself sometimes.
14. i think a decent amount of my childhood was spent in a commissary. my dad usually found me in the fruit roll-up aisle.
15. andrew, valencia and i were three of those people that actually made it to the radiohead show last may. two other friends were turned away because of the flooding. i broke two umbrellas, had to replace my phone due to water damage, shivered in the rain with a non-hoodie, and then caught a hack-up-your-lung illness. i love radiohead.
16. the top three artists that make rounds on my ipod are: lewis black, vampire weekend, and radiohead.
17. my longest relationship lasted for seven years. the shortest lasted for a week and a half.
18. i have a ukelele, which i like to play in the middle of the night.
19. my first major crush was on egon spengler. so far, everyone i have dated has been some kind of mad scientist/inventor person. coincidence? i think not.
20. when i was completing my senior thesis in college, i kept all of my documentation (literature reviews, drafts, tapes of my interviews, etc.) in a neon orange accordion folder so i could grab it in case of a fire or another run-out-the-door kind of emergency.
21. i keep a copy of the star wars intergalactic phrasebook in my glove compartment. just in case.
22. i haven't eaten mcdonalds since 2006. i don't plan on eating anything from there ever again.
23. i like being around people who actually give a shit.
24. whenever i am having a very, very, bad day, i listen to a very old recording of brandin reading to me. i don't know what he's reading because it's incoherent because he's laughing so much. because he's reading it over some pet shop boys music. i've only listened to it twice since he died.
25. i love dc. i really do. it's such an lovely little city. don't believe me? go to the khalil gibran memorial garden and sit on the wall around 4am. you'll have the best view in town, and you'll get to see it wake up. all those crazy record spots, hipster (ew) coffee bars...oh i love it.
2. there is never a better time for pancakes than the time at hand. in fact, i'm eating one right now.
3. i hear i'm hard to surprise.
4. whenever i visit richmond, something terrible ends up happening. (the charlie on grace street fiasco a la october 2008)
5. zero is the number of times people should call me if they want reliable directions.
6. my myers-briggs type indicator is INFP. my keirsey temperament is idealist; my role variant is 'healer'.
7. marrakesh is at the top of my travel list.
8. i despise the snow. there really is never a time that i enjoy the snow. not even on christmas.
9. i am pretty self conscious about my voice. it seems to attract lecherous men.
10. i have over 300 books and no book shelf.
11. i don't believe in making things from scratch just to say that you made them from scratch.
12. i can't stand peanut butter.
13. generally, i'm pretty cheerful. it's kinda annoying. i even annoy myself sometimes.
14. i think a decent amount of my childhood was spent in a commissary. my dad usually found me in the fruit roll-up aisle.
15. andrew, valencia and i were three of those people that actually made it to the radiohead show last may. two other friends were turned away because of the flooding. i broke two umbrellas, had to replace my phone due to water damage, shivered in the rain with a non-hoodie, and then caught a hack-up-your-lung illness. i love radiohead.
16. the top three artists that make rounds on my ipod are: lewis black, vampire weekend, and radiohead.
17. my longest relationship lasted for seven years. the shortest lasted for a week and a half.
18. i have a ukelele, which i like to play in the middle of the night.
19. my first major crush was on egon spengler. so far, everyone i have dated has been some kind of mad scientist/inventor person. coincidence? i think not.
20. when i was completing my senior thesis in college, i kept all of my documentation (literature reviews, drafts, tapes of my interviews, etc.) in a neon orange accordion folder so i could grab it in case of a fire or another run-out-the-door kind of emergency.
21. i keep a copy of the star wars intergalactic phrasebook in my glove compartment. just in case.
22. i haven't eaten mcdonalds since 2006. i don't plan on eating anything from there ever again.
23. i like being around people who actually give a shit.
24. whenever i am having a very, very, bad day, i listen to a very old recording of brandin reading to me. i don't know what he's reading because it's incoherent because he's laughing so much. because he's reading it over some pet shop boys music. i've only listened to it twice since he died.
25. i love dc. i really do. it's such an lovely little city. don't believe me? go to the khalil gibran memorial garden and sit on the wall around 4am. you'll have the best view in town, and you'll get to see it wake up. all those crazy record spots, hipster (ew) coffee bars...oh i love it.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
making the zombie hut into a reality and other weird affairs
unhand me, zombie menace!
for the past two nights, i've had a couple of intense dreams about zombies. nothing surprising there, yeah? but in both of my dreams, i've lived in a straw/tin hut with my friends. a hut on stilts, filled to the brim with board games in disheveled boxes. the sun would hit the horizon, and my friends and i would climb up rope ladders to the safety of our home and pretend we were in an attic. we'd play a rousing game of clue and try to drown out the sound of nails raking across the tin walls. last night's dream included an escape plan to a bigger hut. unsuccessful.
i woke up in a state of panic because i thought i was about to be undead chum because this zombie priest (yeah, i know.) had grabbed my hand as i was trying to jump from hut roof to hut roof. it turns out my hand was lingering near a window. and. it. is. cold.
* coat kitten. noun. one who talks a lot of smack about being able to brave the winter months and then as soon as he or she steps outside starts whining and then ends up in someone else's coat because the samaritan friend doesn't want to hear it any more.
TICKER NOTES
christ, it's a lion!
so, i just finished off a peanut butter sandwich. i got the memo on the whole 'DO NOT EAT PEANUT BUTTER IF YOU WANT TO LIVE' thing, but i also really wanted peanut butter, which is a rarity anyways because usually i can't stand the stuff. aieee!!! living on the edge!!!
this calls for a parade.
a couple of months ago, i was jumping up and down, hugging strangers, and crying on u street. now, in less than twenty four hours, obama will take oath just hop, skip, and jump away from here [insert fist pumping 'yessssss!' here]
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
someone call the monarchy, we have an imposter on our hands
alligator notes.
let me preface this by saying i just had a really bad day. yes, work is kind of insane. yes, i chose to slice off my hair without thinking (yet again) about blustery winds. but, i really am having a shit day. perhaps, it's just one of those days when everything going wrong converges on me. these days occur too often nowadays. i find myself wandering around my own memories of happier, less complicated times. i guess, sometimes you have to laugh at the universe's infinite joke. everything changes. blah blah blah.
i haven't been able to write in months. no meaningful posts. no additions to the novel. not even a paragraph on desire or devastation. i sit in front of my desk, waiting for words to spew out my fingers and instead, i get a bunch of crap on how i'm having a bad day and how i can't find the inspiration to form pretty sentences. a friend of mine asked me to write about my adventures in the romantic world, in which there is a vast amount of story telling to be had, but i think things are getting a little too real for me, and writing about the lack of mental connection and surplus of whatever remains is actually starting to get to me.
you're not good enough for me, snob!
a new friend of mine (i only say new because we've not hung out as often as most people i hang out with) sent me an email. he made a sideways comment about how i'm a little snobby, and i don't know why, but that has REALLY messed with my head. i've been hurtling staple removers across my desk since. i don't normally give a shit what most people think about me because i'm used to being the odd bug. but. i am really bothered by this. am i snobby? do i condescend to people without even knowing it? i have no idea. i called up some of my close friends and asked other folks whether or not they get that impression about me and the consensus is that i'm not a snob. (though, let the record show that valencia thinks i am a music snob and does not think that that is a bad thing.) so why the hell is this bothering me so much?
because a boy. made me laugh. and i made him laugh. and now we don't speak. now i'm getting phased out.
...
yeah, i know. i'm actually somewhat pissed that i'm even thinking about this and feel like i'm falling into that stupid trap of tradition. i've taken something that someone said, applied it to a sensitive situation and then used it to pretty much paralyze my brain for a day (yet, i'm sure i'll be thinking about this for awhile). a bit of me wants to know if he, the boy who made me laugh, also thought i was a condescending wench. if it was the lack of the click, then eeeeeeeeyyy...it happens, you know? but if it really was the way i come across, if i really come across as being a snobby know it all, then i am really saddened by that. and a completely panicked part of myself is wondering if i looked like complete and utter shit.
crap. what the hell did i wear anyways?
it seems like the older i've become, the more resistant i am to the idea settling down. but it doesn't mean i want to be some lonely mean lady on a porch with eight cats. that is a hard thing to balance and even a harder thing to explain. and it's definitely not something i would subject someone to...especially if they were a secret traditionalist who wanted a (itsanicedayfora) WHITE WEDDING.
i guess i'll see what happens.
[probably nothing. damn.]
let me preface this by saying i just had a really bad day. yes, work is kind of insane. yes, i chose to slice off my hair without thinking (yet again) about blustery winds. but, i really am having a shit day. perhaps, it's just one of those days when everything going wrong converges on me. these days occur too often nowadays. i find myself wandering around my own memories of happier, less complicated times. i guess, sometimes you have to laugh at the universe's infinite joke. everything changes. blah blah blah.
i haven't been able to write in months. no meaningful posts. no additions to the novel. not even a paragraph on desire or devastation. i sit in front of my desk, waiting for words to spew out my fingers and instead, i get a bunch of crap on how i'm having a bad day and how i can't find the inspiration to form pretty sentences. a friend of mine asked me to write about my adventures in the romantic world, in which there is a vast amount of story telling to be had, but i think things are getting a little too real for me, and writing about the lack of mental connection and surplus of whatever remains is actually starting to get to me.
you're not good enough for me, snob!
a new friend of mine (i only say new because we've not hung out as often as most people i hang out with) sent me an email. he made a sideways comment about how i'm a little snobby, and i don't know why, but that has REALLY messed with my head. i've been hurtling staple removers across my desk since. i don't normally give a shit what most people think about me because i'm used to being the odd bug. but. i am really bothered by this. am i snobby? do i condescend to people without even knowing it? i have no idea. i called up some of my close friends and asked other folks whether or not they get that impression about me and the consensus is that i'm not a snob. (though, let the record show that valencia thinks i am a music snob and does not think that that is a bad thing.) so why the hell is this bothering me so much?
because a boy. made me laugh. and i made him laugh. and now we don't speak. now i'm getting phased out.
...
yeah, i know. i'm actually somewhat pissed that i'm even thinking about this and feel like i'm falling into that stupid trap of tradition. i've taken something that someone said, applied it to a sensitive situation and then used it to pretty much paralyze my brain for a day (yet, i'm sure i'll be thinking about this for awhile). a bit of me wants to know if he, the boy who made me laugh, also thought i was a condescending wench. if it was the lack of the click, then eeeeeeeeyyy...it happens, you know? but if it really was the way i come across, if i really come across as being a snobby know it all, then i am really saddened by that. and a completely panicked part of myself is wondering if i looked like complete and utter shit.
crap. what the hell did i wear anyways?
it seems like the older i've become, the more resistant i am to the idea settling down. but it doesn't mean i want to be some lonely mean lady on a porch with eight cats. that is a hard thing to balance and even a harder thing to explain. and it's definitely not something i would subject someone to...especially if they were a secret traditionalist who wanted a (itsanicedayfora) WHITE WEDDING.
i guess i'll see what happens.
[probably nothing. damn.]
Sunday, December 28, 2008
my mind always goes back to this.
the last time luca came here before he died. we sat on the wall that overlooked the city and just talked about pointless shit. it was nice. that's the way i like to remember him. and brandin even. sitting on brick walls at 2 am, keeping watch over a sleeping city.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
i can never find my metro cards...even in my dreams.
this is going to sound very incoherent because i just woke up and i'm actually typing with my eyes closed because the screen is so bright. but i had another one of those 'wtf!' dreams with people who i haven't talked to in quite some time. or at all.
so, i'm attending some conference in dc. i'm on the metro with some other conference-goers, and i'm trying to get back to columbia heights. i'm looking out the window and talking out the time, but unbeknown to me, the columbia heights stop is all of a sudden above ground and i don't recognize it. instead, i end up taking the same train for about 3 hours, and end up in montmartre (!!!). it's beautiful. like something straight out of a movie...but the city looks like it just passed industrial age...everything looks so steampunk. the eiffel tower is in the background, and there are so many bridges (a la amsterdam)...and even the sun is setting. and i swear to you, there are newspaper boys wearing berets.
i haven't gotten off the metro yet, but it seems like montmartre runs forever. i find one of my conference goer friends on the train. and he is actually someone i met at a conference in honolulu and with whom i wish i had actually exchanged contact info. (real life note: all i remember about him is he worked in cleveland...i think as some kind of academic counselor. and he had his layover in denver. and he had glasses. he was pretty nice though. and i had all these work related questions for him...anyyyyyways.) but there he is, he tells me that i can just get off at the next station and take the train back to dc, and i kinda get pissed because obviously, that would have crossed my mind...undoing the last action and all. i say goodbye to montmartre, get off the train to get on the platform to get back to columbia heights. by myself.
only, as soon as i get off, i scream 'waait!!!' and i see the honolulu-conference-dude look sadly back at me from the last metro window. in my haste, i had forgotten my stupid metro card on my seat. i stand on the platform, shuffling through my cards: driver's license, student ID, and insurance card. no sign of my credit card in my wallet...but in an extra dose of reality, i reach into my jeans pocket and there it is...enveloped with a michaels' crushed coupon shield for 40% off of any regular item. i quickly buy a new smart trip, which looks like a regular metro ticket...well regular, plus the alterations bryan used to make to them. and i get on the train and fall asleep.
and end up. in. hawaii. so i wake up and am so confused on how i even get from france to hawaii, but it's no big deal. the train is passing over rickety bridges with skeletons scattered in the tropical waters, and with my 'well, i guess i'm asian, i can answer' omniscience, i start answering metro riders' questions about why there are dead bodies in the shallow pools. i tell them that these are no ordinary bodies..these are tainted bodies. and you can't go outside after a certain time around this part of hawaii. if you touch them, they'll remember (through osmosis, of course) what it was like to be human and envy you for it...envy you for your memories. and they'll find you. and this is why no one wanted to touch them. they are in awe. and very scared. the sun has almost set, and this is when zombie/skeleton armies wake up and try and remember.
then, i realize, i have nowhere to stay. i get off at the next stop, which seems to be slightly touristy, and stay at the nearest inn, which thankfully and predictably has a gift shop. the inn locks and puts up bars on their windows (i help a little), and i wander into the gift shop, which is about the size of my room. the shop/inn ladies are very friendly and laugh when they see me dropping 2 lb bags of macadamia nuts into a basket. 'it's 7 dollars for a sixteenth of this back home,' i say. they ask about dc and what other prices are around there. we're having a pretty long conversation, and i haven't stopped piling 2 lbers into my basket. then, in a stroke of weird, one of the shopkeepers who is stocking more macadamia nuts and chocolates on the shelves asks me about my dad and how the family is. i don't recognize the woman but she asks all about our family. i update her...with real information. my dad recently was reunited with his sister...whom he hadn't seen in 20 years. jeanie is married now and lives in dallas. etc. etc. it was just very strange that i was giving this woman all this information and didn't recognize her.
well, until she turned around. not completely....just enough so see a partial profile. it was my father's mom. whom i had never met before she passed away when i was little. whose voice and hands, i obviously wouldn't remember. but i never acknowledged that in my dream. i just smiled. she never aged from my mental picture of her. she was in her 40s, with a bun in her hair. she has very smooth hands...unlike most old folks. she is very kind, and i don't mind filling her in on what everyone has been up to. it's very strange. i feel like i should feel weird about this part, but i don't.
i and told the shopkeepers i would need to buy a plane ticket back to dc. and i fretted about how the hell i was going to stay asleep on the plane since i forgot my ipod. after purchasing bags of coconuts, i went back to my hotel room and snuggled in my bed to sleep. and when i finally dozed off, i woke up.
and wanted to type this all out before i forgot. so, here i am.
weird, eh?
so, i'm attending some conference in dc. i'm on the metro with some other conference-goers, and i'm trying to get back to columbia heights. i'm looking out the window and talking out the time, but unbeknown to me, the columbia heights stop is all of a sudden above ground and i don't recognize it. instead, i end up taking the same train for about 3 hours, and end up in montmartre (!!!). it's beautiful. like something straight out of a movie...but the city looks like it just passed industrial age...everything looks so steampunk. the eiffel tower is in the background, and there are so many bridges (a la amsterdam)...and even the sun is setting. and i swear to you, there are newspaper boys wearing berets.
i haven't gotten off the metro yet, but it seems like montmartre runs forever. i find one of my conference goer friends on the train. and he is actually someone i met at a conference in honolulu and with whom i wish i had actually exchanged contact info. (real life note: all i remember about him is he worked in cleveland...i think as some kind of academic counselor. and he had his layover in denver. and he had glasses. he was pretty nice though. and i had all these work related questions for him...anyyyyyways.) but there he is, he tells me that i can just get off at the next station and take the train back to dc, and i kinda get pissed because obviously, that would have crossed my mind...undoing the last action and all. i say goodbye to montmartre, get off the train to get on the platform to get back to columbia heights. by myself.
only, as soon as i get off, i scream 'waait!!!' and i see the honolulu-conference-dude look sadly back at me from the last metro window. in my haste, i had forgotten my stupid metro card on my seat. i stand on the platform, shuffling through my cards: driver's license, student ID, and insurance card. no sign of my credit card in my wallet...but in an extra dose of reality, i reach into my jeans pocket and there it is...enveloped with a michaels' crushed coupon shield for 40% off of any regular item. i quickly buy a new smart trip, which looks like a regular metro ticket...well regular, plus the alterations bryan used to make to them. and i get on the train and fall asleep.
and end up. in. hawaii. so i wake up and am so confused on how i even get from france to hawaii, but it's no big deal. the train is passing over rickety bridges with skeletons scattered in the tropical waters, and with my 'well, i guess i'm asian, i can answer' omniscience, i start answering metro riders' questions about why there are dead bodies in the shallow pools. i tell them that these are no ordinary bodies..these are tainted bodies. and you can't go outside after a certain time around this part of hawaii. if you touch them, they'll remember (through osmosis, of course) what it was like to be human and envy you for it...envy you for your memories. and they'll find you. and this is why no one wanted to touch them. they are in awe. and very scared. the sun has almost set, and this is when zombie/skeleton armies wake up and try and remember.
then, i realize, i have nowhere to stay. i get off at the next stop, which seems to be slightly touristy, and stay at the nearest inn, which thankfully and predictably has a gift shop. the inn locks and puts up bars on their windows (i help a little), and i wander into the gift shop, which is about the size of my room. the shop/inn ladies are very friendly and laugh when they see me dropping 2 lb bags of macadamia nuts into a basket. 'it's 7 dollars for a sixteenth of this back home,' i say. they ask about dc and what other prices are around there. we're having a pretty long conversation, and i haven't stopped piling 2 lbers into my basket. then, in a stroke of weird, one of the shopkeepers who is stocking more macadamia nuts and chocolates on the shelves asks me about my dad and how the family is. i don't recognize the woman but she asks all about our family. i update her...with real information. my dad recently was reunited with his sister...whom he hadn't seen in 20 years. jeanie is married now and lives in dallas. etc. etc. it was just very strange that i was giving this woman all this information and didn't recognize her.
well, until she turned around. not completely....just enough so see a partial profile. it was my father's mom. whom i had never met before she passed away when i was little. whose voice and hands, i obviously wouldn't remember. but i never acknowledged that in my dream. i just smiled. she never aged from my mental picture of her. she was in her 40s, with a bun in her hair. she has very smooth hands...unlike most old folks. she is very kind, and i don't mind filling her in on what everyone has been up to. it's very strange. i feel like i should feel weird about this part, but i don't.
i and told the shopkeepers i would need to buy a plane ticket back to dc. and i fretted about how the hell i was going to stay asleep on the plane since i forgot my ipod. after purchasing bags of coconuts, i went back to my hotel room and snuggled in my bed to sleep. and when i finally dozed off, i woke up.
and wanted to type this all out before i forgot. so, here i am.
weird, eh?
Monday, November 24, 2008
sir, it's only a tomato
i recently decided to repurchase (for the third time) my favorite shins' album "chutes too narrow." and inevitably, as i listen to it and jam out, a story comes to mind.
it was end of the spring semester, and andrew had come to pick me up with his little neon. for some reason, we both thought that there was no way in hell i had a lot of stuff. but there it was. a pile of random crap that i had accrued throughout the year: cans of peaches, several buckets filled with pens, post-it notes, a lamp that should have gotten recalled, a duffel bag, a mini fridge, hawaiian print sheets, a giant polar bear, several tumblers, several semesters worth of books, sketchbooks, and alcohol that hadn't been opened. there was also a decent rug that was left on the corner venable and high st. right across from the weird guy who was stabbed my first year at longwood. you know, the guy who waved to us. anyways, we grumbled, fought, and managed to shove all of my belongings into his neon. the polar bear ended up riding up front with me. along with one of the buckets with assorted trash.
we stopped somewhere in orange...this amazingly cramped and sweet town. sweet looking, i should say. i had a sandwich with tomatoes. andrew had something else. i was happy. estatic. i was getting the hell out of the south. staying with people i cared about. yadda, yadda, yadda. andrew was driving like a fucking maniac. and i got really sick. so sick i made him pull the boat over so i could puke out tomatoes. and everything else that was in that sandwich.
it should be noted here that andrew does not deal with vomit or vomiters. so instead of holding my hair back or rubbing my back or do whatever it is that people are supposed to do, he looked away and covered his nose.
as i had my head hanging out the car door, i looked to the right and saw flashing cop lights and a cop with a flashlight walking towards me (it should also be noted that i have a very uneasy relationship with the police and any kind of law enforcement...even if one of my good friends is a cop.) he, of course, starts pointing that damn flashlight in my face and in andrew's face. asks if we've been drinking, yadda yadda. and then. he goes for it, he takes a whiff of my vomit - doesn't smell anything but tomatoes. and lets us go on our way. and we do. we head home and go do something we weren't supposed to do. but i felt weird, even now i feel weird about the entire thing.
this experience was a) the first time i'd been pulled over and not actually done anything wrong and b) when i developed car motion sickness. since then, it seems i'm pulled over (or the person i'm with)...(or the person who is with me) is pulled over or taken aside on an annual/biannual basis.
and this is the memory that first pops into my head when i put on the shins.
it was end of the spring semester, and andrew had come to pick me up with his little neon. for some reason, we both thought that there was no way in hell i had a lot of stuff. but there it was. a pile of random crap that i had accrued throughout the year: cans of peaches, several buckets filled with pens, post-it notes, a lamp that should have gotten recalled, a duffel bag, a mini fridge, hawaiian print sheets, a giant polar bear, several tumblers, several semesters worth of books, sketchbooks, and alcohol that hadn't been opened. there was also a decent rug that was left on the corner venable and high st. right across from the weird guy who was stabbed my first year at longwood. you know, the guy who waved to us. anyways, we grumbled, fought, and managed to shove all of my belongings into his neon. the polar bear ended up riding up front with me. along with one of the buckets with assorted trash.
we stopped somewhere in orange...this amazingly cramped and sweet town. sweet looking, i should say. i had a sandwich with tomatoes. andrew had something else. i was happy. estatic. i was getting the hell out of the south. staying with people i cared about. yadda, yadda, yadda. andrew was driving like a fucking maniac. and i got really sick. so sick i made him pull the boat over so i could puke out tomatoes. and everything else that was in that sandwich.
it should be noted here that andrew does not deal with vomit or vomiters. so instead of holding my hair back or rubbing my back or do whatever it is that people are supposed to do, he looked away and covered his nose.
as i had my head hanging out the car door, i looked to the right and saw flashing cop lights and a cop with a flashlight walking towards me (it should also be noted that i have a very uneasy relationship with the police and any kind of law enforcement...even if one of my good friends is a cop.) he, of course, starts pointing that damn flashlight in my face and in andrew's face. asks if we've been drinking, yadda yadda. and then. he goes for it, he takes a whiff of my vomit - doesn't smell anything but tomatoes. and lets us go on our way. and we do. we head home and go do something we weren't supposed to do. but i felt weird, even now i feel weird about the entire thing.
this experience was a) the first time i'd been pulled over and not actually done anything wrong and b) when i developed car motion sickness. since then, it seems i'm pulled over (or the person i'm with)...(or the person who is with me) is pulled over or taken aside on an annual/biannual basis.
and this is the memory that first pops into my head when i put on the shins.
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