Okay, so I'll admit, I'm a bit late on getting back to blogging, but I've been muy busy readjusting from break. I had shit to unpack, some bangin' curtains to hang, an awesome dress to bask in the glory of, and some adorable new clogs to clog around in. Oh and a ton of art homework to finish, as per usual. Anyway, only one day back from break, not too much I learned today. SO instead I will recount the epic journey that I made to get both home for break and back here. Sorry Diehmers, you've already heard this one a thousand and a half times, but you have to admit, it doesn't really get old until the thousand and first time...
So, my youngest brother's friend's older brother goes here, and he's technically a junior and has a car on campus. Lives ten minutes from my house, goes home all the time. Awesome, right? Yeah, I mean, I've never really met the kid before in my life with the exception of like a 'hi-bye' when one of us dropped off our sibling at the other's house. So I text him, introduce myself, set everything up, coolio. So Friday rolls around and he rolls up in his family's mini-van. Whatever, I drive one too, nbd. He introduces himself, I introduce myself, minor awkwardness ensues, majors are exchanged, etc. He stopped for coffee and gas, all the while insisting that every time he gets his grande iced latte or whatever he always has to pee by the time we get off the turnpike. A little too much info, but I laugh it off. And off we go. Not two seconds after he gets back into the car, he lights up a cigarette. Ugh, a smoker. Which I can tolerate, I mean, if you don't care about your lungs, why should I? He's pretty good about it, keeping it by the open window as to minimize my cancer intake. Lovely. Anyway, half hour later, he's on his third cancer stick and has proceeded to start spitting- yes spitting- out his window, while driving. Ten more minutes and he pops in his David Bowie CD and starts singing along. Minutes later he is accompanying Mr. Bowie...ON A FUCKING HARMONICA. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he has a cigarette in one hand, a harmonica in the other, and he is just free styling along the road. The steering wheel? Oh, he'll pause for a moment and adjust it as needed.
Needless to say that by this point I'm a little, surprised, to say the least. I mean, the guy has a case of harmonicas in every key sitting on his center console and is just playin' away as we weave through traffic on the way to the turnpike. So then, we get stuck in traffic, which I don't know if you knew this, but is actually the best time to switch to a Cake CD and start to harmonica along with that because then he can easily use both hands to play. An hour later, we are now back at full speed and listening to a metal 'concept album.' AKA the songs tell a story of a man living in a haunted house with his cat (Magic, in case you were wondering) who falls in love with some little girl ghost child who was hacked to death with an axe by her father.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. About that.
Don't get me wrong, dear readers, Mr. Harmonica was a perfectly nice person, we chatted about books and majors and music and whatnot, but seriously? I'm all for honest first impressions, but jeeeeez! A bit strong there....
Anyway, break went fine, got to see the parents, brothers, grandparents, a wedding, the golden wingers, Nora, a movie, wonderful weekend overall. So Tuesday night rolls around and now I find myself in a ye old Explorer this time, at least playing a radio station I know and love, pulling 80+ down the turnpike. Little to no harmonica this time, still the same amount of smoking and spitting unfortunately though. Plus, the door of this car rattles like an old woman's dentures in the dead of winter. Like, I am concerned that this car is going to survive the trip. He warns that sometimes on sharp rights it'll fly open unexpectedly. Peachy....just peachy. So, we're about a half hour from school and have had a pleasantly metal-free, harmonica-free, abet kind of quiet ride and we're almost back. I guess I spoke to soon because as soon as we get off the t-pike he starts scanning the side of the road. For a nice place to pee. Yup, right there on the side of the road. Does he ask me if I have to pee (I do...) and if I'd like to stop at somewhere civilized, like a fucking McDonalds at the very least? Nope. I just have to sit in the car and pretend to text to avoid obviously looking away. Needless to say the last thirty minutes were very quiet, with only a small goodbye and comment about the only part that's out of his way is taking me to my hall, which is across the street from his house. So, at the back door we part ways, him lighting up another cancer-stick as I wait, locked out, at the back door, frantically texting everyone I know to let me in. He waves goodbye, which I don't return (because my hands are filled with my bags which he didn't offer to help with) and he drives away. And I'll most likely be getting a ride from him next time I go home. Oh, I can't wait...
So, I figured, if nothing else, this would make for an amuzing blog entry, and I hope it did. I discovered over the weekend that I have quite a few readers back home (hey guys!) which made me happy. Still missin' everyone like crazy though, but I did get to see two out of the three BFFs (twenty four days Bean, if you're reading...) and some other people I've been missing. All in all, a sucess.
Anyway, longest blog entry ever. If you're still reading, pat yourself on the back, I love ya! Live long and prosper!
