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May. 11th, 2008 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageNow that I am "studying for exams," I find myself using lj a lot more. I can't complain.
Plans to move temporarily foiled by the breast cancer walk happening in Schenley. What this means to me: More time to prepare my crap, definite time frame for Schatzbrunch (sounds almost politically incorrect) with Mallory. In case you had plans to make all campus eateries sound like sexually transmitted diseases, "the Schatz" is already pretty good on that front. We saw Jared and Jacobo (not together) and didn't say hi, which was kind of awkward of us, but nothing new. Schatz had biscuits! And I was pretty bummed because I thought I saw grits, but it was just gravy for the biscuits. Apparently I came on the wrong day, but biscuits are still delicious. Also depressing: their wide assortment of cheeses tasted kind of like freezerburn or mothballs or anthrax or something indescribable and unsavory. All four varieties of cheese shared this tragic, tragic flaw. I cried inside.
Then my godfather's niece's husband and son,(this is like that poem csjackso wrote), both named George, both with deep, slow voices, appeared in a tan SUV to caravan my last remaining worldly possessions on campus (apart from my sheets, some clothes, and some other random items- sadly I forgot my tupperware) over to my new place. Geo is like 14 or 15 or so and autistic, so it was a little funny that while Geo and I were toting my mini-fridge, my RA burst out of her room in nothing but a purple towel and said "HIII" and Geo was like, "Uh, I didn't even introduce her" and that when we arrived at my building, he said, "I thought you were going to move into a nice apartment." I also appreciated that when we got in my room, he muttered "this smells like my room" and repeated it louder when his dad came in. Old houses! Smell so distinct and good! Anyway, they offered me the world if I needed it, apologized unnecessarily for not being able to make DS, very graciously drove me back to campus, and were on their way back to McKeesport with my microwave in the back for basement safekeeping. Such nice people.
Rain fell, thunder clapped, and I was once again aware that actual thunderstorms are rare in this part of the world. Mallory has never experienced the joys of a tornado drill. My grandmother warned me about filthy thievingbrigands roommates, lamented the lack of censorship in senior-center cinema, and informed me that some neighbor lady had brought her tapioca, and that that had pretty much made her Mother's Day. Unfazed by storm and stress, I looked up bus schedules for the Waterfront, because even though Kathy had offered to drive me to Target, that woman's work schedule is so hectic that if she has time to see me, I just want to go get lunch or do something fun. And this way I could somehow get Mallory and Chris to carry all the shit I was buying? What the fuck I keep doing this.
The bus pulled in on schedule, Mallory holding the umbrella because I am too short and stab people with them. Further down the line csjackso appeared, looking well-fortressed against rain but freshly showered, which could be a potential point of confusion. We spent a very short length of time in Target (perhaps I lingered a bit too long in the hooks section) and a very long amount of time waiting for the 64A to show up. In Target, a small brown-bobbed-hair-with-bangs purple-shirted child that reminded my of my slow friend Jamie in kindergarten lunged out without warning in front of us in an aisle at a diagonal angle with respect to the ground, and was pulled in, swiftly and without a word, by her father's hand on her right shoulder. Mallory grumbled about children and I couldn't stop laughing. I purchased a garment rack to function as a makeshift closet, two underbed storage boxes, a hook rail, a command hook for keys, and 6" bed risers, Chris bought headphones, and Mallory got a pair of striped flip flops and a pack of pina colada Trident, of which she chewed three pieces just waiting for the bus. We also stopped in to Dick's (there was giggling in the store because I missed the innuendo of "looking at Dick's" and "at least I have a rack") to obtain a carabiner, green and extremely difficult to locate. While Saleslady #1 misdirected us to camping goods, our quarry was hiding in The Lodge, the fishing supply area (perhaps also hunting?). Facts: Mallory and Chris both enjoy fishing. Fishing is a beer sport. Baseball is a beer sport. I was informed that due to my inability to stand still, I have no future in retail. I'm thinking this can/will be sketched.
Then Chris screwed the hook rail into one of my drywall walls with a screwdriver and helped me install bed risers and move my bed so the mattress didn't overhang, Mallory built my faux closet and neatly hung my poorly-kept clothing, and I packed winter coats and unforgivable articles of clothing (the standard-issue camo pants, the fluorescent yellow collared shirt, the huge shapeless t-shirt/housedress thing my dad gave me, the pink shirt with the Scottie dog on it I made at Sasha's party that seemed like a good idea at the time until I realized it was pink and thus I would never wear it in public, the brocade bodice thing I considered wearing to useless people but chickened out on, most of the bikinis my mom bought for me on impulse...) in the underbed boxes, hung keys, all zillion of my scarves and few of my bags up on hooks, unpacked my creepy quantities of canned and otherwise less-perishable foods purchased on the last of my meal plan during newly-revisited singledom, and carefully folded t-shirts and pants I would have haphazardly tossed into the drawers and cabinet had Mallory and Chris not been sitting in the room. They also made sure I swept the dusty floor, hung up some of my posters to make the space look livable, and threw away the boxes. My pack-rat parents would have made a hubbub, but they reminded me that:
- the boxes weren't in tremendous shape
- they didn't have handles or any other nifty features
- they would be annoying to store
- cardboard is cheap
- cardboard is free if you look in the right places
I got to keep the boxes for my monitor and printer, but no others. And they made fun of some of my awkward bags and clothes... I am getting rid of my uber-goth shirt because it doesn't even fit, but I might kind of miss it. They question my candystriped buttondown. Chris wonders why I have multiple pairs of gauchos. Mallory wouldn't let me hang up my suspenders. My personal style is a grab bag of mostly dark colors, riddled with the debris of hand-me-downs, old dance costumes, and fleeting strange ideas I had while in retail stores hoping to soon be out of the same. Sometimes it's just frustration that nothing quite fits and these at least are close, sometimes there's a Swedish girl telling me I need happier, cuter tops, sometimes I just think a tight black zip-up wool blazer is the thing to get. I don't really understand why I have khaki bermuda shorts or a black pleated miniskirt, but I will wear them if I haven't done laundry in a while or am in an odd mood, and I don't really care if I wear the jeans with the rip just under the ass-cheek since actual underwear does not show, but it's baffling to certain other people. Notably these two.
Dinner was Chinese, our waiter the same and rather grumpy until he dropped off the check. He had slammed our plates down onto the table earlier, but now he was jovial and ribbing me about leaving behind all the mushrooms that had been cooked with the tofu, bamboo shoots, carrots and peapods in black bean sauce, "You don't like mushrooms, huh? These no good for you?" (For the curious, Mallory had the orange chicken and Chris beef and broccoli.) I mean, they looked like really nice mushrooms and everything, and I apologized to the man, but the slimy texture of an unexpected plateful of shrooms is a bit much for me. I'm not as brave as Mal eating hot peppers and trying mini corn for the first time. Our theories on his mood shift included, but were not limited to:
the restaurant is clearing out
he's going to go home
he's going to go home and get laid
he just got laid/had a blowjob in the kitchen.
Walking back to campus, we saw two, count 'em, two, syringes lying side-by-side on the sidewalk, unlike Lucy and Ricky. It was kind of adorable. It felt like home!
Then nothing much exciting happened, obtained and ate a candy bar, spoke with all of my immediate family +godfather, procrastinating on studying.
Plans to move temporarily foiled by the breast cancer walk happening in Schenley. What this means to me: More time to prepare my crap, definite time frame for Schatzbrunch (sounds almost politically incorrect) with Mallory. In case you had plans to make all campus eateries sound like sexually transmitted diseases, "the Schatz" is already pretty good on that front. We saw Jared and Jacobo (not together) and didn't say hi, which was kind of awkward of us, but nothing new. Schatz had biscuits! And I was pretty bummed because I thought I saw grits, but it was just gravy for the biscuits. Apparently I came on the wrong day, but biscuits are still delicious. Also depressing: their wide assortment of cheeses tasted kind of like freezerburn or mothballs or anthrax or something indescribable and unsavory. All four varieties of cheese shared this tragic, tragic flaw. I cried inside.
Then my godfather's niece's husband and son,(this is like that poem csjackso wrote), both named George, both with deep, slow voices, appeared in a tan SUV to caravan my last remaining worldly possessions on campus (apart from my sheets, some clothes, and some other random items- sadly I forgot my tupperware) over to my new place. Geo is like 14 or 15 or so and autistic, so it was a little funny that while Geo and I were toting my mini-fridge, my RA burst out of her room in nothing but a purple towel and said "HIII" and Geo was like, "Uh, I didn't even introduce her" and that when we arrived at my building, he said, "I thought you were going to move into a nice apartment." I also appreciated that when we got in my room, he muttered "this smells like my room" and repeated it louder when his dad came in. Old houses! Smell so distinct and good! Anyway, they offered me the world if I needed it, apologized unnecessarily for not being able to make DS, very graciously drove me back to campus, and were on their way back to McKeesport with my microwave in the back for basement safekeeping. Such nice people.
Rain fell, thunder clapped, and I was once again aware that actual thunderstorms are rare in this part of the world. Mallory has never experienced the joys of a tornado drill. My grandmother warned me about filthy thieving
The bus pulled in on schedule, Mallory holding the umbrella because I am too short and stab people with them. Further down the line csjackso appeared, looking well-fortressed against rain but freshly showered, which could be a potential point of confusion. We spent a very short length of time in Target (perhaps I lingered a bit too long in the hooks section) and a very long amount of time waiting for the 64A to show up. In Target, a small brown-bobbed-hair-with-bangs purple-shirted child that reminded my of my slow friend Jamie in kindergarten lunged out without warning in front of us in an aisle at a diagonal angle with respect to the ground, and was pulled in, swiftly and without a word, by her father's hand on her right shoulder. Mallory grumbled about children and I couldn't stop laughing. I purchased a garment rack to function as a makeshift closet, two underbed storage boxes, a hook rail, a command hook for keys, and 6" bed risers, Chris bought headphones, and Mallory got a pair of striped flip flops and a pack of pina colada Trident, of which she chewed three pieces just waiting for the bus. We also stopped in to Dick's (there was giggling in the store because I missed the innuendo of "looking at Dick's" and "at least I have a rack") to obtain a carabiner, green and extremely difficult to locate. While Saleslady #1 misdirected us to camping goods, our quarry was hiding in The Lodge, the fishing supply area (perhaps also hunting?). Facts: Mallory and Chris both enjoy fishing. Fishing is a beer sport. Baseball is a beer sport. I was informed that due to my inability to stand still, I have no future in retail. I'm thinking this can/will be sketched.
Then Chris screwed the hook rail into one of my drywall walls with a screwdriver and helped me install bed risers and move my bed so the mattress didn't overhang, Mallory built my faux closet and neatly hung my poorly-kept clothing, and I packed winter coats and unforgivable articles of clothing (the standard-issue camo pants, the fluorescent yellow collared shirt, the huge shapeless t-shirt/housedress thing my dad gave me, the pink shirt with the Scottie dog on it I made at Sasha's party that seemed like a good idea at the time until I realized it was pink and thus I would never wear it in public, the brocade bodice thing I considered wearing to useless people but chickened out on, most of the bikinis my mom bought for me on impulse...) in the underbed boxes, hung keys, all zillion of my scarves and few of my bags up on hooks, unpacked my creepy quantities of canned and otherwise less-perishable foods purchased on the last of my meal plan during newly-revisited singledom, and carefully folded t-shirts and pants I would have haphazardly tossed into the drawers and cabinet had Mallory and Chris not been sitting in the room. They also made sure I swept the dusty floor, hung up some of my posters to make the space look livable, and threw away the boxes. My pack-rat parents would have made a hubbub, but they reminded me that:
- the boxes weren't in tremendous shape
- they didn't have handles or any other nifty features
- they would be annoying to store
- cardboard is cheap
- cardboard is free if you look in the right places
I got to keep the boxes for my monitor and printer, but no others. And they made fun of some of my awkward bags and clothes... I am getting rid of my uber-goth shirt because it doesn't even fit, but I might kind of miss it. They question my candystriped buttondown. Chris wonders why I have multiple pairs of gauchos. Mallory wouldn't let me hang up my suspenders. My personal style is a grab bag of mostly dark colors, riddled with the debris of hand-me-downs, old dance costumes, and fleeting strange ideas I had while in retail stores hoping to soon be out of the same. Sometimes it's just frustration that nothing quite fits and these at least are close, sometimes there's a Swedish girl telling me I need happier, cuter tops, sometimes I just think a tight black zip-up wool blazer is the thing to get. I don't really understand why I have khaki bermuda shorts or a black pleated miniskirt, but I will wear them if I haven't done laundry in a while or am in an odd mood, and I don't really care if I wear the jeans with the rip just under the ass-cheek since actual underwear does not show, but it's baffling to certain other people. Notably these two.
Dinner was Chinese, our waiter the same and rather grumpy until he dropped off the check. He had slammed our plates down onto the table earlier, but now he was jovial and ribbing me about leaving behind all the mushrooms that had been cooked with the tofu, bamboo shoots, carrots and peapods in black bean sauce, "You don't like mushrooms, huh? These no good for you?" (For the curious, Mallory had the orange chicken and Chris beef and broccoli.) I mean, they looked like really nice mushrooms and everything, and I apologized to the man, but the slimy texture of an unexpected plateful of shrooms is a bit much for me. I'm not as brave as Mal eating hot peppers and trying mini corn for the first time. Our theories on his mood shift included, but were not limited to:
the restaurant is clearing out
he's going to go home
he's going to go home and get laid
he just got laid/had a blowjob in the kitchen.
Walking back to campus, we saw two, count 'em, two, syringes lying side-by-side on the sidewalk, unlike Lucy and Ricky. It was kind of adorable. It felt like home!
Then nothing much exciting happened, obtained and ate a candy bar, spoke with all of my immediate family +godfather, procrastinating on studying.
