Whip, whip, run me like a race horse, pull me like a ripcord
In updates on all three things from the last post!
It was a beautiful drive down. There's something about this very specific period of spring, where the wisteria and the redbud and the Kwanzan cherry trees have all burst simultaneously, and delicacy has gone out the window and everything is almost obnoxiously and ostentatiously alive and blooming and way turned up on the color saturation spectrum. The Yoshino cherries are the ones you see around the Tidal Basin, all white and pale pink and delicate, but the Kwanzan cherries are the brighter pink ones, much fuller and ruffly. I love the sense of careless richness you get from the wisteria and the Kwanzan cherry, great opulent swags of purple and explosions of pink along the highway walls and roads. There's another tree with purple blossoms-- I always think of it as jacaranda, because "tree with purple flowers" automatically equals jacaranda in my head, but it's not, it's actually Paulownia. And the lilacs are going, and so are the azaleas. And the trees are all enthusiastically jizzing over everything in sight, so there's a fine sticky layer of yellow pollen on every surface.
The awards ceremony went fine, except they pronounced her name as Louis instead of Louise, and I could swear, I felt her roll her eyes from the afterlife. They always used to do that in the cafeteria pick-up area, so I made a very undignified snort and got a mean look from the lady sitting in front of me. Though it might also have been because I'd accidentally kneed her in the back of the head at least twice. Look, lady, this whole thing is taking place in a gym and we're sitting on bleachers. Some knee on head contact is inevitable.
My mother, meaning well, kept pushing me to go say hello to the person who'd received the scholarship and take a picture with her, which I very much did not want to do because it seemed awkward and weird and fraught with emotional outburst potential. (Seriously, I've never forgotten the time I burst into tears in front of my local liquor store proprietors over as conversation about port that reminded me of her. Though I supposed people who work with the supply and distribution of alcohol probably run into their fair share of emotional outbursts.) But then I comforted myself with the fact that not only could I attribute this to someone else, I would probably never have to see this girl again in my life. And so I sighed internally, went over and introduced myself, said I was Louise's friend and roommate from college and attending on behalf of her parents, who had asked me to take a picture of the recipient of her scholarship award, and would she pose for a picture.
She did! It was very nice of her. And we made awkward small talk for about twenty seconds and it confirmed for me the fact that my mother was (sigh) right: sometimes you should remind people of where these things are coming from. I got my own share of scholarships and awards growing up, and at least one of them was named after someone, and you really don't think about who's behind them and what prompted their creation.
On the way back from the award ceremony, we drove past my old college dive bar, which has a livestock feed store about ten feet away from it, and then I did a U-turn because I saw a sign saying there were still some chicks remaining. I went in, and very nearly left with chickens; the only reason I didn't is that the store lady was trying to offload some beekeeping equipment on sale to my mother and focused her sales pitch on that, while I made distracted "Uh huh," noises in the background and stared at the various half-grown chicks running around in their enclosures. By the time she realized she was pitching to the wrong party, my common sense had slowly formed a protective armor around the vulnerable spot in my underbelly that recently discovered it wants to raise chickens, and I got out without buying either livestock or beekeeper equipment.
On the way back, we made a detour, and ended up discovering this tiny little beach town in the Chesapeake region that I plan to go back to soon, when it's not quite as dead. It looked like it could be either a fun day trip, or possibly hiding some kind of ominous farm vs. ocean cult under a thin veneer of beach town respectability and funnel cake stands. Either way, I'm intrigued.
Also, I did in the end agree to help with the baby shower. (Mostly I just said I'd do games/activities, and left everything to everyone else. This does not stop me from being texted and emailed at all hours, asked to give opinions on the design of the invitations and so forth, and because she is obsessed with Pingus and is using them as her overarching theme, it takes everything in me not to say my true opinion. I am getting a good workout in noncommittal grunting noises.) I should have just said no, but I took a page from the Simpsons-- just do a half-assed job.
I have done something mysterious to my left foot which makes it hurt Like, A Lot right around the arch area. I have no idea what this was or when it could have happened, since I got out the bed and my foot was fine, and then I got up to go to the bathroom and OW FUCK WHAT OW. Getting older sucks. Parts of your body that used to work fine just simultaneously peace out, and you must medicate them with Google and/or alcohol. Very poorly designed. I would like to complain to some evolutionary force somewhere about this.
Also I need to decide which icons I truly like, since I'm indifferent to the idea of paying livejournal anything anymore, when I use it this infrequently.
It was a beautiful drive down. There's something about this very specific period of spring, where the wisteria and the redbud and the Kwanzan cherry trees have all burst simultaneously, and delicacy has gone out the window and everything is almost obnoxiously and ostentatiously alive and blooming and way turned up on the color saturation spectrum. The Yoshino cherries are the ones you see around the Tidal Basin, all white and pale pink and delicate, but the Kwanzan cherries are the brighter pink ones, much fuller and ruffly. I love the sense of careless richness you get from the wisteria and the Kwanzan cherry, great opulent swags of purple and explosions of pink along the highway walls and roads. There's another tree with purple blossoms-- I always think of it as jacaranda, because "tree with purple flowers" automatically equals jacaranda in my head, but it's not, it's actually Paulownia. And the lilacs are going, and so are the azaleas. And the trees are all enthusiastically jizzing over everything in sight, so there's a fine sticky layer of yellow pollen on every surface.
The awards ceremony went fine, except they pronounced her name as Louis instead of Louise, and I could swear, I felt her roll her eyes from the afterlife. They always used to do that in the cafeteria pick-up area, so I made a very undignified snort and got a mean look from the lady sitting in front of me. Though it might also have been because I'd accidentally kneed her in the back of the head at least twice. Look, lady, this whole thing is taking place in a gym and we're sitting on bleachers. Some knee on head contact is inevitable.
My mother, meaning well, kept pushing me to go say hello to the person who'd received the scholarship and take a picture with her, which I very much did not want to do because it seemed awkward and weird and fraught with emotional outburst potential. (Seriously, I've never forgotten the time I burst into tears in front of my local liquor store proprietors over as conversation about port that reminded me of her. Though I supposed people who work with the supply and distribution of alcohol probably run into their fair share of emotional outbursts.) But then I comforted myself with the fact that not only could I attribute this to someone else, I would probably never have to see this girl again in my life. And so I sighed internally, went over and introduced myself, said I was Louise's friend and roommate from college and attending on behalf of her parents, who had asked me to take a picture of the recipient of her scholarship award, and would she pose for a picture.
She did! It was very nice of her. And we made awkward small talk for about twenty seconds and it confirmed for me the fact that my mother was (sigh) right: sometimes you should remind people of where these things are coming from. I got my own share of scholarships and awards growing up, and at least one of them was named after someone, and you really don't think about who's behind them and what prompted their creation.
On the way back from the award ceremony, we drove past my old college dive bar, which has a livestock feed store about ten feet away from it, and then I did a U-turn because I saw a sign saying there were still some chicks remaining. I went in, and very nearly left with chickens; the only reason I didn't is that the store lady was trying to offload some beekeeping equipment on sale to my mother and focused her sales pitch on that, while I made distracted "Uh huh," noises in the background and stared at the various half-grown chicks running around in their enclosures. By the time she realized she was pitching to the wrong party, my common sense had slowly formed a protective armor around the vulnerable spot in my underbelly that recently discovered it wants to raise chickens, and I got out without buying either livestock or beekeeper equipment.
On the way back, we made a detour, and ended up discovering this tiny little beach town in the Chesapeake region that I plan to go back to soon, when it's not quite as dead. It looked like it could be either a fun day trip, or possibly hiding some kind of ominous farm vs. ocean cult under a thin veneer of beach town respectability and funnel cake stands. Either way, I'm intrigued.
Also, I did in the end agree to help with the baby shower. (Mostly I just said I'd do games/activities, and left everything to everyone else. This does not stop me from being texted and emailed at all hours, asked to give opinions on the design of the invitations and so forth, and because she is obsessed with Pingus and is using them as her overarching theme, it takes everything in me not to say my true opinion. I am getting a good workout in noncommittal grunting noises.) I should have just said no, but I took a page from the Simpsons-- just do a half-assed job.
I have done something mysterious to my left foot which makes it hurt Like, A Lot right around the arch area. I have no idea what this was or when it could have happened, since I got out the bed and my foot was fine, and then I got up to go to the bathroom and OW FUCK WHAT OW. Getting older sucks. Parts of your body that used to work fine just simultaneously peace out, and you must medicate them with Google and/or alcohol. Very poorly designed. I would like to complain to some evolutionary force somewhere about this.
Also I need to decide which icons I truly like, since I'm indifferent to the idea of paying livejournal anything anymore, when I use it this infrequently.