Where to begin?
As this is a generally private journal, I'll make no attempt to cover my tracks. First off:
Haha, autocomplete tried to finish that subject line as, "Oh, sweet baby jesus."
Anyway. Our return trip was more or less catastrophic. In that weird, "funny but not ha-ha funny" way. I was right, there was a lot more culture shock coming home to Cleveland than getting to Toronto. It was easy to fit in there (in Canada), and I almost forgot how rediculously hostile our own cities are. Starting with US customs, where apparently Lindsay and I were instantly targeted as "high risk".
When I got called up to the interrogation booth, it started off promisingly enough. "What country are you a citizen of?", "How long were you in Canada?", "Who did you know there?". But then it turned into, "What did you do?", "Where exactly did you stay, again?", and "So, how do you know these people?". I was pretty much passing off all my answers on Lindsay, so Mr. Homeand Security himself called her up to the booth as well, and things started getting intense. As if he hadn't been rough enough on me, he went absolutely hog wild on poor Lindsay. He questioned her about Elliot, the US rave scene, and even our hometown; repeatedly asking us the same questions, like at any moment he was going to catch us in our horrible web of lies.
Then he started half-grinning and asked Lindsay if she had "a purse or somethin'." She said she had a backpack, and he half-interrupted her with, "Well, why don't you just put that up on the table, here?". At this point he's totally focused on her, and I'm just standing back in awe. Why us, you know? Do we really look so threatening? So he opens up her bookbag and starts carefully pawing through her shit, opening up her make-up (taking special interest in the interior of her compact mirror), checking the seams on the pockets. He even flipped through her CD book, taking the time to read through all the CDs. I'm going to start labeling mine, "Tunes for Al-qaeda". It's obvious that he's enjoying this. And then, as a finishing touch, he sloooowly opens up her notebook... and reads it. Lindsay is absolutely beet red, and ever-politely squeaks, "That's a bit embarassing." He raises his eyebrows and gives a little, "yep", without looking away from the book. He goes through every page, smirking, and then checks the interior of the binding, apparently looking for invisible, ultra-thin contraband. Then he unceremoniously tosses it all back in front of her, and says, "You can just pack that back up, yourself."
Lindsay actually said, "Thank you." This is further testament to the fact that she is by far the most spectacularly adorable person on earth. Then he gave us an appraising glance and ever-so-kindly allowed us to proceed... to baggage check.
Baggage check was not half as interesting; the border-patrolman there was much younger and actually almost laughed out loud when he pulled that terrifying stuffed animal out of Lindsay's suitcase.
I would probably keel over if not for the small satisfaction of comic relief.
We held up the entire bus and, in doing so, cut our layover short. The layover is actually another interesting story, as is our arrival in Cleveland.
But, I'll go into that when it isn't 3.28 in the morning. Given, of course, that you care to hear.
I did actually bring up the idea of going to school in Toronto to my mother, who entirely embraced the idea. Not that it surprises me. What did come as a bit of a shock was that apparently my father, who is a DM for Bed, Bath and Beyond, actually has been offered a job in Canada, and that should I choose to move there, my family probably wouldn't be too far behind. ... comma, comma.
Also upon returning, I realized I never did get my brother Parker his souvenir, and burst into tears. Futher proof that our lives here are far, far too volatile and just generally tense. The one redeeming factor of being home is the 6 degree temperature difference and the comfortable smell of my own house.
Anyway, anyway... That's enough for one night. I hope all is well for both of you, do let me know if our first day apart was as eventful for you two as it was for us. I sure hope not. Send Noel my love and toss Jazzy a carrot for me.
Exhaustedly,
Madi.
Edit:
I've just snuck into Parker's room and given him what's left of my Canadian change (he's into coin collecting) and thirty dollars in Canadian bills, as well as a book of matches with a red maple leaf on the cover and that shot glass I picked up in yuppie village. I attempted to romanticize the pathetic little gift, but basically failed, and promised him that I'd buy him lots of neat things in May.
Post-edit:
I refuse to proof read. Blame any grammatical errors on the United States Department of Homeland Security. Hell, they're probably reading this, anyway.
With more to come when it's daytime, and awful drunken pictures tomorrow night.
Haha, autocomplete tried to finish that subject line as, "Oh, sweet baby jesus."
Anyway. Our return trip was more or less catastrophic. In that weird, "funny but not ha-ha funny" way. I was right, there was a lot more culture shock coming home to Cleveland than getting to Toronto. It was easy to fit in there (in Canada), and I almost forgot how rediculously hostile our own cities are. Starting with US customs, where apparently Lindsay and I were instantly targeted as "high risk".
When I got called up to the interrogation booth, it started off promisingly enough. "What country are you a citizen of?", "How long were you in Canada?", "Who did you know there?". But then it turned into, "What did you do?", "Where exactly did you stay, again?", and "So, how do you know these people?". I was pretty much passing off all my answers on Lindsay, so Mr. Homeand Security himself called her up to the booth as well, and things started getting intense. As if he hadn't been rough enough on me, he went absolutely hog wild on poor Lindsay. He questioned her about Elliot, the US rave scene, and even our hometown; repeatedly asking us the same questions, like at any moment he was going to catch us in our horrible web of lies.
Then he started half-grinning and asked Lindsay if she had "a purse or somethin'." She said she had a backpack, and he half-interrupted her with, "Well, why don't you just put that up on the table, here?". At this point he's totally focused on her, and I'm just standing back in awe. Why us, you know? Do we really look so threatening? So he opens up her bookbag and starts carefully pawing through her shit, opening up her make-up (taking special interest in the interior of her compact mirror), checking the seams on the pockets. He even flipped through her CD book, taking the time to read through all the CDs. I'm going to start labeling mine, "Tunes for Al-qaeda". It's obvious that he's enjoying this. And then, as a finishing touch, he sloooowly opens up her notebook... and reads it. Lindsay is absolutely beet red, and ever-politely squeaks, "That's a bit embarassing." He raises his eyebrows and gives a little, "yep", without looking away from the book. He goes through every page, smirking, and then checks the interior of the binding, apparently looking for invisible, ultra-thin contraband. Then he unceremoniously tosses it all back in front of her, and says, "You can just pack that back up, yourself."
Lindsay actually said, "Thank you." This is further testament to the fact that she is by far the most spectacularly adorable person on earth. Then he gave us an appraising glance and ever-so-kindly allowed us to proceed... to baggage check.
Baggage check was not half as interesting; the border-patrolman there was much younger and actually almost laughed out loud when he pulled that terrifying stuffed animal out of Lindsay's suitcase.
I would probably keel over if not for the small satisfaction of comic relief.
We held up the entire bus and, in doing so, cut our layover short. The layover is actually another interesting story, as is our arrival in Cleveland.
But, I'll go into that when it isn't 3.28 in the morning. Given, of course, that you care to hear.
I did actually bring up the idea of going to school in Toronto to my mother, who entirely embraced the idea. Not that it surprises me. What did come as a bit of a shock was that apparently my father, who is a DM for Bed, Bath and Beyond, actually has been offered a job in Canada, and that should I choose to move there, my family probably wouldn't be too far behind. ... comma, comma.
Also upon returning, I realized I never did get my brother Parker his souvenir, and burst into tears. Futher proof that our lives here are far, far too volatile and just generally tense. The one redeeming factor of being home is the 6 degree temperature difference and the comfortable smell of my own house.
Anyway, anyway... That's enough for one night. I hope all is well for both of you, do let me know if our first day apart was as eventful for you two as it was for us. I sure hope not. Send Noel my love and toss Jazzy a carrot for me.
Exhaustedly,
Madi.
Edit:
I've just snuck into Parker's room and given him what's left of my Canadian change (he's into coin collecting) and thirty dollars in Canadian bills, as well as a book of matches with a red maple leaf on the cover and that shot glass I picked up in yuppie village. I attempted to romanticize the pathetic little gift, but basically failed, and promised him that I'd buy him lots of neat things in May.
Post-edit:
I refuse to proof read. Blame any grammatical errors on the United States Department of Homeland Security. Hell, they're probably reading this, anyway.
With more to come when it's daytime, and awful drunken pictures tomorrow night.