To serve as a warning of sorts, let me say: the title is neither ironic nor facetious. This post is, in fact, about the abandoned wrapper of a maxi-pad. So, while it is not at all about menstruation, it is about something which once covered a piece of menstruation paraphernalia. So, anyway, if you just don't want to read about periods, you're fine to keep reading. But, if my use of the word "menstruation" twice in the sentence above makes you uncomfortable (because of the word, not because of some nit-picky editorial tic regarding repetition) then please don't continue. You're comfort is very important to me! I mean, it's not "very" important to me, but I care. A bit. Anyway, here we go:
It's not a maxi-pad. It's just the wrapper.l Peach. Vinyl. Folded up into itself. Kotex, I'd guess.
The bus starts moving the moment I retrieve my day pass from the fare machine. I clumsily fall into the second seat along the driver's side of the vehicle, and there it is, sitting in the seat directly across from me.
For awhile, until seats in the back open up, I continue riding right across from it. I watch each stop as passengers get on and off the bus, pretending it isn't there. An older man in a KCFD polo wearing glasses with wide, brown plastic frames, sits a seat away. At one point, a younger man with chin length, blondish brownish hair and a purple umbrella he carried like a walking stick, sat directly to its right. For a few stops, a third man sat by it, pretending to read Steinbeck but really just watching out the window. Nobody paid any attention to the folded up bit of pale, orange plastic.
Except me. I was predictably intrigued. This was the most fascinating piece of feminine hygiene product debris I had ever seen. How did it get there? Did it slip out of a woman's pocket? Had she cleaned out her purse and decided to leave it behind? In either situation, why had she kept an empty maxi-pad wrapper instead of disposing of it in a bathroom trash can?
Perhaps she happened across some absurd situation while riding the metro and craftily used the maxi-pad to solve a problem. If so: where was it now? In a shoe serving as a make-shift sole? Taped tightly around the gash on someone's left forearm? Clenched in a toddler's hands with a sharpie-drawn face and body, acting as a doll to temporarily replace the one that remained, sad and abandoned, at the bus stop? Disposed of in a public trash can, drenched in the forehead sweat of an over-heated city dweller?
Or perhaps a frequent rider of the bus system feels unnaturally possessive of the second seat on the right side of the bus and leaves discarded feminine hygiene wrappers on the seat as she exits, hoping to discourage other patrons from claiming the spot. If so, it works. I watch, stop after stop, passengers getting on the ever-filling bus. Each one walks past the seat as though it isn't there. They opt, instead, to sit with strangers, to stand near the back doors gripping onto a pole, to smush themselves in between the man muttering angrily out of the window and the teenager reeking of pot.
I wonder where it's going. It's on a brief furlough from bathroom drawers, the bottoms of handbags, and waste bins. How many routes can it ride before it gets tossed to the floor and trampled out or swept into a garbage bag? In the end, who will dispose of it? And is it enjoying it's tour of the city?
A disembodied voice announces the street names of an upcoming intersection. I look up and yank on the yellow cord that's stretched along the length of the bus. The driver pulls to a stop. The doors open. I exit. And as the bus, and the abandoned maxi-pad wrapper, move further into the distance, my curiosity dissipates.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Public Transportastor: Disaster on the City Bus
Really, this whole mess started way back when Renee was still here. You know Renee? My best friend/love of my life? Cute, funny, energetic? Befriends everyone? Australian? You probably know Renee. When Renee was here, she rode the bus all the time. Which is why, really, all of this is her fault. Back when she was still here, we talked about having a "bus adventure" where we ditched my car and public-transported it all day and to various locations. She was well versed in the bus! She could have taught me her ways! But, unfortunately, we never got around to it. She went back to Australia, and I just kept driving everywhere.
Until Wednesday night when the fire department showed up at my door. I work two jobs. In the mornings, I work at an insurance office. And then, on several evenings, I work at the library. The insurance office is about 25 minutes away from my house when driving; the library is about 25 minutes from my house when walking. So, Wednesday morning I drove to the insurance office, worked, and then returned to my apartment. I had about two-ish hours to kill before I needed to leave for the library. I watched Tuesday night's Pretty Little Liars. I made myself dinner. I touched up my makeup. When I had about fifteen minutes before I was planning on heading out, I was scrolling through tumblr, and my roommate knocked on my door.
"Um, Kat? The Kansas City Fire Department is at the door for you? Something about your car?" He said, kind of quietly and with a hint of confusion in his voice.
"What? Why?" I asked him. He kind of shrugged as we walked to our front door. The night before, a KCFD ambulance and a hoard of police officers were sent to the library because of an altercation in the parking lot. I was trying to fit that into my understanding of what was happening when I opened the door to a tall, black, thirty-plus year old fireman whose forehead was glistening with the sort of sweat that comes from layering up in fire protective gear, driving around in 100-degree weather, and then getting up-close-and-personal with some flames.
He explained to me that my engine caught on fire. He said it was probably electrical because it started just above the battery. He asked what year my car was (2000) and told me that, because it was older than ten, he didn't have to call the fire inspector.
I called my dad and cried. The engine was gone. Gone-gone. There was a gross burn-blemish on the hood of my beautiful, beautiful car. I don't have the money for car repairs. I don't have the money for buying a new car. I don't have the money for buying an old car. I cried so much on the phone that my dad had to say, "I can't understand you. Do you just want to call me back when you calm down?"
"No. I'm calm." I told him, firmly, quickly flipping off my hysteria.
I called into the library. "Hey, so, my engine caught on fire." "Oh my gosh!" "I think I'm the only page on duty today, so, if you need me to come in, I can have my roommate drive me, but..." "No, that's fine, take care of whatever you need to take care of."
My dad came over. He looked at the car. We decided she was a goner. It was sad.
That night, I looked up the bus route and wrote down instructions of how to get to the insurance office the next morning, and how to get back.
Thursday, at way-too-early, I woke up, got ready, and walked to the bus stop. I spent the fifty minute bus ride worrying. Am I sitting in the right place? What do I do when I need to get off? What if I'm so distracted worrying that I miss my stop and... and then we were at my first stop. At this point, I was supposed to get on another bus, but I couldn't quite figure out where the other bus was supposed to pick me up. So I just walked the rest of the way to work. I got there just barely on time and sweaty but I got there.
The ride home was a little bit better. I found my first stop. I found my second stop. I got on and off the right buses and at the right time. On Friday, I made my first mistake by assuming that I had figured out what I was doing this time around. I made my second mistake by finding the right bus stop during the bus transfer and feeling like I was in the clear. I made my third mistake by totally missing my stop, and then another by not realizing I had missed my stop, and then another by realizing I had missed by stop but hoping that they would loop back around somewhere near where I could get to work.
Eventually, I texted my father. Frantically. "I MISSED MY STOP! I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!!!!!!" And he looked up the route online and said, "I think at the 31st transit the bus will be looping back around." I looked at a map. That seemed right-ish. I called into work, "Hey, I've been having vehicular issues and am on the bus but missed my stop and so I'm going to have to ride the route through, I'm going to be late, but probably not too late because I think the route's about to turn back that direction."
I was attentive this time. But before I knew it, we were deep into the city. I texted my father again: "Here's where we are, did I somehow miss the stop again?" He texted me back, "That's not on the route you gave me?" That's when I realized: there were two maps. At the transit, the bus didn't turn back on the route. It became an entirely new route.
Luckily, sitting right next to me were guys in their mid-twenties. Both were lean and dapper. One wore slacks, a tie, a pair of glasses. The other had a large backpack, long hair pulled up, two curls that fell down and framed his face. Glasses was telling Backpack about the bus line we were on--where the bus was going, where Backpack should get off to catch his bus to Dallas, where he worked, how often he rode the bus, that sort of thing. Backpack stood, they bid one another farewell, and then Backpack got off the bus and headed towards Dallas. Presumably. So I turned to Glasses.
"Hey, you seem to know a lot about this route."
"Yeah."
"Okay, maybe you can help me. Right now this is route 12?"
"Yeah."
"When I got on it was route 35. Will it become route 35 again?"
"Yeah, I know this bus does turn to 35 at some point."
"Do you know when?"
"I've never ridden it that far." He looks at the brochures I'm holding and adds, "It looks like the 31st transit."
"Okay, thanks."
The bus pulled to a stop. Glasses got off. I texted my father and explained the situation. At some point, I meandered up to the bus driver and asked when the bus would become 35 again. He repeated, "The 31st transit." I asked how far that was. He said it would be soon.
I called into work. I was going to be much later than I had anticipated when I called the first time. And, since I had to leave at 12:30 on the dot for my cousin's wedding, I wasn't sure if they wanted me to come in at all. My supervisor said it was fine. Since she was also incredibly nice about it, I relaxed immediately.
My dad said he would pick me up at the stop that I boarded from. So, I was just going to ride it out. All the way through. It would be another hour or so, and I thought the biggest issue was the fact that I'd been on that bus for an hour and half at that point, and I'd needed to pee since boarding.
Little. Did. I. Know.
Public transportation is filled with interesting characters. But, for the bulk of my ride, those interesting characters were like, a jovial painter carrying a bucket full of supplies and a charismatic waiter, the pair of whom spent thirty minutes talking about Miami. Or an older woman with short gray hair and fuchsia lipstick and a wide-eyed man in gray sweat pants, the pair of whom spent fifteen minutes talking about the certifiably-crazy people they regularly saw on the bus. Or an eight year old girl carrying a half-full half-gallon of Vitamin D milk. I felt like most of the "interesting characters" I saw on the bus were the sort of characters you would find in a quirky independent film or stage comedy.
But on the last stage of my journey, I encountered the frightening type of interesting characters you can find on the bus. The first was an older man, scruffy, with dirty pants, who was carrying a blanket a flip phone. From the time route 12 turned back to route 35 until the very last stop before the bus driver's break/layover, this guy sat in front of me and stared, unapologetically, at my kneecaps, then my chest, then my face, then away like he hadn't been staring at me at all. Then again, at my kneecaps, then my chest, then my face, then away. Kneecaps, chest, face, away, kneecaps, chest, face, away. It was unsettling. To give him the benefit of the doubt, it's possible that he was staring at me without any ill-intent. Like, he wasn't staring at me, but that he was just staring in general. But still, I was deeply, deeply uncomfortable. So when the bus driver stopped at the last stop, and the man got off the bus, I stayed on. During his layover/break, the bus driver kindly let me off the bus, despite the fact that it wasn't technically a bus stop.
I also got threatened. On the bus. My second day taking the bus. It was a woman in her late 20's or early 30's. Earlier during the trip, she ranted at a man about the headphones he was listening to. That, in conjunction with her threat to me, made me think that she just perceived the world as harsher and more judgmental than it is. While she got off the bus, she walked up and down the aisle a couple of times, mumbling at me. "Huh?" I asked, quietly. She kept mumbling, but I heard two of her sentences clearly. The were: "I'm going to remember your face. Next time I see you, I'm going to f--k up your face." She repeated it a few times. "I'm going to remember your face. Next time I see you, I'm going to f--k up your face. I'm going to remember your face." She literally did the thing where she pointed her pointer finger and middle finger at her eyes and then at mine a few times.
I didn't respond. I wasn't really scared because it was the middle of the day and we were on a crowded bus. I kind of looked around. There was a girl sitting catty-corner from me who made eye contact with me briefly. Her brows were pulled together and her lips pulled together. Her expression matched my own. I could hear almost hear her thoughts echoing in my mind: "What the heck is this girl going on about?" Then, catty-corner girl looked away. Maybe she thought if the other girl caught her, confusion-sympathizing with me, she would remember both our faces and then the next time she saw us she would f--k up both our faces. I looked at my kneecaps.
I could still here the other girl, stepping off the bus, saying, "I'm going to remember your face" and mumbling.
The whole thing ended at not-a-real-bus-stop. I chatted with the bus driver briefly, and he let me off of the bus, and I thanked him sincerely. Then, I walked over to the bus stop where I was supposed to meet my father. He wasn't there. I texted him frantically, "At the plaza. Are you here? I have to pee! Running into Zoe's Kitchen!" I didn't run into Zoe's Kitchen. They were closed. "Never mind. Closed. Looking for a bathroom!" I started to jog down one road, but I saw the man who spent the bulk of the bus ride staring at me, so I jogged back the other way. I kept looking. "Barnes & Noble! I'm going to Barnes & Noble! Let me know when you're here!"
When I came out of the bathroom, and walked back downstairs, my father was there. And since he was there, it was all over. The whole terrible affair. The three hours on the bus, the old man's stares, the woman's threats. It's almost magic: the way bad things don't feel bad once everything is okay again.
But, that having been said, from now on, I'm going to get off at the right stop. I just don't want to chance running into that girl again. I mean, what if she does remember my face!?
Until Wednesday night when the fire department showed up at my door. I work two jobs. In the mornings, I work at an insurance office. And then, on several evenings, I work at the library. The insurance office is about 25 minutes away from my house when driving; the library is about 25 minutes from my house when walking. So, Wednesday morning I drove to the insurance office, worked, and then returned to my apartment. I had about two-ish hours to kill before I needed to leave for the library. I watched Tuesday night's Pretty Little Liars. I made myself dinner. I touched up my makeup. When I had about fifteen minutes before I was planning on heading out, I was scrolling through tumblr, and my roommate knocked on my door.
"Um, Kat? The Kansas City Fire Department is at the door for you? Something about your car?" He said, kind of quietly and with a hint of confusion in his voice.
"What? Why?" I asked him. He kind of shrugged as we walked to our front door. The night before, a KCFD ambulance and a hoard of police officers were sent to the library because of an altercation in the parking lot. I was trying to fit that into my understanding of what was happening when I opened the door to a tall, black, thirty-plus year old fireman whose forehead was glistening with the sort of sweat that comes from layering up in fire protective gear, driving around in 100-degree weather, and then getting up-close-and-personal with some flames.
He explained to me that my engine caught on fire. He said it was probably electrical because it started just above the battery. He asked what year my car was (2000) and told me that, because it was older than ten, he didn't have to call the fire inspector.
I called my dad and cried. The engine was gone. Gone-gone. There was a gross burn-blemish on the hood of my beautiful, beautiful car. I don't have the money for car repairs. I don't have the money for buying a new car. I don't have the money for buying an old car. I cried so much on the phone that my dad had to say, "I can't understand you. Do you just want to call me back when you calm down?"
"No. I'm calm." I told him, firmly, quickly flipping off my hysteria.
I called into the library. "Hey, so, my engine caught on fire." "Oh my gosh!" "I think I'm the only page on duty today, so, if you need me to come in, I can have my roommate drive me, but..." "No, that's fine, take care of whatever you need to take care of."
My dad came over. He looked at the car. We decided she was a goner. It was sad.
That night, I looked up the bus route and wrote down instructions of how to get to the insurance office the next morning, and how to get back.
Thursday, at way-too-early, I woke up, got ready, and walked to the bus stop. I spent the fifty minute bus ride worrying. Am I sitting in the right place? What do I do when I need to get off? What if I'm so distracted worrying that I miss my stop and... and then we were at my first stop. At this point, I was supposed to get on another bus, but I couldn't quite figure out where the other bus was supposed to pick me up. So I just walked the rest of the way to work. I got there just barely on time and sweaty but I got there.
The ride home was a little bit better. I found my first stop. I found my second stop. I got on and off the right buses and at the right time. On Friday, I made my first mistake by assuming that I had figured out what I was doing this time around. I made my second mistake by finding the right bus stop during the bus transfer and feeling like I was in the clear. I made my third mistake by totally missing my stop, and then another by not realizing I had missed my stop, and then another by realizing I had missed by stop but hoping that they would loop back around somewhere near where I could get to work.
Eventually, I texted my father. Frantically. "I MISSED MY STOP! I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!!!!!!" And he looked up the route online and said, "I think at the 31st transit the bus will be looping back around." I looked at a map. That seemed right-ish. I called into work, "Hey, I've been having vehicular issues and am on the bus but missed my stop and so I'm going to have to ride the route through, I'm going to be late, but probably not too late because I think the route's about to turn back that direction."
I was attentive this time. But before I knew it, we were deep into the city. I texted my father again: "Here's where we are, did I somehow miss the stop again?" He texted me back, "That's not on the route you gave me?" That's when I realized: there were two maps. At the transit, the bus didn't turn back on the route. It became an entirely new route.
Luckily, sitting right next to me were guys in their mid-twenties. Both were lean and dapper. One wore slacks, a tie, a pair of glasses. The other had a large backpack, long hair pulled up, two curls that fell down and framed his face. Glasses was telling Backpack about the bus line we were on--where the bus was going, where Backpack should get off to catch his bus to Dallas, where he worked, how often he rode the bus, that sort of thing. Backpack stood, they bid one another farewell, and then Backpack got off the bus and headed towards Dallas. Presumably. So I turned to Glasses.
"Hey, you seem to know a lot about this route."
"Yeah."
"Okay, maybe you can help me. Right now this is route 12?"
"Yeah."
"When I got on it was route 35. Will it become route 35 again?"
"Yeah, I know this bus does turn to 35 at some point."
"Do you know when?"
"I've never ridden it that far." He looks at the brochures I'm holding and adds, "It looks like the 31st transit."
"Okay, thanks."
The bus pulled to a stop. Glasses got off. I texted my father and explained the situation. At some point, I meandered up to the bus driver and asked when the bus would become 35 again. He repeated, "The 31st transit." I asked how far that was. He said it would be soon.
I called into work. I was going to be much later than I had anticipated when I called the first time. And, since I had to leave at 12:30 on the dot for my cousin's wedding, I wasn't sure if they wanted me to come in at all. My supervisor said it was fine. Since she was also incredibly nice about it, I relaxed immediately.
My dad said he would pick me up at the stop that I boarded from. So, I was just going to ride it out. All the way through. It would be another hour or so, and I thought the biggest issue was the fact that I'd been on that bus for an hour and half at that point, and I'd needed to pee since boarding.
Little. Did. I. Know.
Public transportation is filled with interesting characters. But, for the bulk of my ride, those interesting characters were like, a jovial painter carrying a bucket full of supplies and a charismatic waiter, the pair of whom spent thirty minutes talking about Miami. Or an older woman with short gray hair and fuchsia lipstick and a wide-eyed man in gray sweat pants, the pair of whom spent fifteen minutes talking about the certifiably-crazy people they regularly saw on the bus. Or an eight year old girl carrying a half-full half-gallon of Vitamin D milk. I felt like most of the "interesting characters" I saw on the bus were the sort of characters you would find in a quirky independent film or stage comedy.
But on the last stage of my journey, I encountered the frightening type of interesting characters you can find on the bus. The first was an older man, scruffy, with dirty pants, who was carrying a blanket a flip phone. From the time route 12 turned back to route 35 until the very last stop before the bus driver's break/layover, this guy sat in front of me and stared, unapologetically, at my kneecaps, then my chest, then my face, then away like he hadn't been staring at me at all. Then again, at my kneecaps, then my chest, then my face, then away. Kneecaps, chest, face, away, kneecaps, chest, face, away. It was unsettling. To give him the benefit of the doubt, it's possible that he was staring at me without any ill-intent. Like, he wasn't staring at me, but that he was just staring in general. But still, I was deeply, deeply uncomfortable. So when the bus driver stopped at the last stop, and the man got off the bus, I stayed on. During his layover/break, the bus driver kindly let me off the bus, despite the fact that it wasn't technically a bus stop.
I also got threatened. On the bus. My second day taking the bus. It was a woman in her late 20's or early 30's. Earlier during the trip, she ranted at a man about the headphones he was listening to. That, in conjunction with her threat to me, made me think that she just perceived the world as harsher and more judgmental than it is. While she got off the bus, she walked up and down the aisle a couple of times, mumbling at me. "Huh?" I asked, quietly. She kept mumbling, but I heard two of her sentences clearly. The were: "I'm going to remember your face. Next time I see you, I'm going to f--k up your face." She repeated it a few times. "I'm going to remember your face. Next time I see you, I'm going to f--k up your face. I'm going to remember your face." She literally did the thing where she pointed her pointer finger and middle finger at her eyes and then at mine a few times.
I didn't respond. I wasn't really scared because it was the middle of the day and we were on a crowded bus. I kind of looked around. There was a girl sitting catty-corner from me who made eye contact with me briefly. Her brows were pulled together and her lips pulled together. Her expression matched my own. I could hear almost hear her thoughts echoing in my mind: "What the heck is this girl going on about?" Then, catty-corner girl looked away. Maybe she thought if the other girl caught her, confusion-sympathizing with me, she would remember both our faces and then the next time she saw us she would f--k up both our faces. I looked at my kneecaps.
I could still here the other girl, stepping off the bus, saying, "I'm going to remember your face" and mumbling.
The whole thing ended at not-a-real-bus-stop. I chatted with the bus driver briefly, and he let me off of the bus, and I thanked him sincerely. Then, I walked over to the bus stop where I was supposed to meet my father. He wasn't there. I texted him frantically, "At the plaza. Are you here? I have to pee! Running into Zoe's Kitchen!" I didn't run into Zoe's Kitchen. They were closed. "Never mind. Closed. Looking for a bathroom!" I started to jog down one road, but I saw the man who spent the bulk of the bus ride staring at me, so I jogged back the other way. I kept looking. "Barnes & Noble! I'm going to Barnes & Noble! Let me know when you're here!"
When I came out of the bathroom, and walked back downstairs, my father was there. And since he was there, it was all over. The whole terrible affair. The three hours on the bus, the old man's stares, the woman's threats. It's almost magic: the way bad things don't feel bad once everything is okay again.
But, that having been said, from now on, I'm going to get off at the right stop. I just don't want to chance running into that girl again. I mean, what if she does remember my face!?
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Everywhere
He saw her from across the way. (That's what I heard, at least, and I didn't really get any more details than that so if you're wondering, "What the heck is a 'way'?" I'm sorry, I can't help you.)
He fell in love instantly. Well, not really, because that would be impossible. I mean, she could be a racist or an idiot or a republican or something. There was really no way of telling from all the way across the way. But he says that he fell in love instantly for a couple of reasons. Like, she didn't look like a racist or an idiot or a republican. Also she was really pretty.
She was really pretty, too. I mean, at least she was in her profile picture on Facebook. Technically I never saw her in person.
She had really, really long and really, really dark hair. It was thick and slightly wavy and not at all frizzy. Like she stepped straight out of a shampoo commercial or something. People were always saying to her, "Your hair is, like, really, really pretty. What kind of shampoo do you use?" As though they could just go out and buy that same shampoo and then have really, really nice pretty hair, too, which just, frankly isn't true. People with good hair have good hair. The rest of us just try as hard as we can but then usually wind up with subpar messes.
Anyway, she also had extra ordinary blue eyes. No. That's not a typo. I do not mean extraordinary, I mean extra ordinary. Like, way more ordinary than normal. In fact, the blue of her eyes was so ordinary that it was, in fact, a little extraordinary because ordinary things aren't ordinarily that, well, ordinary.
She had this kind of ethnic ambiguity thing going on where she definitely had all of the privileges of being caucasian but, like, she might get cast in a Marvel movie to give their cast a little more "diversity" but then she'd probably also get killed off before the next movie came out. Maybe she wouldn't get killed off, necessarily but she definitely wouldn't get a cameo in the next Thor or Iron Man or whatever.
Also, she had that kind of easy yet fashionable style guys really, really go for. Like, that day she was wearing this short, cotton, blue dress with little violet flowers printed all over it and a peterpan collar, And she wore a pair of white Keds, brown eyeliner and mascara, and her hair in a slightly messy fishtail braid. You know what I mean, right? Like, it's that kind of look that says "I just look like this all the time and, yeah, I'm really pretty but I'm not really concerned with being pretty."
I never met her. So, maybe she really wasn't concerned with being pretty. But I kind of think pretty much everyone is concerned with being pretty. Even Anne Hathaway in the beginning of Devil Wears Prada or Princess Diaries or any other movies where she gets a makeover mid-film.
So, anyway, he sees her across "the way" and thinks, "Wow that girl is really pretty. I like, love her." And even though he probably didn't really love her, he did think he really loved her. So, he went after her. Only she was kind of in a rush and hurried off to get somewhere else and before he knew it he was looking around thinking, "Dang it, I like love that girl and I have no clue where she went!"
So he tried posting it as a Missed Connection but she didn't ever respond. And after two weeks or so, he went straight up bonkers.
He's really rich. I think maybe if he was broke he'd've been a little more down to earth and wouldn't have gone crazy, you know? But he wasn't broke. He was rich. And insane. So he hired, like, a lot of people to search for this girl and they looked everywhere for her. And he kept hiring people and having them search for her up until the moment that he died. (Which was only, like, three months later because this mental break was pretty serious and he stopped eating or bathing or watching where he was going while crossing streets.)
His last words were, "I don't get it, we looked everywhere for her."
And that was true, too. They had looked everywhere. But they hadn't looked every when and that's what was their downfall, really. Because she was everywhere that they looked, but she wasn't ever any of those places when they were looking there. You see the problem, right? She was, like, in the grocery store when they were at the theater, and then she was at the theater when they were at the grocery store. Yeah, like, that's the idea but on a much larger scale because seriously everywhere, you know?
Anyway, it's sad for him because he died, but she didn't have such a bad life, really. She became a kindergarten teacher and studied botany "just for fun" and one time won a pie eating contest which was really a double-win because she got eat a bunch of pie and she got a trophy and $200.00 cash prize for it. She never knew about the really rich guy who saw her that one time and then went crazy and died when she didn't respond to his missed connection. I think that's for the best, too, because she had a really good life and that might have been a real buzz kill, you know?
He fell in love instantly. Well, not really, because that would be impossible. I mean, she could be a racist or an idiot or a republican or something. There was really no way of telling from all the way across the way. But he says that he fell in love instantly for a couple of reasons. Like, she didn't look like a racist or an idiot or a republican. Also she was really pretty.
She was really pretty, too. I mean, at least she was in her profile picture on Facebook. Technically I never saw her in person.
She had really, really long and really, really dark hair. It was thick and slightly wavy and not at all frizzy. Like she stepped straight out of a shampoo commercial or something. People were always saying to her, "Your hair is, like, really, really pretty. What kind of shampoo do you use?" As though they could just go out and buy that same shampoo and then have really, really nice pretty hair, too, which just, frankly isn't true. People with good hair have good hair. The rest of us just try as hard as we can but then usually wind up with subpar messes.
Anyway, she also had extra ordinary blue eyes. No. That's not a typo. I do not mean extraordinary, I mean extra ordinary. Like, way more ordinary than normal. In fact, the blue of her eyes was so ordinary that it was, in fact, a little extraordinary because ordinary things aren't ordinarily that, well, ordinary.
She had this kind of ethnic ambiguity thing going on where she definitely had all of the privileges of being caucasian but, like, she might get cast in a Marvel movie to give their cast a little more "diversity" but then she'd probably also get killed off before the next movie came out. Maybe she wouldn't get killed off, necessarily but she definitely wouldn't get a cameo in the next Thor or Iron Man or whatever.
Also, she had that kind of easy yet fashionable style guys really, really go for. Like, that day she was wearing this short, cotton, blue dress with little violet flowers printed all over it and a peterpan collar, And she wore a pair of white Keds, brown eyeliner and mascara, and her hair in a slightly messy fishtail braid. You know what I mean, right? Like, it's that kind of look that says "I just look like this all the time and, yeah, I'm really pretty but I'm not really concerned with being pretty."
I never met her. So, maybe she really wasn't concerned with being pretty. But I kind of think pretty much everyone is concerned with being pretty. Even Anne Hathaway in the beginning of Devil Wears Prada or Princess Diaries or any other movies where she gets a makeover mid-film.
So, anyway, he sees her across "the way" and thinks, "Wow that girl is really pretty. I like, love her." And even though he probably didn't really love her, he did think he really loved her. So, he went after her. Only she was kind of in a rush and hurried off to get somewhere else and before he knew it he was looking around thinking, "Dang it, I like love that girl and I have no clue where she went!"
So he tried posting it as a Missed Connection but she didn't ever respond. And after two weeks or so, he went straight up bonkers.
He's really rich. I think maybe if he was broke he'd've been a little more down to earth and wouldn't have gone crazy, you know? But he wasn't broke. He was rich. And insane. So he hired, like, a lot of people to search for this girl and they looked everywhere for her. And he kept hiring people and having them search for her up until the moment that he died. (Which was only, like, three months later because this mental break was pretty serious and he stopped eating or bathing or watching where he was going while crossing streets.)
His last words were, "I don't get it, we looked everywhere for her."
And that was true, too. They had looked everywhere. But they hadn't looked every when and that's what was their downfall, really. Because she was everywhere that they looked, but she wasn't ever any of those places when they were looking there. You see the problem, right? She was, like, in the grocery store when they were at the theater, and then she was at the theater when they were at the grocery store. Yeah, like, that's the idea but on a much larger scale because seriously everywhere, you know?
Anyway, it's sad for him because he died, but she didn't have such a bad life, really. She became a kindergarten teacher and studied botany "just for fun" and one time won a pie eating contest which was really a double-win because she got eat a bunch of pie and she got a trophy and $200.00 cash prize for it. She never knew about the really rich guy who saw her that one time and then went crazy and died when she didn't respond to his missed connection. I think that's for the best, too, because she had a really good life and that might have been a real buzz kill, you know?
Monday, July 28, 2014
Spastic Stories From The Coffee Shop
So, I live a little over a mile from one of my favorite coffee shops, The Whistle Stop. Since my Starbucks gift card is officially empty, I decided to walk there instead. It's a pretty nice day, but the bulk of my walk was in direct sun. So, even though I wasn't hot on my walk, I wound up sweating, well, a lot. So by the time I get there, (well, here, I'm writing this while sitting at the Whistle Stop and listening to Mat Kearney on Spotify), I'm lightly misted, makeup half gone, and a bit stinky.
Since I'm a frequent customer, I know the girls who work here and we have a nice, friendly rapport. (Plus they're just generally really nice, friendly, lovely people.) Anyway, before I ordered, they told me about how their morning was kind of rough. One girl got a mug dropped on her, the other had a coke explode over her. There were other things, too, but they were all like that.
I walked, and I was planning on hanging out and working for a bit, but my trip would overlap lunch. So, I ordered a protein shake. The Whistle Stop has awesome protein shakes. And it was a good choice for my situation: protein to make up for the delayed lunch, cold to combat the heat and exhaustion I built up from walking.
So, I get my drink, walk to my table, and set the drink on the table. Only I didn't. See, I meant to. But I entirely missed the table. Like no part of the cup ever touched the table. It just rocketed straight to the ground, crashing and busting open, spewing chocolate protein shake halfway across the coffee shop. "Shoot," I muttered, thinking about how I just added on to the lovely baristas' long list of muckups from the morning. I reached down, picked up the cup, to stand it upright, and just... dropped it again. Frantically, I grabbed a stack of napkins and timidly admitted that I spilled the drink all over the place.
Back at my table, I tried to clean the floor up a bit. One of the baristas came over to help me, bringing with her a mop and towel. Together, we cleaned up the floor. I apologized about 16,000 times and she laughed and tried to make me feel better. Then she mixed me another drink and I tipped her all my ones (which was a lot of ones... how do I have so many ones? what am I a stripper?) and thanked her and apologized.
Long story short: I'm a complete spazz and you should go to the Whistle Stop. They have really good drinks, really nice baristas, and at least one really clumsy customer.
Since I'm a frequent customer, I know the girls who work here and we have a nice, friendly rapport. (Plus they're just generally really nice, friendly, lovely people.) Anyway, before I ordered, they told me about how their morning was kind of rough. One girl got a mug dropped on her, the other had a coke explode over her. There were other things, too, but they were all like that.
I walked, and I was planning on hanging out and working for a bit, but my trip would overlap lunch. So, I ordered a protein shake. The Whistle Stop has awesome protein shakes. And it was a good choice for my situation: protein to make up for the delayed lunch, cold to combat the heat and exhaustion I built up from walking.
So, I get my drink, walk to my table, and set the drink on the table. Only I didn't. See, I meant to. But I entirely missed the table. Like no part of the cup ever touched the table. It just rocketed straight to the ground, crashing and busting open, spewing chocolate protein shake halfway across the coffee shop. "Shoot," I muttered, thinking about how I just added on to the lovely baristas' long list of muckups from the morning. I reached down, picked up the cup, to stand it upright, and just... dropped it again. Frantically, I grabbed a stack of napkins and timidly admitted that I spilled the drink all over the place.
Back at my table, I tried to clean the floor up a bit. One of the baristas came over to help me, bringing with her a mop and towel. Together, we cleaned up the floor. I apologized about 16,000 times and she laughed and tried to make me feel better. Then she mixed me another drink and I tipped her all my ones (which was a lot of ones... how do I have so many ones? what am I a stripper?) and thanked her and apologized.
Long story short: I'm a complete spazz and you should go to the Whistle Stop. They have really good drinks, really nice baristas, and at least one really clumsy customer.
Friday, July 11, 2014
My List
So, if you follow my twitter you may already know that recently, I read, my friend/former youth minster, Ethan Bryan's new book Catch and Release: Faith, Freedom, and Knuckleballs. (If you want, you can read my shelfari review of it here.)
A lot of things stuck with me from the book. For instance, and this is where this blogpost is coming from, Ethan brings up a philosophy practiced by his friend, Ryan Eller. Ryan, according to Ethan, is "a professional dreamer," and as such, he always encourages people to "Live Your List." The idea is that you write a list of everything that you want to do in your life (a bucket list, if you will) and then you just try to live that list. That way, you don't wind up sitting around wishing you had gone to that Little Mix concert or tried horse back riding or whatever.
I'm all about lists. I love making lists. Every year, on Christmas Eve, I make a list of things I want to do during the following year. If I didn't do that, I probably would have never gone to a dance club. Don't get me wrong, I did not enjoy going to that dance club. But, now at least I've been to one.
So, I'm going to do it. I'm going to write a list of stupid, ridiculous things I want to do during my lifetime, and I'm starting it here:
A lot of things stuck with me from the book. For instance, and this is where this blogpost is coming from, Ethan brings up a philosophy practiced by his friend, Ryan Eller. Ryan, according to Ethan, is "a professional dreamer," and as such, he always encourages people to "Live Your List." The idea is that you write a list of everything that you want to do in your life (a bucket list, if you will) and then you just try to live that list. That way, you don't wind up sitting around wishing you had gone to that Little Mix concert or tried horse back riding or whatever.
I'm all about lists. I love making lists. Every year, on Christmas Eve, I make a list of things I want to do during the following year. If I didn't do that, I probably would have never gone to a dance club. Don't get me wrong, I did not enjoy going to that dance club. But, now at least I've been to one.
So, I'm going to do it. I'm going to write a list of stupid, ridiculous things I want to do during my lifetime, and I'm starting it here:
- Go to Leakycon
- Take improv classes
- Make a perfect batch of chocolate chip cookies
- Meet an online friend in the real world
- Visit Renee in Australia
- Go on a trip where I live out of a backpack (that's called backpacking, isn't it?)
- Get a massage from a professional masseuse
- Be part of a couple's costume on Halloween
- Get paid to do Stand Up Comedy
- Meet Mindy Kaling
- Create something that goes viral
- Use the line, "I'm a good cook, you eat food, so you should come over for dinner" on someone (I don't know, I just like it.)
- Buy some stupid expensive makeup product
- Have that moment when I walk in a room and everyone turns to look at me like /hot damn/
- Make a dress
- Meet Hayley G Hoover
- Swim with dolphins
- Profit off of something that I wrote
- Go to Vidcon
- Watch SNL preformed live from the actual living audience
- Fix up a house
- Learn to code in HTML
- Learn to code in JAVA
- Get hella good at cake decorating
- Take a dance class
- Do some sort of stupid/grotesque restaurant food challenge
- Attend some sort of rally/political demonstration with a good and worthy cause
- Volunteer at a suicide prevention hotline
- Be a regular somewhere--where one of the workers goes, "Hey, Kat! Your usual?" And I go, "Yeah, thanks Alex!" or whatever their name is.
- Raise $1000+ for the Trevor Project
- See a play on Broadway
- Get one of these ridiculous knight hoodies
- Spend a couple of days going to all of the places Rainbow Rowell mentions in her novels
- Read all of my unread books
- Write for a hit TV show
- Make one of those 10000 desserts put together pinterest desserts
- Learn how to do a french braid (idk why is it so hard?)
- Apply liquid eyeliner like a BAMF
- Have one of those stupid long make-out secessions with a dude
- Watch When Harry Met Sally all the way through and in order
- Get one of those MASSIVE dogs
- Ride an elephant
- Acquire filming lights (for videos)
- Acquire a decent HD camera (for videos)
- Acquire a sound system (for videos)
- Acquire better editing software (for videos)
- Hug Lee Pace
- Learn to surf.
- Go kayaking. Or canoeing. Is there a difference?
- Find out if there's a difference between kayaking and canoeing
- Listen to Welcome To Nightvale
- Write a children's mystery series
- Watch all the Wes Anderson films
- Build a clubhouse
- Do karaoke
- See Sarah Kay perform
- Start rollerskating. Or rollerblading. Whichever.
- Write my name in cement
- Go on a vacation with my best friend
- Bunnies
Monday, July 7, 2014
Birthday
In twenty days, I'm going to be twenty-three. And I'm kind of... nervous... about it.
I'm not nervous about turning twenty-three or being twenty-three, I'm more nervous about my actual birthday... day.
I know that there are people who just kind of grow out of birthdays. As they get older, fewer birthdays feel important. Some people will want to do something--like go out to dinner with friends or family--but they don't really want to have a big party or make a huge to-do about it. Let me tell you upfront: I am not one of those people.
I love birthdays. Birthdays are basically my favorite things. Not just mine. I love basically anybody's birthday. Gift Giving and Quality Time are basically tied for my top love language. And a birthday is basically spending time with someone and also giving them presents. But then I especially like my own birthday because it's like I'm just surrounded by the love, man. Also? I love planning things. Activities, outfits, menus. Event planning is pretty much my favorite thing of all time. So I love my birthday.
Sometimes, I literally start vaguely planning them months in advance. Like, this year? Back in April I was thinking that I'd have a Nate The Great themed shindig. Which I know is a children's book. But it was also my favorite children's book when I was a child. Anyway. I wanted to dress up like Rosamond. I wanted to have a pancake bar--with pancakes and a variety of toppings to choose from--because Nate the Great is always eating pancakes. I wanted to have a place where people could paint, though they would be limited to yellow and red paint in honor of the mystery Nate solves in the first book. I wanted to set up a treasure hunt. Sounds fun right?
But I'm not doing that.
Why? Good question. And I'll get to that. But first let me tell you about my 7th-10th grades of schooling. I had a group of girls that I'd been friends with since elementary school. (I'm going to make up names here, but my guess is if they read this they'll know that I'm talking about them. It's no hard feelings, though. It's just an important part of my explanation.) My group of since-elementary-school friends almost never asked me to hang out. A lot of the time, they'd all hang out without me. And that hurt my feelings a lot. I mean, I'm sure that they didn't do it on purpose. And I believe that they genuinely liked me. My guess is that they just never really thought to.
To combat the problem of my social pariahship, and aggressive loneliness, I would frequently get permission to have a friend come over. Then, the worse part. I would call Lindsey who couldn't come over because she had plans with Rebecca. So I'd call Rachel who couldn't come over for one reason or another. Then I'd call Lydia who couldn't come over because she had plans with Jessica. And so on and so forth until, I'd be so sad and feel so rejected and unlovable that I just couldn't call any more people. Were you ever that person who looked around the classroom when the teacher said, "Partner up!" and saw that all of your friends had already partnered up with one another? Because I wasn't just like that in class. I was like that in social life, too. I remember one time I went to the mall with my group of friends and we were walking from one store to another and up in front of me, Lindsey and Jessica were laughing and talking, and back behind me, Lydia and Rachel were laughing and talking and I was just in the middle. Walking alone.
Side note: I did spend a lot of time hanging out with Alli and Laura (those are their real names, sorry to them if they wanted to keep their identities secret) who are absolutely always the exception when I talk about friend groups that made me feel unwanted and annoying. I feel like, when I talk about my social experiences in high school, it's important to mention them as a disclaimer. Because they honestly salvaged my sanity and I love them both so much. Okay, that's enough of that. On to my story.
What does this have to do with you not having your awesome already planned out birthday party? Excellent question. The answer is basically that I've already called Lindsey and Rebecca, Rachel, Lydia, and Jessica, and none of them want to hang out.
Whaaaaat?
Okay, so, last year I had a really rough birthday. Sometime in late June/early July my father was diagnosed with bladder cancer. He had to have surgery, which got scheduled for the day before my birthday. My mother suggested that we celebrate my birthday earlier in the week, and the family was supposed to go out to eat with my aunts and one of my cousins. However, my dad had a test a few days before and was still in a lot of pain when it came time to go out to lunch. So my parents ended up staying home and I never actually got to celebrate turning 22 with them. On the actual day of my birthday, my brother and I went to visit my dad in the hospital. We were also supposed to go out for coffee and/or pastries with my aunt and grandmother, but ultimately we didn't get to. My mom did try to take us out for coffee, but it turned out she didn't have enough cash on her, so that kind of fell through, too. Anyway, on top of that, most of my friends were out of town and I only got a few lousy texts from two of my friends who were in town saying, "Happy birthday!" at about four p.m on my birthday.
Laura, mentioned before as being one of the wonderful friendship exceptions, did go out to eat with me. Plus she brought cupcakes. It meant so much to me.
Also, my dad is all good now. He has to go in every few months to make sure he's still cancer free, and he is! So yay! That's a side note, but I think it's an important side note because I told you he was diagnosed with cancer and even if that isn't really what this blogpost is about, it might be something that you're curious about.
The point is: last year, I wanted to have a Pushing Daisies themed party and instead I spent several days driving back and forth between our house and the hospital.
In May I graduated from college. After four years of hard work, I finally earned that degree. Pretty cool, right? I didn't go to the graduation ceremony, but I did use it as an opportunity to finally have that Pushing Daisies party. We had pies and decorated the house with daisies. A ton of my extended family came, and I love hanging out with my extended family. And I had a really nice time. Really, I did. It meant so much to me that they came... but: none of the friends that I invited showed up.
And I know that a lot of them have very valid excuses for that. And part of it is definitely my fault. I wanted to keep it small so I only invited a handful of people in the first place. But not one of them showed up. After the time that the invitation said the party was ending passed, most of my family members went for a walk. And I stayed at home because I felt like surely one of my friends will be coming. But none of them did.
So that's why I don't want to have a birthday this year. I wish I could just skip over the day. I don't know that I trust my friends to show up. And I'm really not okay with getting hurt about it all over again.
I'm not nervous about turning twenty-three or being twenty-three, I'm more nervous about my actual birthday... day.
I know that there are people who just kind of grow out of birthdays. As they get older, fewer birthdays feel important. Some people will want to do something--like go out to dinner with friends or family--but they don't really want to have a big party or make a huge to-do about it. Let me tell you upfront: I am not one of those people.
I love birthdays. Birthdays are basically my favorite things. Not just mine. I love basically anybody's birthday. Gift Giving and Quality Time are basically tied for my top love language. And a birthday is basically spending time with someone and also giving them presents. But then I especially like my own birthday because it's like I'm just surrounded by the love, man. Also? I love planning things. Activities, outfits, menus. Event planning is pretty much my favorite thing of all time. So I love my birthday.
Sometimes, I literally start vaguely planning them months in advance. Like, this year? Back in April I was thinking that I'd have a Nate The Great themed shindig. Which I know is a children's book. But it was also my favorite children's book when I was a child. Anyway. I wanted to dress up like Rosamond. I wanted to have a pancake bar--with pancakes and a variety of toppings to choose from--because Nate the Great is always eating pancakes. I wanted to have a place where people could paint, though they would be limited to yellow and red paint in honor of the mystery Nate solves in the first book. I wanted to set up a treasure hunt. Sounds fun right?
But I'm not doing that.
Why? Good question. And I'll get to that. But first let me tell you about my 7th-10th grades of schooling. I had a group of girls that I'd been friends with since elementary school. (I'm going to make up names here, but my guess is if they read this they'll know that I'm talking about them. It's no hard feelings, though. It's just an important part of my explanation.) My group of since-elementary-school friends almost never asked me to hang out. A lot of the time, they'd all hang out without me. And that hurt my feelings a lot. I mean, I'm sure that they didn't do it on purpose. And I believe that they genuinely liked me. My guess is that they just never really thought to.
To combat the problem of my social pariahship, and aggressive loneliness, I would frequently get permission to have a friend come over. Then, the worse part. I would call Lindsey who couldn't come over because she had plans with Rebecca. So I'd call Rachel who couldn't come over for one reason or another. Then I'd call Lydia who couldn't come over because she had plans with Jessica. And so on and so forth until, I'd be so sad and feel so rejected and unlovable that I just couldn't call any more people. Were you ever that person who looked around the classroom when the teacher said, "Partner up!" and saw that all of your friends had already partnered up with one another? Because I wasn't just like that in class. I was like that in social life, too. I remember one time I went to the mall with my group of friends and we were walking from one store to another and up in front of me, Lindsey and Jessica were laughing and talking, and back behind me, Lydia and Rachel were laughing and talking and I was just in the middle. Walking alone.
Side note: I did spend a lot of time hanging out with Alli and Laura (those are their real names, sorry to them if they wanted to keep their identities secret) who are absolutely always the exception when I talk about friend groups that made me feel unwanted and annoying. I feel like, when I talk about my social experiences in high school, it's important to mention them as a disclaimer. Because they honestly salvaged my sanity and I love them both so much. Okay, that's enough of that. On to my story.
What does this have to do with you not having your awesome already planned out birthday party? Excellent question. The answer is basically that I've already called Lindsey and Rebecca, Rachel, Lydia, and Jessica, and none of them want to hang out.
Whaaaaat?
Okay, so, last year I had a really rough birthday. Sometime in late June/early July my father was diagnosed with bladder cancer. He had to have surgery, which got scheduled for the day before my birthday. My mother suggested that we celebrate my birthday earlier in the week, and the family was supposed to go out to eat with my aunts and one of my cousins. However, my dad had a test a few days before and was still in a lot of pain when it came time to go out to lunch. So my parents ended up staying home and I never actually got to celebrate turning 22 with them. On the actual day of my birthday, my brother and I went to visit my dad in the hospital. We were also supposed to go out for coffee and/or pastries with my aunt and grandmother, but ultimately we didn't get to. My mom did try to take us out for coffee, but it turned out she didn't have enough cash on her, so that kind of fell through, too. Anyway, on top of that, most of my friends were out of town and I only got a few lousy texts from two of my friends who were in town saying, "Happy birthday!" at about four p.m on my birthday.
Laura, mentioned before as being one of the wonderful friendship exceptions, did go out to eat with me. Plus she brought cupcakes. It meant so much to me.
Also, my dad is all good now. He has to go in every few months to make sure he's still cancer free, and he is! So yay! That's a side note, but I think it's an important side note because I told you he was diagnosed with cancer and even if that isn't really what this blogpost is about, it might be something that you're curious about.
The point is: last year, I wanted to have a Pushing Daisies themed party and instead I spent several days driving back and forth between our house and the hospital.
In May I graduated from college. After four years of hard work, I finally earned that degree. Pretty cool, right? I didn't go to the graduation ceremony, but I did use it as an opportunity to finally have that Pushing Daisies party. We had pies and decorated the house with daisies. A ton of my extended family came, and I love hanging out with my extended family. And I had a really nice time. Really, I did. It meant so much to me that they came... but: none of the friends that I invited showed up.
And I know that a lot of them have very valid excuses for that. And part of it is definitely my fault. I wanted to keep it small so I only invited a handful of people in the first place. But not one of them showed up. After the time that the invitation said the party was ending passed, most of my family members went for a walk. And I stayed at home because I felt like surely one of my friends will be coming. But none of them did.
So that's why I don't want to have a birthday this year. I wish I could just skip over the day. I don't know that I trust my friends to show up. And I'm really not okay with getting hurt about it all over again.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
4th of July Weekend
So, I spent the bulk of this weekend home alone. On Thursday morning, my brother, mother, and father packed up the car and drove down to my grandmother's house. I was totally invited and part of me really wanted to go see my grandma, but I ultimately declined because I needed some time to myself. Basically, I just hung out with the pets, watched movies, and got a lot of work done. As many of you may know, I have a beauty and lifestyle youtube channel and blogspot blog and I did a lot of filming, editing, photographing, and otherwise preparing some of the stuff that will be coming up this month on my channel and blog. (Self promo side note: there's also a beautythekat tumblr that you could follow.)
But anyway. This is how I spent my weekend!
After my family left on Thursday, I went to Hyvee to get some groceries. Back at home, I applied for a couple of jobs and did a bit of work. Eventually, I decided to walk to deals to see if I could get some project materials. On my way to Deals, I ran into the tiniest girls in our neighborhood. They're like four or something. Anyway, one of them walked up to me, carrying a little plastic bag full of petals, feathers, rocks, and other trinkets they found around their yard. She looked at me and said in her very small voice, "We're selling these for free. Would you like some? We're selling them for free." I almost told them that wasn't a very smart business model, but stopped myself. Instead I said, "Well, they're very pretty. But I'm on my way to the store and wouldn't have any safe place to keep them. Good luck!" So the little girls went their way, and I went mine. I got to Deals only to find it had closed down, so instead I walked to Walmart. Both are close to my house, but their in opposite directions. So I wound up walking quite a bit.
When I got back to my house, I found the baggie of trinkets on my front step.
Then, I hung out with my brother. We went to a coffee shop to work, but before hand... he took fashion blog photos for me! We got yelled out by our neighbor's one angry dog and then found a disgusting tick that was about to burst with blood... but eventually we got the pictures taken!
But anyway. This is how I spent my weekend!
After my family left on Thursday, I went to Hyvee to get some groceries. Back at home, I applied for a couple of jobs and did a bit of work. Eventually, I decided to walk to deals to see if I could get some project materials. On my way to Deals, I ran into the tiniest girls in our neighborhood. They're like four or something. Anyway, one of them walked up to me, carrying a little plastic bag full of petals, feathers, rocks, and other trinkets they found around their yard. She looked at me and said in her very small voice, "We're selling these for free. Would you like some? We're selling them for free." I almost told them that wasn't a very smart business model, but stopped myself. Instead I said, "Well, they're very pretty. But I'm on my way to the store and wouldn't have any safe place to keep them. Good luck!" So the little girls went their way, and I went mine. I got to Deals only to find it had closed down, so instead I walked to Walmart. Both are close to my house, but their in opposite directions. So I wound up walking quite a bit.
When I got back to my house, I found the baggie of trinkets on my front step.
When I got home, I was exhausted. And people around the neighborhood had started celebrating 4th of July early so I had to deal with random bangs and frightened pets. That night, I made myself twice baked potatoes for dinner. I got the vague outline of a recipe from my friends Becca and Megan but even though it isn't mine, I'll probably still share it with you guys sometime down the road. They're delicious. The twice baked potatoes, I mean. They even peaked Zoey's interest.
That evening, I did some laundry and worked on projects. Friday morning, I folded the laundry (all towels) I did the night before and started washing my clothes. Unfortunately, I didn't get all of the towels put away before Zoey decided they were her bed. (In my defense, I got the main bathroom towels and the kitchen towels put away before they got cat-hair infected. It was just the parents' bathroom towels that will need a second cleaning.)
Plus: How cute is she? SO CUTE, right?
I spent the rest of Friday morning working on a blogpost and video that will come out in two weeks. I've disguised it a bit so as to not completely ruin the surprise, but here's a sneak peek!
Then, I reheated some twice baked potatoes for lunch. I worked on some video editing, photo editing, and blogging. I also got several fashion blog posts queued up! I also got changed. It's officially July and, in the midwest that means it's HOT HOT HOT outside. And the look for my upcoming blogpost and video required a lot of layers. I was sweating bullets! TMI? Oh well!
Then, I headed over to Red Racks to see if I could acquire some articles of clothing that I will need for a video scheduled to come out in early August. I had a lot of success, accentuated by a HALF OFF EVERYTHING IN THE STORE sale! I was so excited! I got two shirts that I will need for the August video, one shirt that I'm modified into a vest for the August video, a pair of capris that my mom's going to help me modify into shorts for the August video, a just run of the mill cute shirt, and two books for gifts for friends all for under $10.00!
I spent the rest of the evening on Friday working on a present for Renee (AKA the love of my life) and watching season 2 of The O.C. I'll give you a little peak at it. Since it's more in depth than just this page, I don't think it will spoil it!
On Saturday, I spent most of the morning baking and working on projects. Awhile ago, I got really into baking homemade sweet breads (like pumpkin bread or banana bread) and my brother started joking that I should make a "pumpkin tower." Which is basically a layered dessert: pumpkin bread, brownies, and pumpkin bars with a layer of cream cheese frosting in between each. Every time he would add more random layers. Pumpkin pie. Chocolate cake. Pecan pie. Banana bread. It's completely absurd, you'd have to bake so many deserts in order to make just this one dessert.
Well, here's the thing. I love giving people things. And making people things. "Gift giving" is definitely one of my love languages. And I particularly love getting to give people unprompted surprises. So I decided to make the pumpkin tower to surprise them when they got back. It was until I was actually compiling the thing that I realized: this is so much sugar in one desert.
Needless to say, the pumpkin tower should be approached with caution. It's super sweet. You need a huge glass of water to get through a slice. Also, this morning, Nash asked, "Do you think that slice of pumpkin tower I ate yesterday had more than a thousand calories in it?" And here's the really scary thing: that's totally possible. If each layer had 350 calories? WHICH IS TOTALLY FEASIBLE. The slice he had yesterday would be 1050 calories. That's so scary.
The bit I had transformed me into the squirrel from Hoodwinked. I totally smashed it playing family nertz afterward, though I admittedly was crashing near the end of the game. Nash reckons he would have won if we went to 300 instead of 200.
Saturday morning, while baking that horrific delicious dessert, I also uploaded a video! It's a "Character Look: Captain America" video. If you haven't seen it, you should check it ouuuuuut! (It's right here!)
Saturday I also got the book F*CK! I'm In My Twenties by Emma Koeing in the mail. I've enjoyed it so far. It's such an accurate representation of my twenties so far.
This morning, inspired by visiting Arkansan Hippies over that weekend, my mother was wearing a very Eureka Springs outfit. She looked super pretty!
Then, I hung out with my brother. We went to a coffee shop to work, but before hand... he took fashion blog photos for me! We got yelled out by our neighbor's one angry dog and then found a disgusting tick that was about to burst with blood... but eventually we got the pictures taken!
Also: sorry for showing you that picture of the tick. It's super gross, right? CRAZY GROSS. Its tiny, little legs were practically too small to stand. Nash moved it out by the bird feeder so hopefully a bird will eat it.
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