hurray, making everyone mad!

I’m headed back to Boston in the morning, where I will have two days alone, without internet or television, until Frank returns from his business trip.  I would just wait to fly up until Saturday except — oh wait — the airlines suck.  Can we PLEASE return to regulated airlines?  Because I think it is safe to say that non-regulation has crashed and BURNED every single person trying to fly nowadays.

Aside from not looking forward to being totally alone for two days (which I used to enjoy, but now I’m in one of my super-social phases, plus the whole no-tv-or-internet makes it worse), it doesn’t feel right leaving home yet.  Not that much is going on here.   I worked for three weeks.  Watched a movie with the boys once, went out with Chrissy I think twice, aside from Frank being here this past weekend (which was great!).  I’ve seen my dad like three times in the month I’ve been home.  I can’t get a job because I’m not here much longer, and it’s too hot to go outside.  So basically I’ve been sitting in the house and going to the gym — occasionally doing a bit of writing.  So the plan is to go back to  Boston for a week and a half, then come home for another two weeks, during which I’ll have a family reunion and my annual friend trip to the river.  Then I’ll be back in Boston, hopefully working for a month before moving into the new apartment and starting school.

It occurs to me that this is my last summer spending any great length of time home, and I’m not ready to accept that yet.  I love Texas, and I love doing nothing with my family, and I love my home.  Granted, I’ll finagle a way to come home for a couple weeks hopefully.  I realize it’s illogical, but leaving tomorrow has me feeling like I’m going to be missing out on precious moments at home.  I ALWAYS feel that way, either way, whether I’m leaving Boston or leaving home.  But it’s impossible not to feel left out when I know things are going on at home without me, but at the same time, things are going on with Frank in Boston and I want to be there with him, too.  Basically, I can be in Boston doing stuff with Frank and his friends, or I can be here with my family doing nothing.  I don’t like having to choose.

Like I said, I’m blowing the entire thing out of proportion and actually was pretty upset about it earlier.  My now-uncertainty about my future has me wobbly when I had my post-school life all planned out.  This new way of doing loans (that I have to make interest payments and a principal payment WHILE in school — which I can’t afford) has me stressed out about work.  My BFA thesis needs to be in the works, and looming graduation (10 mos. away, but still!) has me anxious about ending another stage of youth.  I’m not ready to be a grown-up yet, and I’m not ready to give up my home in Texas and my time with family to just do nothing, but everything in the world is propelling me forward.  Typically I’m all for that, but sometimes I wish I could just freeze time.  I’m not okay with the sacrifices that have to be made in order to become an adult — but all this being mandatory.

Flights tomorrow are bad.  I’m trying for the 6:35am, and there’s the chance I’ll make it, but there’s also the chance I’ll be sitting around in the airport all day.  If I’m not going to be at home, I’m ready to be in Boston; I hate spending FOREVER in airports.

I know once I’m in Boston, I’ll be happy about regaining my independence.  I’ll probably spend tomorrow night writing and watching movies — I’ll still have my DVD player. I can go to Trident Cafe if I get lonely, because there are people AND free wifi there.  I’ve got a couple things for the new apartment hopefully that I’ll go pick up, and I’ll go for a walk since the weather is MUCH cooler there (though I am NOT looking forward to giving up the sunshine nor cutting temperatures in half.  50s and 60s?!  I want 70s and 80s!)  I need to get stuff done on my BFA thesis, and I’ll be job hunting, and I’ll see if I can still gain access to the school gym.  And there are still a few friends in Boston I can look up.

I’m always either itching to get going or desperate to stay put.  And right now I am feeling lazy and sentimental and already homesick . . . but I’ll be home in a week and a half!  I realize it’s not like I’ll NEVER be home again.  Sometimes I am just absurd, I know this.  I’m just in a mood . . .

Anyway.  Right now, I am going to go update my wishlist page with all the stuff I need for the new apartment.  So, you know, if you just HAPPEN to have something lying around, or just HAPPEN to want to give me a gift . . . well, I sure won’t stop you!

DEATH

accidentally went on a six-hour hike today.  Granted, it was along the Howth coast and absolutely BEAUTIFUL (for roughly half of it, then there was some forest, then some windy fields, then some random scrubby areas, and then across a GOLF COURSE where I got scolded by two haggish old women), but once the beautiful part was over, I still had a 2.5 hour hike back inland, and I seriously, truly, honestly, with everything in me thought I was going to lay down and die.  I started verbalizing my will and was going to make a video of it (I didn’t have the energy to write) so that when my dead body was found, so would it.  Did I mention that all I ate prior to my hike was two pieces of toast with butter?  BAD.  It was BAD.  If I had known how much worse it would get while still hiking up and down and up and down and up along the cliffs along the sea, I probably would have thrown myself off to be dashed against the rocks.  That’s much more romantic than collapsing in an overgrown field and my decaying corpse getting eaten by bumblebees the size of my FACE.

And btw, whoever Fingal County (trust me, Final County, I also rehearsed a charming letter for YOU about your “follow the white stone path” sign which was actually NOT referring to the path made of white stones directly in front of the sign [which led me into the pathway of golf balls, and thus resulted in the rude lecture from old ladies] but rather a helter-skelter line DIRECTLY across the golf course marked by occasional spray-painted bricks, pieces of wood, of patches of concrete that you can’t see until you are on top of them) hired to figure out their trail times is functioning on a different minute than the rest of their world.  Because from the point where it said “1 hour and 45 minutes to trailhead” TO the actual trailhead, it definitely took me almost three hours.  And I am a big time hiker/walker with legs of steal.  The two little girls hiking behind me fell behind.  And I won’t be surprised if they are never heard from again. 

Alas, I did survive, and am now back at the hostel, resting my weary feet.  I SHOULD go out and do something else tonight with my last few hours in Dublin . . . but my body hurts and Dublin’s really not very impressive of a city anyway. 

In other news, off to Belfast tomorrow, and on Friday I booked a tour (oh my gosh, yes, *I* am taking a tour, I who hate tours with all that is in me; but I have to do it if I want to see Carrickfergus Castle, the Rope Bridge, and the Giant’s Causeway, which are all 1.5 hours outside of Belfast). 

But seriously, aside from fearing death and contemplating death and wishing for death so the pain/hike would end, the Irish coast really is beautiful.  Very romantic.  Definitely preferred the little fishing town of Howth to big city Dublin, but that really isn’t surprising; I tend to prefer smaller towns while traveling to big globalizing cities. 

On another note, because I”m on a roll and doing a pretty long blog entry right now, there are TONS of redheads here.  Like, tons.  I thought it was a stereotype.  All this time I’ve been all smarty-pants, telling people “Actually, Irish tend to be dark-haired; there are more redheads in Scotland.”  Maybe there are, maybe there aren’t, but there are definitely many, many natural redheads here.  Especially children.  Judging by families, it looks like lots of kids are born redheads and then their hair turns darker when puberty hits.  But still, my hair plus the fact that I’m carrying a purse instead of a backpack means a lot of people keep thinking I’m a local and then are severely disappointed when I start speaking. 

Also, Howth is a fishing village, and I got to walk around the pier and along this seawall thing, where the wind almost blew me into the water.  And seafoam kept flying up and drifting and then landing, all congealed, on the sidewalk.  I didn’t realize seafoam congealed like that.  But then it just makes me think of the Little Mermaid (the REAL one, by Hans Christian Anderson, not the happy Disney movie), and so I was afraid to touch it. 

ALSO, interesting observation: not many dogs here.  There are some; I saw some in Howth.  But as for Dublin, hardly any at all.  Very unlike England and mainland Europe where there are dogs EVERYWHERE.  Possibly because there aren’t many parks in Dublin; I suppose if I chilled by St. Stephen’s Green longer I’d probably see more.

Okay, naptime.  Geez, 7pm already?!

this always happens to me

Know what I hate?  When you look really, really cute and your hair is great and your outfit matches and you just need to be seen

but no one is going to see you.

What a waste of looking good.

I think I’m going to make a run to CVS since my potential plans for the evening fell through and . . . well, I SHOULD do more homework.  But let’s me honest, I’m probably just going to burn candles and drink tea and eat food and write.

 

^ does not do the awesomeness that is my hair justice, but you get the idea.

Dead

That’s the plant I bought with Thomas.  Lasted a month and three days. 

Also, I just got a package from hong kong.  It’s a $5 dress I ordered and didn’t have to pay shipping on.  I haven’t opened it yet though because I just like to look at the package.  And contemplate that it came from Hong Kong.

thought y’all might care

I splashed drain cleaner onto my face today and it burned me.  It’s not going to scar or anything, but enough that it hurt like hell and I was scolded into standing with my face under the faucet for ten minutes, snorting water. 

In further news, suggestions on best way for me to bleach my skirt without a washing machine?  I was going to do it in the sink but a.) my bathroom is VERY poorly ventilated and b.) same scolder lectured me about how then I would have to scrub down my sink because I wash my dishes there.  Bath tub? 

I am droooooooooowning in finals but eh, what’s new.  Next week is the last week of classes and then a week of finals and then dunzo, thank GOODNESS.

Avoided the Boston marathon this past weekend by chilling in Cambridge the entire time.  Even had a slumber party with Diana.  I just . . . Newbury St. on a normal weekend with tourists is bad enough but there were like a thousand extra people.  The city was crawling with them.  Tourist infestation.  That you aren’t allowed to step on.  Though I did vocally growl at two.  If you roar like a lion “RAWR” at idiots on the sidewalk, they aren’t offended, they are just severely confused and get out of your way.  True story, it works.

I am a cranky old lady at 21.  I’m just going to go back to my crumpets and knitting and hair rollers and rose perfume. 

. . . . actually I have to go read about Darfur and write a paper.  And it’s 1:12 AM.  And I also meant to get my American Drama paper written tonight and did NOT, but I can’t write it tomorrow because I will be in the dark room all day and then have some homework for Thursday’s classes. 

Mom is coming to visit Sunday.  I hope you do not expect a spic-and-span clean apartment.  I will tidy.  That is all I have the spirit for.

EDIT: The scolder has yelled at me for the bathtub suggestion.  He wants to know if I want to kill myself.  No, I just want my skirt and my tank tops that I spilled coffee all over to be white again.

Photo Inclusions: London & Budapest

I mentioned before one of my London photos of Westminster Abbey was shortlisted for inclusion in Schmaps (like my Boston church one).  Just received the e-mail that it has been included; here is the link to view it:

http://www.schmap.com/london/introduction_history/#p=524&i=524_49.jpg

Also, my picture of Hero’s Square in Budapest has been included in Schmaps Budapest:

http://www.schmap.com/budapest/sights_districtxiv/#p=141552&i=141552_42.jpg

Finished shooting my large-format project, except I have five negatives left and think I may try self portraits, or else I’ll go out to the Esplanade in the morning.  I’m exhausted.  Shooting with that camera is SO much work and it just beats you up.  I have 20 negatives now to process tomorrow, and hopehopehopfully they’ll turn out.  As it stands, I was racing against the impending rain and battling the gale-force winds, but my models Fidan and Ayla were helpful and patient, and there were pockets of perfect shooting light.  All in all, took me basically three hours to prep and shoot.  Ugh.  If these don’t turn out, I think I’m going to drop the class and throw myself off a cliff.

On the way home, a homeless man was sleeping on the subway, and I wanted to tell him that he is missing a beautiful day outside, and that he should have saved that subway ticket for a cold, yucky day.  I mean, if you’re going to sleep outside, today’s the day to today it.  But then I realized how awful that is of me.  But seriously, it’s beautiful outside.

Valentine’s Eve

Okay, so I mean, I’m pretty cynical about love and romance and all that stuff.  Not what I’m here to talk about.  I’m here to say that first of all, I was awoken this morning by my favorite realitor knocking on my door and asking if he could come in.

For those of you who don’t know, I have a little girl crush on him.

He was just showing my apartment.  Anyways.  Got back from getting some photography stuff (medium format camera = death of me) to find a box in my apartment.

Roses from Mom and Jerry!  I think this is the first time I have ever gotten flowers on Valentine’s Day.  I was very excited.  The office must think I have an extremely attractive and wealthy boyfriend that lives a long ways away and sends me stuff all the time, because I”m always getting packages and frequently they are flowers.

The best part of the mini-roses, though, is the flower manual:  “Mini Rose: Few flowers express love and appreciation more than the rose.  These are charming, easy-care miniatures that are perfect for indoor enjoyment.  Keep soil constantly moist but not soggy.  Enjoy your rose plant indoors for the first few days, then plant it outdoors for best growing results.”

What they mean is: Okay, we know you Jessa.  Admire them for a few days and then, if you love them, give them away.  Or they will DIE.

Bets on how long they live?  The manual thing said they’re easy to care for, so I give myself two weeks.

Anyways, they are not from a secret boyfriend.  They are from Mom and Jerry.  I think the BEST part of the day, though, was when Mom sent me an e-mail about the seagull .gif in the last post and her opening words were: “I LOLLED.”  I’m not making it up.  That’s a direct quote, copy and pasted. 

Man oh man.  My mom is pretty gangsta, yo . . .  (Hi, Mom!   )

This made me feel better

So it was beautiful this morning.  I got all dolled up and went to class.  Unfortunately, on the way home, the temperature dropped, it started raining, and the wind picked up.  My nose started running and I couldn’t wipe it because I was having to hold my skirt down.  I was cold.  And my shoes RIPPED my feet up.  I’m covered in bandaids now.  It was utterly miserable, and I got home being all upset and unhappy.

Then a friend sent me this and life got a little better.

How CRAZY is that?!?  I TOLD everyone seagulls were all dangerous and up-to-no-good but no on ever believed me!  That stupid “Finding Nemo” PR was a good move for them, but here is actual proof of the evilness that is these birds.

In othe news, I have very few irrational fears/dislikes, but seagulls are one of them.  Squirrels are another.

Yes, I realize I am going to die a lonely old cat lady . . .

I AM MY OWN MAN

Okay, so I don’t need a man and here is why: I can unclog my own drains.

That’s right.  I did it.  I mentioned last post that I was going to do dishes and I hadn’t done them in two weeks.  Well I thought a cup was empty and I dumped it in the sink but it wasn’t empty.  It was full of spoiled milk.  So were two other cups, but because this mug was white, I thought that was the bottom.  Anyways, hell no was I about to grab the clumps of spoiled milk out of my sink so I just tried to wash them down.

Well the clumps are apparently tough little buggers because they clogged my sink.  So I went and bought drain-o stuff and when I got back, my entire apartment building spelled like sour milk.  Grrrreat.  So I read the bottle but it’s very vague.  Just dumped half the thing down and left it for thirty minutes. 

Unfortunately, my bathroom has BAD ventilation.  So when I came back thirty minutes later, my bathroom was like a bad-smell bomb.  It smelled like spoiled milk and drain-o.  So I lit two candles before realizing that I had just lit a fire in a room packed with chemicals.  I blew them out before realizing, well, nothing blew up, so I relit them.  SO then the bathroom smelled like sour milk, drain-o, candle smoke, and vanilla brown sugar. 

Washed the dishes which was super disgusting.  I don’t do one thing at a time, though, so I also mopped the floor (added swiffer smell) AND gave myself a pedicare (added lotion, nailpolish remover, and nailpolish).

Needless to say I was a bit giddy when I finally left my bathroom.  But not just from the fumes.  Also from that first moment watching the water rush effortlessly down the now-unclogged drain.

Who needs a man?  I open my own jars and unclog my own drains, darnit!  ROAR!

Hurray!

Good things continue to happen.

My ice skates arrived in the mail.

I have a dinner-and-a-movie date with Diana tomorrow to see Frost/Nixon.

I got ALL my homework done.  AND went running.

The only bad news . . . is that I accidentally ripped the scab off my knife wound.  And it gushed again.  I hope that hurt you as much to read it as it hurt me to endure it.

OH, and when I woke up this morning, for some reason, I threw my hand into the air and scraped my knuckles along the  ceiling.  So now those are bloody, too.  I’m in an abusive relationship with my own apartment.