Speak Boo Boo, Speak!

A Hostage Speaks Out About Her Captors

Okay, so I didn’t blog as much during my first dog-sitting gig as I may have led you to believe I would. In my defense, the third week in I started developing mono and haven’t felt like doing much, especially something as productive as updating my blog. But I did take notes, so this should be relatively painless. But, enough about me. This post is all about the dogs and their adorable, neurotic, highly irritating, repetitive, playful etc. quirks. I gave you a brief profile for each dog last time, that’s flesh that out, shall we?

“Quirks”

Have you ever been on a walk and get the weird feeling that someone is following you? Well every walk with Reina made me feel like I had a tail. Not a cute doggy tail, a tail as in someone—perhaps an oblivious random stranger, or violent murderer—following you. About every thirty seconds Reina would suddenly and briefly stop and look behind her shoulder. Which, when I wasn’t expecting it, was highly annoying. At one point I tripped about two feet forward on her heel. Her constant checking, as far as I could tell, was not based on any sort of reality. However, if there happened to be a person minding their own business behind her—despite Reina’s belief they were an evil dog killing ninja assassin—she would pull as hard as she could. So long story short, Reina does not like strangers: one of her fun neuroses that I assume comes from her troubled background.

Despite Reina’s paranoia, I found one neighbor during my stay that did not provoke the fear reaction in Reina. Both dogs actually pulled me toward him. While I made small talk with said man, Reina started chewing on Chips collar. I can only assume that she, as the alpha of the pack, was helping her subordinate escape, so he could then help her. Then they could stay with this nice man who was their truly desired temporary owner. However, this occurred early in my stay. By the end, the dogs loved me—no really. They couldn’t get enough of my lethargic self.

The dogs do not like construction workers. At all. Which caused super-fun time when they were working on the commercial building located immediately adjacent to the house.

Speaking of barking. Both beasts tend to bark at invisible enemies indoors and outdoors. Yeah dogs have better hearing than humans and everything, but there are not enough enemies in the world to justify the frequency of their barking. In the first week, they would start these barking fits around 11pm or 12 am at night while I was going to sleep in the complete dark. That was not comforting. Sometimes Reina and Chip get into barking matches with each other. For example, sometimes Reina will stare at Chip and start barking very loudly, Chip decides to respond. Then they keep barking until one of them leaves the vicinity.

In the cute column, Reina is afraid of thunder. Whenever a storm rolled in, Reina would go wherever I was at the moment and hide under the nearest usable surface. While it sometimes seemed like the dogs were controlling my life, there were times where I truly felt like I was the master. The true alpha. Then, the dogs would put me back in my place…

Sara had instructed me that the dogs should be walked no later than 8:30 or 9:00am. Well within the first week I learned the true routine. Promptly at 5:00 am, one or both of the dogs would come to my bedside and start whining. I would then make the fatal mistake of looking at them, or moving ever so slightly, so that I betrayed to my captors that I was indeed awake, and ready for torture. As my stay went on, the way I dealt with this unwelcomed intrusion every morning changed, and became more sneaky. For the first week I would go downstairs with the dogs and let them outside (even though they have a doggie door that they could easily use by themselves if they were reasonable creatures). I would stand outside with them, which signaled to Chip that it was play with the ball time. If I dared not pick up the ball he would bark loudly, putting the fear of God in me that he would wake all the neighbors and make me a very hated person. Eventually, I learned just to walk downstairs with them, trick them into going outside and then staggering up to bed to sleep a few more hours, which seemed to appease them. But eventually even this was too much, so I then learned that playing dead was the best option (aren’t the dogs supposed to do that, not the owner?). When they came in to whine I would not open my eyes, I would not move a muscle, and if I was lucky they would fall for it and leave me alone. To their credit, they did progressively let me sleep in later and later, which was much appreciated when I started feeling tired all of the time, with the then unnamed illness, mono.

Both have absolutely no interest in small animals. I’ve seen a chipmunk and bunny 3 ft from their faces. No reaction. I guess Spanish Water Dogs aren’t a hunting breed.

At some point, a game that I did not want to play started to occur every time it was time for a walk. Both dogs use “gentle lead” leashes, which requires a small loop to be placed around the dog’s snout (not a muzzle, they could still open their mouths). Let’s just say, Chip and Reina do not appreciate the gentle nature of the leashes. From what I could tell the leashes were unbearably itchy. When I picked up the leashes to put them on, Reina would drop her nose to the floor and start rubbing it on the carpet. Chip would walk around the perimeter of the first floor refusing to listen to my initially firm and increasingly pleading commands, “sit” “stay” “please?”. Reina would usually submit once I told her to “sit”, though a couple times she walked upstairs and I had to drag her out. By the end I got so frustrated with Chip’s evasions that I “gently” grabbed his head in my hands and “tenderly” forced his nose into the leash. The sicker I got, the less fun the game became.

As I mentioned in my other post, Chip loves playing with tennis balls. He went crazy when I gave him some new, used tennis balls from my mom’s collection. The primary game is placing the ball in front of his human plaything, running away and then having the ball kicked to him. And then repeat until human plaything runs away, or pretends to be asleep. Well two weeks in, Chip provided further proof that he could amuse himself endlessly with a tennis ball, by showing me a new game. I must admit, this one was quite adorable. While I watched tv, Chip would place a ball on a blanket on the floor. He would then cover the ball with the blanket, effectively hiding the ball from himself. Finally he would jump around with the blanket, and pick at it with his teeth, until the ball rolled out. I really hope he was allowed to play with that particular blanket. He seemed to think he could. Hey I washed the blanket before I left.

And, finally, to finish the post, I leave you with my most memorable moment…

First, a more detailed account of Chip’s tennis ball game: He likes to give you the ball, then hide behind some table or corner, and wait for you to kick/throw the ball his way. Well, one night as I was watching a DVD downstairs, Chip initiated a round of this game. So I kicked the ball…behind the television. Oops. The TV is in a corner of the basement, placed diagonally, so there is one opening to the left and right of the television. Chip did not feel discouraged by this turn of events. He marched right behind that TV and picked up his ball. He then tried to exit the other side…unsuccessfully. Poor Chip, the way out was a much tighter fit than the way in. He kept trying to squeeze out to no avail. I could not control my laughter. You kind of had to be there, but it was funny. I’m not soulless though, I eventually helped him back up and go out the way he came in. Alls well that ends well I guess.

And that’s how I feel about the experience. I’m actually starting to miss the buggers. I don’t miss taking care of them, but I’d like to see their crazy faces again. But, I gotta tell you, by the end, when I really felt like crap I could not wait to get out of there. Every quirk became less and less cute, and all I wanted to do was to sleep. Which, admittedly, I did a lot of. Well now my mono is far enough along that I’m ready to take on my next job. Which starts tomorrow. I cannot wait. Expect many pictures of the puppy, if not a lot of posting. You know me.

The Dog Days of Summer: Log Entry #1

For those who don’t know already—which is probably no one reading this blog by now—I have been given the task of housing sitting for a very nice ex-Grinnellian family with two dogs. Chip and Reina.

I have not had time to really get to know these two fine dogs yet, though I definitely will get that opportunity over the next month. So for now I’ll give you a little run down of my two charges.

Reina

Like her non-official brother Reina is a Spanish Water Dog. She was a rescue. Apparently born in a litter that was a little loopy in the brain in general, she was originally paired with an abusive owner. He probably had a low voice and inappropriately used a shock collar on her. As a result of her troubled genealogy and lived-past she is a little/a lot neurotic. For example, on walks, she is very distrustful of other people. I’m sure I’ll find out more quirks soon. She is also the alpha dog of the two.

Chip

Originally from Spain, transported to America as a puppy. A rambunctious fellow. His favorite pastime is playing with his tennis ball. Seriously, if he could play with that thing 24/7 he would be the happiest puppy. However, if Reina decides she wants the ball (not because she likes to play fetch, but because she likes to taunt chip) he won’t take it from her b/c of her alpha status. He is on several medications for a semi-mysterious allergy that comes every summer time apparently. I just hope I can keep up with his boundless energy.

My First Day (July 3^rd)

As I walked in the door for my first day (well night anyway) in my new, temporary digs, I was immediately confronted by my first dog-sitting challenge: Make the dogs not completely terrified of my presence and/or want to bite me. Reina refused to come downstairs and Chip stood a few feet away from me barking menacingly. After a few minutes of hopeless “it’s okay Chip”, “you know me Chip, it’s okay” “here please sniff my hand without biting it off, Chip”, I resorted to what I hope will be my only desperate phone call to the masters of the house. Sara, the wife, answered my pleas of ‘what to do?’ with a somewhat obvious suggestion: give them a treat. And so I did, to Chip anyway. That pretty much won him over. Alas, Reina refused to even go downstairs with me so I could give them a calming, get-to-know-you, walk. And so I let her stay up there, and eventually come downstairs, ‘theoretically’. Sara confirmed by text that’s what I should do. So I did, and Reina warmed up to me soon enough. I was a little nervous, but I agreed to go to dinner with my Mom, Dad, and Sister a little while later. Unfortunately, I forgot to warn my family that the dogs do not like the door bell, or I guess anyone coming up to the door. So my dad rang it and they went crazy. I managed to slip out and was happily surprised that when I returned from dinner they were relatively unfazed about me coming in. I think it’ll take a while to learn how to read their moods and decode what they want from me (treat, backyard, walk), but I’m optimistic. And before I sign out on my first day I will wonder aloud why Reina seems to like to hide under my bed (in the guest bed room) and if this is a bad or good thing, as this was something I was not primed for by Sara’s detailed instructions. We’ll see.

Canada Blog Post: The Sequel

Let's see where was I. Oh yes we had just spent our last full day in Toronto. And then we were off to...

June 6, 2011

Today we found ourselves in a new foreign land with a foreign tongue. Most of the day was taken up by driving from Toronto to Montreal, Canada. However, when we arrived at our destination we felt like we were not in Canada any longer. Our hostel was situated in the center of Old Town Montreal. Everything from the buildings, the language, the restaurants, the people seemed European to us. A little bit of France, a little bit of Vienna, a little bit of Italy. It all reminded us of some small foreign town we had been to. The hostel for Montreal was by far the most charming. We had good luck at the other two. The one in Niagara Falls featured our own room and nice hostel workers, while the one in Toronto was very centrally located. The Maison d’Patriote, however, was so pretty. We had our own “family room” with a nice painting on the wall and a very French feel. For the first day we also didn’t have air conditioning, which was a definite minus for the 80 plus degree weather. But what we sacrificed in cool we gained in aesthetics.

June 7, 2011 and June 8, 2011

These were our two full days in Montreal and our last two full days in Canada. Oh so many wonderful things happened in Montreal, so I thought I would combine the days. Nope, it has nothing to do with getting behind on my blogging these two days. Nothing. Anywho. Here were some activities/points of interest of note:

Notre Dame Basilica: A religious type institution. Basically a church. I can’t quite pinpoint the style. It actually seemed sort of modern on the inside, though the art, statues and stained glass were not particularly recently created. And since it’s not really that interesting to read my nondescript descriptions of the Basilica, I’ll tell you it was cool and be done with that.

The Biodome: Like the name suggests. A building dome-like in shape with a biological theme. Is a converted former stadium or something like that. Usually it has four biological habitats inside, but when we went, due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’’ the ice/snow region or whatever was closed. So no penguins for us. The other three habitats were still cool though. In fact it may have been cooler than most zoos because we were essentially in the same room as the animals. We were usually protected by a valley or wall barrier, but we could see animals like lynx, crocodiles, and giant rodents mere feet away. And when we were in the rainforest section, we felt like we were in a rainforest because it was hot and humid. Ok, that wasn’t so fun. But the experience was cool and ‘authentic’ (though I think that word is stupid b/c what does it really mean anyway).

Food: When we left Niagara Falls we sort of swore that we would not spend as much money in expensive touristy food places. Unfortunately, for us our hostel was smack dab in the middle of the old town/tourist district of Montreal that contained only overpriced food. Note to self: I will open up a restaurant in a tourist district because you can charge twice as much for your ingredients as other places do and thus make twice the prophet. And tourists can’t complain because they’re tourists and they’ll buy anything! No really. End note to self. As a result most of our meals were expensive. Though nothing was of terrible quality and the beer was always good. And the company was great rof course. Most of the waiters were also really nice, despite our fumbling French pronunciations. Which brings me to…

The language: For those who don’t know I took 4 to 5 years of French in high school. Unfortunately, I was never particularly good at it, so after a certain point I was learning new things before mastering the old ones and I got all frustrated a quit. Breathe. Then you add like 6-8 years of space without practicing French at all and you get…I can speak the French of a French baby that maybe started talking a couple months ago. Consequently, the only thing I was really good for in Montreal was pointing out random vocabulary words that I remembered, and having ‘Je ne parle pas Francais’ at the ready if we really really needed it. Fortunately, we didn’t really need it. Everywhere we went had English as an option. The waiter/sales person would greet you in French, you’d give a quick ‘hi’ or awkward look and they would shift to English. And they didn’t seem to particularly hate us for it, though their true ‘backstage’ feelings may be quite different. As a result, if I ever want to continue French, after a few classes or something, I would go to Montreal to practice. They say the best way to learn a language is to immerse yourself in it. And if I crashed and burn I could always fall back to English with minimal guilt. Actually, that’s a lie. I felt so guilty I couldn’t speak French. I hate that we Americans assume that everyone should speak English. Why should they? I obviously didn’t succeed in learning their’s.

China Town and the Red Path Museum: It was hot on June 8^th. Very very hot. And moist. And sticky. And when we fell asleep the night before and woke up the next morning we had no air conditioning in our room, so it was hot. That made our day very leisurely. When we woke up we played the waiting game. Who would wake up first? We were all half awake and knew the first person to move would set the pace. But that didn’t happen…for a while. For the same reason, we didn’t try to overdo the physical activity. We walked over to China Town first. Actually, we ate at a brilliant crepe place first. The main selling point was including pure Maple Syrup with many of the crepes. And that syrup went surprisingly well with my ham and egg crepe. The waiter was also super nice—encouraged everyone’s French pronunciations and cracked a few jokes—and kept the glasses of tap water coming (unlike that sneaky Italian waiter at another dinner place). Anywho, Chinatown was visited by us in the hopes of finding cheap souvenirs, but it sounds like Perri and Brett had more luck in Toronto for that. The Red Path Museum was basically an anthropology exhibit located within McGill College in Montréal. There was you’re usual stuffed animals and ancient relics from the past. Very interesting, but not much air conditioning.

June 9, 2011

Lots and lots of driving today. Our main goal was to get from point A to somewhere close to point B. Point A being Montreal and Point B being Hershey Pennsylvania. Please do not ask me why this is one of the points on our Canada road trip. I don’t know how it was decided that out of all of the US states this would be a destination, but Brett and Perri wanted to take the Hershey tour. Our original plan was also to go to a zoo there, but as Laura pointed out they only have North American animals, and no red pandas. Laura loves red pandas and I picked up some interesting, well cute, red panda facts from her. Therefore, we decided to visit the National Zoo in DC in two days now (June 11). But first we stopped at a Grinnellian’s friend house located in Vermont. A convenient pit stop on the way from Canada. We sat eating sandwiches, chatting with the Grinnellian, and her brother who was basically our age and quite witty—however, witty in a way bordering on trying too hard to be funny all the time. It was a really nice start to our eight our drive though. Well right now we’re driving—well not me, I’m typing—and soon we’ll stop in a hotel about twenty minutes from Hershey. Write tomorrow. Maybe.

June 10, 2011

"Hershey's milk chocolate, Hershey's milk chocolate." (sung in the style of a creepy children choir). This was the result of my brainwashing at the hands of the ridiculous fake "how we make chocolate" Hershey's tour. It was basically a "It's a Small World After All" ride, complete with its own catchy jingle. The problem was by the end of the ride I was so completely brainwashed that all was left in my mind and on my lips was the creepy jingle included above. My travel companions would largely not agree with me that everything in this Hershey tourist trap was creepy. So I tried to approximate the chill-down-my-spine I felt the whole time with this manipulated photo:

From Hershey we drove to Chez Churchman in Arlington. And to top off our wonderful, super happy road trip, we took a trip down to good ol' Arlington Cemetery. And during this time, the whole non-Washingtonian gang became acquainted with the blissful, sticky, gross joy of Northern Virginian heat and humidity. During the evening time, my parents treated us all to yummy Italian food, and we regaled them with tails of our mostly-worry-free travels.

And the next day (June 11th) we officially ended it all (0ur trip) with a visit to the Zoo. And of course because Laura was so excited to see the red pandas at the National Zoological Park, their exhibit was closed for the day.

Ah Washington, it's good to be back!

Canada Road Trip: Part 1

To save you from a super, unbearably long post about my wonderful trip, I will split the post into two parts. I actually was largely successful at keeping up with my writings during the trip, so this post is journal style. Now on to the good stuff...

June 2, 2011.

Well here I am sitting in my Niagara Falls hostel room just pick enough for four beds and four corresponding people. Yesterday I picked up Laura Cesa from National airport amidst a storm of heavy rain and loud hail. Not too long after Brett and Perri arrived from their 12 hour long day drive from Indiana. Oof. The whole gang was assembled and ready to go. Excited for the trip to follow.

Today began with 8 hours of driving and three different drivers. I started a Michael Chabon book on the way up, so the time passed pretty quickly for me. The check-in point at the border was super exciting, as we were almost overcome with anticipation. The border patrol interrogated the surprisingly shifty-eyed Perri about her possession of her mother’s car and her propensity toward firearms and mace. Nevertheless, we made it through and dropped off our stuff at the hostel ready for adventure. We asked the hostel worker for a dinner recommendation and were lead to a Caribbean restaurant located in a surprisingly deserted part of town for it only being a little after seven. The food was great, but spicy, and unfortunately my appetite was not there. But a headache was. Regardless, we all soldiered on. On the way we encountered a charming scene of a tourist trying to take a picture of a raccoon that was just out in the open. The raccoon won by chasing the poor man away. It was soooo cute! We got to see Niagara Falls lit up all pretty with different colors ranging from slime green to pretty purple. During this time we also waited for fireworks that were supposedly supposed to come at 10pm. Lies! We topped off the evening with a Ferris wheel ride for Perri, Brett, and Laura as I wandered the two blocks of super touristy disgustingness that I would never take my hypothetical children too.

And that was the evening. But before I sign off on this day, there’s one more thing. Gigantor has found her true home. During dinner we had discussed the giant wooden fork and spoon that hang in my room (don’t ask) and Perri swore to start sending me unusually large commonplace items. Well this evening we saw plenty of Gigantor sized objects, including but not limited to, a giant calculator a giant hamburger, and a giant dream catcher. Gigantor may have forgotten her true origin story, but I’m pretty sure the answer lies in Canada.

June 3, 2011

The main event for today was an hour and a half long, walk/trot trail ride that took us along the shores of Lake Erie. I rode Skittles the allergic horse. Poor Skittles is allergic to dust and sounded like he might cough out a lung while he trotted. He also made an excellent potential poster child for Jenny Craig. He had apparently lost a lot of weight before coming to his current home, so the whole back of his neck was one floppy fatty deposit. He was a nice horse despite a few attempts to smear me off onto a tree and a few sneaky forays into tall grass for temporary snacks. After the ride, we ate lunch at our first Tim Horton’s, and then headed straight to the Falls for basically the rest of the day. Our original plan had been to go to a place called the Cave of the Winds where, as far as I could tell (and I could not see the appeal), we would be pelted from up above with the majestic waters of Niagara Falls. Unfortunately, we realized too late that the Cave was (obviously) located on the American side and one of us didn’t have our passports. Instead, we walked along the falls from above, stopping every 10 ft for a new photo opportunity at a slightly different angle. We found a similar Cave of the Winds experience on the Canada side, but were put off by the $16 price tag. After some more walking around, however, we were pouted into submission by one of our travel companions and agreed to go on a different $16 adventure called the “Lady of the Mist” or something hokey like that. This included a boat ride that took us all right up into the business of the Canadian Falls. It was a little difficult to the see the Falls through the clouds of mist that enveloped our poncho covered bodies, but what we could see was pretty frickin amazing. I will not even try to explain the drama that occurred for the most of the rest of the evening. Anywho, we finished off the night with fire works that shot above the falls in bright, loud colorful formations.

June 4, 2011

TO TORONTO! Today started off as a pretty miserable rainy day, but with some awesome thunder. Consequently, we decided to see a movie that had come out the day before at a semi-nearby Niagara Falls movie theatre. X men First Class. I had seen trailers for it that looked super good and period piece like and it was a comic book movie, so Perri, Brett and I wanted to see it. Laura had less interest so she watched Bridesmaids at the same time we watched our movie. I can’t speak for Bridesmaids, but we all thought the X-Men movie was very good. After watching Thor with Perri and Brett (which involved a very out of nowhere romance and a quick personality transplant), X-men seemed completely character driven and all the better for it. I, of course, liked Magneto (the tortured villain), and of course the mutant aspect. But, on it’s own, the movie was also a good period piece, though with an altered timeline of the sixties’ Cuban Missile Crisis (that worked really well). After our two movies let up we stopped at a breakfast chain called Cora’s, then took our 1.5 hour drive to Toronto.

In Toronto, at night/evening we ate at a restaurant called Everest Place, or something like that. It had the feel of a super expensive trendy restaurant, but with affordable prices, huge serving sizes, and a surprisingly Asiatic feel too it. Then we wandered Queen St, a very promising shopping site for tomorrow, and topped off the evening with a bar. In said bar/pub we did like the Romans do. We watched hockey on TV and I drank Canadian Beer. No really the Beer was called Canadian. Then we came back to the hostel, and I wrote this. The end.

June 5, 2011

Today was our first, last and only full day in Toronto…and that may turn out to have been too little. We’ll see. For the first half of the day we split up into two groups. I accompanied Laura to the Toronto Science Museum, while Brett and Perri went to a semi-pretentious Bach garden and explored all of China Town. I had become psyched to go to the Science Museum when I learned there was a reptile exhibit going on with real reptiles and everything. Yeah. After completing a one-hour commute on Toronto’s subway and bus system I was confronted with the terrible truth that the exhibit opened on June 10^th. So close. I knew they were all set up and ready for it b/c they were giving members a sneak peak. Stupid arbitrary start date! Anyway, despite this, and the disappointing lack of chemistry related science for Laura, we had some fun in the large building. We got a glimpse of outer space, saw a few creepy crawlies (including a duo of snakes), read about the human body, and tried to complete a variety of interactive tasks, some of which embarrassingly went straight over our heads. I think some were so simple that we over thought them.

After our fill of the Science Museum, Laura and I headed back, to meet Brett and Perri for lunch. We stopped in a Korean Grill lunch place and I started to recognize a pattern. So far we are having really good luck with finding restaurants of high quality, excellent atmosphere and cheap food. Our dinner from the previous night and the Korean Grill had great food for good prices. This is a nice relief after Niagara Falls. Though it fills me with a deep sense of dread that eventually we will pick a place that looks cheap, and actually is cheap. If you know what I mean. Lunch was followed with shopping on Queen Street. I made it to two comic related stores. The first almost makes me want to move to Toronto. It’s primarily a regular bookstore, but the prices were ridiculously cheap, and it was mostly new books. They were very light on DC graphic novels, but hey, cheap books! The next comic place was not as small and charming and a little threatening, what with the glass and plastic rap over most of the merchandise. I was still able to find something though. Oh and then we did not-comic-book-related shopping too. We then moseyed on over to the old town section of Toronto, which was pretty enough. For dinner was some less than perfect Indian food, and none of us were really hungry at all for some reason. Cough Cough—afternoon ice cream—cough cough.

To be continued...

Graduation--The True Story

-Long Post Alert-

Well, that last post was my exact thought process as I walked across the graduation stage. But I guess you might want some actual content for this post. There is no way I can go through and mention all the fun times of graduation weekend because honestly it’s all kind of a blur of nerves, tension, excitement, and ‘please God can I just get this over with?’. But I can give you highlights and promise you that I will keep detailed notes about my Canadian road trip while it’s happening so I don’t have to play any guessing games.

By the way, I am going on a road trip to Canada with friends Perri, Laura, and Brett…Brett the girl…girly girly Brett…the girl. Then I’ll be dog/house sitting for a Grinnellian family, meaning a husband who went to Grinnell and a wife who worked at Grinnell. A family who I just found out live about a 2 minute drive from my house. Though I may dare to try walking occasionally. The two dogs, I have found out, are Spanish Water Dogs. Very smart, but very quirky as well. There will definitely be blogging about them when the house-sitting starts. And a Canada post is forthcoming—very soon. And I have gone off on a tangent. Oops.

Okey dokey. Graduation weekend. On Friday, at about 12pm, I slipped my last college paper under my professor’s door. As I held the paper in my hand I took a moment to take a deep breath and try to imbue my simple task with great significance. Alas when the paper finally went under the door there were no fire works, there were no choirs of alleluias, and I pretty much felt exactly the same as I had before.

A few hours later I was outside the door of my dorm building. To my left, walking down the loggia toward me was Aki—one of the first girls I got to know at Grinnell because she lived across the hall from me first year—and to my right, walking toward me was Perri—one of the other girls who lived across from me first year, then roomed with me second year, and is my best friend from Grinnell now. We all met where I stood and went off to my last Grinnell Block Party. On the way we somehow ran into Brett and Laura and so we all arrived together at block party-ready to take part in friends and beer. Ten minutes later rain started to fall from the sky. And then more rain began to fall. And then a whole lot of rain—pouring rain in fact. We ran for shelter under a tree until it began to lightning and I became totally soaked through. Which meant feeling very cold and sporting essentially see-through pants. We ran for cover under a academic building and not soon after I ran back to my room for a very hot shower and more packing, which I had started about a day before.

Around 7:30pm I got a call from Perri, inviting me to dine with her and her newly arrived father and boyfriend at Lonskys, a local pub with excellent burgers. When they picked me up, Perri informed me that she had just found out her grandmother was in the process of dying (from a long stint with cancer), and that Perri’s mom and sister were going to drive to her bedside as soon as possible. Fortunately and unfortunately they eventually made it just in time, which also meant they couldn’t come to graduation. Despite all this real life drama that Perri really didn’t need on her graduation weekend, dinner was lovely. Perri’s dad is quite the character and very easy to talk to.

On Saturday, my own family arrived, sans David who arrived on Sunday. I gave them a tour of all the four blocks of downtown Grinnell, we ate in a very packed Chuong Garden, and we went to Faulkner Gallery which had a brilliant collection. Half of the works were student made and generally very good, while the other half had pictures (painting, photos etc) from various time periods and small historical facts underneath the artworks. Next was the Presidents Social. One of the parts of graduation that Perri and I had looked forward to was seeing the families of students interacting with each other. We were particularly interested in seeing our two families interact, though as I said that didn’t actually happen. Despite the anticipation I found it very awkward figuring out how to introduce my family to others. It doesn’t really help that I’m awkward in many unfamiliar social situations. As a result I usually failed and family members would have to end up introducing themselves. I feel like good conversation still happened though…eventually. Also my mom got to find out that Brett was actually a girl, and not Perri’s brother or boyfriend. To skip ahead a little bit, but in the same vane (of families meeting each other, not in the vane of Brett being a girl), my friend group (basically the Canada road-trip crew) decided to organize our own social get together where all of our families could interact in an informal setting for Sunday. We chose Dari Barn as the location (the spelling of which endlessly confused my father). Now, Laura and I knew that my brother and her sister had been in the same graduating class at Grinnell. However, I also knew that David was a music major and Laura’s sis was a science major, so we decided they probably didn’t know each other. We were wrong, it took a few minutes, but they did end up recognizing each other. So that was cool. But anyway, back to Saturday. Saturday night the Churchfamily ate at La Cabana Mexican in Newton with the Grabowfaimly/2. This involved more socializing and much margaritas.

On Sunday morning, I, mom, and Emily attended the Baccalaureate, whatever that means! Just kidding. No one really knows what it is though until they go to one. Basically there are speeches from both faculty and students. The speeches were good and I got pleasure out of the fact that one of our honorary class members was Bob Grey (or as he is known among Tableville—Bobbert!) because I thought my post-graduated friends would be jealous. Turns out they were just tickled. After the big B, we all started heading over to the Episcopal church to pick up my father who had forsaken speeches for God worshipping. David had called a little before to let us know he was close, and magically on our way to pick up Dad we ran into David coming from his parked rental car. Soon after, Dad walked out of church and we all headed over to A & M, a place known for it’s breakfast. But we of course went for the pie. Because with my family A & M = delicious pie. Everyone liked their pie the best and thought it was the best—except me who got the one dud pie of course.

For Sunday dinner, the Churchfamily ate at the oh so classy Phoenix Café. And at the café, one of my dreams came true. I got to try beef wellington. Ever since I heard of this wonderful dish I wanted to try it, but I was discouraged because it’s usually only found in gourmet restaurants. Though I don’t really know why. It’s essentially a steak wrapped in a pastry. That screams cheap American food. Maybe we’ll see the McWellington some day. But for now I finally got to try it. Post-dinner, for family-absent fun I went on an adventure. No really.

Around 10pm Perri and Kino accompanied me to Aki’s apartment for a get together of a little under twenty people. There was some brief sitting, but after one senior voiced discontent about sitting around and basically doing nothing, an adventure was proposed. Slowly, about 7-10 people started to emphatically agree. We would head out and walk. Walk nowhere in particular, but end up somewhere extraordinary, or regular, or sucky (who knows on an adventure!) We started by heading to a most wonderful playground, although I maintain it is super dangerous for little kids. It’s definitely the most strenuous playground I’ve ever been on. From there we wandered in neighborhoods and ended up walking back to campus along the train tracks. And by along I mean, on the train tracks. Though we paid close attention and looked out for trains unlike some people. I, of course, am referring to Darwin’s unfortunate encounter with a train. A story, I found out during graduation weekend, my sister has been telling with much exaggeration to all of her friends. For most of the adventure I walked with friend Alex Rosen. Our game for the night was to add metaphorical significance to everything we were doing and everything that was happening around us. The boy riding on a bike, circling and swerving around and through us was a metaphor. Every streetlight was a metaphor. Every trip and skip was a metaphor. However, I should add that most of the time we actually failed to explain why something was a metaphor, but they all totally were. The whole night, the whole adventure crew, emitted an unmistakable aura: “Oh God. It’s not happening. It can’t be happening. I don’t want it to happen. I’m excited for it to happen. I can’t believe we’re graduating tomorrow. If we keep walking can we go to Canada instead of graduating?”. Okay we said that last one instead of thinking it. This aura was replicated one more time, quite perfectly, that night when we returned to the apartment. One boy who had walked off with another girl during the adventure appeared—ecstatic—bounding into the apartment.

“Guys guys! I found a ‘God Saves the Queen’ ringtone for my cell phone. Wait, wait, listen!”

He started playing the ring tone. It was “Pomp and Circumstance”.

“No! No! Turn it off. Turn it off!” We shouted in unison.

Then the next day was graduation. I won’t write anymore about that particular day because I feel like all of my feelings were pretty well summed up in the last post—although it only encapsulated a small moment of graduation. I know I jumped around in that explanation from day to day, and from meal to meal. But I was trying to capture the confused blur that the weekend was through my rhetorical style. I felt it was important to reflect my jumbled recollection of graduation through my text and sentence struc—okay, I’m lying. Remembering things in order is hard!

The week following graduation was spent living in Perri’s apartment. All the things we did, or didn’t do, during that week would make a working adult cry. I managed to get in some exercise, though, through the help of my new good friend James the basketball. I hope our future endeavors will be fruitful. Also, at various times we also had various Carolines staying with us. (A German international student who stayed for the whole week and a recent graduate, who stayed for one day). The week was exactly what Perri and I needed. Relaxation, although the week was clouded at the edges by Perri’s recent family tragedy, our numb shock about graduating, and fears about the future.

That weekend Perri and I ended our ‘graduation tour’ with a wedding. Not between the two of us, though that is legal in Iowa--for now, but between Zach and Janna, or as we often call them—totally intentionally every time—Jach and Zanna. We drove up to Clear Lakes Iowa on Saturday, which got us there just in time for a very crowded boat ride that never left the dock and a zany bachelorette party. The whole Tableville group was there from last year. It was a most excellent reunion. Although I have seen Jessica, Janna, and Elyse fairly frequently, I hadn’t seen the others for a while. And it was just great to have that feeling of being part of a large formed group again. The “boat ride” was for the family and close friends of the bride and groom. Unfortunately, the water was too choppy so we had to stay stationary while eating our catered beef brisket. Tableville found an appropriate round table on the deck of the boat. Later that night was my first ever bachelorette party which included the excellent game that I have explained before, which is basically Pictionary-Telephone, and ‘penis ring toss’ of course.

The wedding was my first real wedding guest experience (when I was old enough to appreciate it—the bride looked so beautiful). And of course it was my first Greek Orthodox wedding. I know I cannot generalize about all Greek Orthodox weddings from this one, but I’ll give a few of my impressions. I liked that one of the first questions for the bride and groom was “have you promised to get married to anyone else?” I would love to know what happens when that question is answered incorrectly. The whole wedding kind of reminded me of a religious service rock opera. I’d say about 50-75% of the words of the service were sung instead of spoken. There was also audience participation that could happen at any moment. We were quickly signaled when we should sit and stand, although I could not determine any particular pattern. Kind of like simon says, with occasional Greek chanting. But seriously…

There is reason I am including the wedding in the graduation post. The wedding may have been the first time graduation really sunk in. I just suddenly felt really adult. One of my friends from college was getting married. She was in a wedding dress, walking down the church isle, and having her first dance as a married woman. As I sat in the crowded corner at the wedding reception that had been designated for all Grinnellian guests (and appropriately located right next to the bar) and looked at the blushing bride sparkle on the dance floor I knew I could no longer claim the title student, or more importantly, child…

Not that I can’t still try and act like one!

My big moment.

Yes it’s true. I did that whole graduating thing. I didn’t do it perfectly, or conventionally. For those who have not heard the story, or were not there, here it is…

“Would the social studies division please come to the stage as directed by the marshal?”

My heart was beating fast, but I held my head high and followed in line to the side of the stage. I stood on two duct tape Xs for two pictures by the fancy looking photographers they had hired. I smiled, posing gallantly, and not too badly (as I can see now online). I went on to the shorter line right next to the steps of the stage—closer and closer to glory.

“Are you Alice Choo?” The guy with the clipboard standing next to the stage asked me.

‘Um no. I’m Abigail Churchman.’ I say slightly confused. Well actually very confused.

“Who?”

‘Um, I’m Abigail Churchman’. He looks at the list slightly confused. My name is right there!

“Oh yes, Abigail Churchman. Is Choo in absentia?”

I don’t know! Why the hell would I know that!? ‘I guess’. I look around hoping Choo will jump from some hiding spot and laugh, “Just joking Abigail. Ha ha ha.”

“That’s ok, I’ll just tell them”.

“Abigail Churchman”. Oh my gosh, my name has been called. This is it. It’s my moment. I walk up the steps without fail and without fall. I smile. I get ready to step forward to shake hands with the president and get my diploma. Wait a second, what’s happening? I’m being given a hand, but not to shake. It’s a please don’t move any closer hand.

“Wait a moment, we’re having technical difficulties” the president mouths to me quietly. I look to the crowd of spectators for a brief moment with a smile. Showing everybody I will not let this phase me. A little wait to graduate is not so bad anyway. I’m finally given the ok to shake the hands and get the diploma. I smile. I shake his hand. I see his mouth open. I’m ready for my inspirational comment from the new valiant president.

“We’ll get you your real diploma later.”

Hrn? Wha-wha-wha??? He must be joking that’s weird. Why would he do that to me? I try to move my tassel over to the left. I have some difficulty. It sort of gets stuck in the front. I think I’m just sort of in a huddle of confusion. I don’t trip at all.

I sit down in my seat and open the little black folder that is supposed to contain my brilliant, shiny, new diploma. It’s blank. There’s nothing inside. Absolutely nothing. I sort of mumble to myself/to the person sitting next to me, ‘It’s not real. I didn’t get a real diploma’.

The ceremony is over and I walk past my family. I smile, briefly showing my family the empty diploma that really could have only happened to me.

In case you're worried. I got it eventually.

That Time is Coming

Yes folks. That wonderful time in my life is almost upon me. When I'll finally be able to put away my books and papers and block anything academically related from entering my consciousness. When I'll just sit in the sun...or the dark TV room...and not worry about homework at all because I won't have to. Yes folks that wonderful time is almost here...

SUMMER!

Unfortunately, it won't last forever. Eventually, I'll have to pick those books and papers back up, and get back to work. I'll have to hunker down and get back to my studies. I can't let my grade's suffer after all. Yes, I know when we're in college we all want summer to last for as long as possible, but then it's time to get serious again and... Hm? What was that? Sorry, could you readers wait one second, Perri's trying to tell me something. Ok Perri, what was that you wanted to say? Yeah...okay...mmhmm...what do you mean? Oh, ok... Wait what?

I'M GRADUATING?!?!?!? AHHHHHHH!!!!!

Spring Break Part Two: Aspiring Actors

I know that Agamemnon has been very very disappointed in me for not writing about this spectacular super fun exciting part of my spring break. And for that I am truly truly sorry, but I will do my best to make up for it with this post about...

Colonial Williamsburg!!!!

Let's see. Where to begin? I awoke on a wonderful Saturday (?) morning barely able to contain my excitement. I basically did a drive by Elyse's apartment, just long enough to role down the wonderful Scion's window, say a brief hello/goodbye to Elyse and picked up my precious cargo, Jessica. Barely 10 miles out I graciously took Jessica to get a late breakfast at Burger King, an establishment I think I last frequented about half my lifetime ago. I must say though their shakes weren't too shabby. We also stopped in gas station type store, which had much more of a Southern vibe that I expected--being that close from our starting point. I of course had to explain to Jessica as we drove closer to Richmond that we were now entering the South (of the US) and had previously started in the North. Like a true non-native of Virginia she thought I was being silly, and I thought maybe she was right. But I'm not the only one understands. This easter I had a wonderful lunch at the owner of the barn where I ride Perri's horse. One of the Grinnellian guests is also from the Virginia area and he knew exactly what I was talking about. We had a very nice conversation, safe in the understanding that we originated from the North. But I seriously digress.

We made it Williamsburg in great time, ready to take on the Colonial goodness. Little did we know our enjoyment would be seriously deferred. We checked into our hotel first. A hotel that Jessica's information had suggested was within walking distance from Colonial Williamsburg. They day was not bad, so we thought a walk would be nice. We are not heathens who must drive everywhere. We asked a very nice lady hotel worker how to walk there. I took an instant liking to her, she seemed everything sweet and charming in the world. Her name was Hope for God's sake! Well, the devil walks in many forms. After we asked our question she flashed a nice smile and took out a little map that looked simple looking enough. 'A right here, a left there, it's so easy, it's so simple, you shouldn't have any trouble'. Yes my friends, truly I tell you, Beelzebub will try to lead you astray. His words will tempt you, but you mustn't succumb. Jessica and I thanked our Hope for the help and went on our way. I don't exactly remember how or when Jessica and I realized something was wrong. We had made our right and eagerly awaited our left. But we didn't seem to be getting there. We chatted about this and that initially, but slowly our conversation became punctuated with questions. Did we miss the left? Haven't we been walking for a while? Let's look at the map. Pretty soon we found out the map was useless, in that it really only named a few major roads and none of the useful side streets. Jessica beautifully navigated us despite our obstacles, but we both did a fair share of complaining along the way. We were fatigued! Though our legs were tired, we eventually made it to our destination. It sure seemed like a long walk, so I asked Jessica what time it was. Our walk had taken an hour and a half. We had kind of made a giant circle. I don't know if you could add the walk to my list of funny travel stories, but I think it was hilarious (retrospectively).

After buying our tickets we took a shuttle to one of the main streets of Colonial Williamsburg. Like any good tourist we started in a gift shop. Browsing through this and that. We also saw a few demonstrations, mostly of silver making. None of the Colonial workers was really hammy as I was expecting. I think many people (or at least I did) have a conception of Colonial Williamsburg as a historical Disneyland. Except with people who must act like the lived centuries ago. During our whole trip I only ever encountered an annoyingly in-character worker. I wanted to shake him and tell him that so-and-so did not actually frequent his cafe the past Sunday because as far as I knew so-and-so was not a zombie. I do not suggest that we did not encounter theatricality. In fact we encountered it very soon. For after some browsing time it was time for reenactments. Yay!

The first "event" on the schedule was an angry mob. Yay angry mobs! Except not really. As we watched some rowdy revolutionaries badger a poor tax collector (or something), who only wanted another day or two to answer their question, I started to get a feeling that only strengthened the more I watched. I also laughed inappropriately at certain points. They were really getting into it. After the mob, we i.e. every visitor, Jessica and I, were herded a little farther down the "street" to view various little skits. The highlight was an attempted tarring and feathering. Some man had had the gall the night previously do denigrate some American troops. He refused to say sorry, so the angry revolutionaries (see a theme here?) started to tie him up. At this moment my feelings were confirmed. The American Revolutionaries were jerks. Yelling, pushing people around, trying to tar and feather them. They were barbarians. By the end of everything Jessica and I were ready to proclaim "long live King George". But back to the tar and feathering. The poor man, in fear for his health and life, submitted and agreed to apologize. As the men wandered away a middle aged Colonial Williamsburg woman/actor standing near Jessica and I angrily proclaimed that we were all monsters. "How could we dare watch that poor man about to be tar and feathered and not doing anything? Just wait till they come to get Protestants, or even you in your own home. For shame! For Shame!" etc. etc. And then she stormed off. Ok lady. One, I did not know that I was allowed to participate. If I had known I would have already crushed the revolution by my own hands. And two, Jessica brought up a wonderful point. That lady didn't do a damn thing either. Why couldn't she have saved him? Gosh hypocritical random actor lady.

We were herded to a few more demonstrations. And I say herded because after every mini-show, Williamsburg workers would shout something like 'come this way'. Then like the sheep all us tourists were, we would follow. We would stand, sit, or shout anytime they asked. And they wouldn't even let Jessica join the fake infantry because she was a women. We followed blindly until John Adams told us our revolution had been a success and was now over. We were obedient spectators of the never ending revolution that would happen again and again every weekend.

Hey Jessica. Give them

some privacy why don't

you?

Yes you.

Eventually filled with historical type information, Jessica and I were ready for dinner. This time we did not walk back to our hotel area. We took a shuttle and got back to our hotel within 30 minutes. I searched the interwebs for food options and settled upon what was proclaimed to be the best Chinese buffet in the area. They were not kidding. I don't know if the food was the best, but it had the most options I have ever scene. If I had tried a little bit of everything I would have needed a truck just to carry it. It was a great end to the day though.

The next day Jessica and I viewed more demonstrations, and did some actual souvenir shopping. I found a beautiful 'clockcase' pendant (so called because the pattern came from the side of a clock) that I decided I simply must have. Jessica and I had decided not to eat at an 'authentic' tavern for dinner the previous night because it was ridiculously expensive. But we went to one for lunch. Half way through the meal I realized I had been in the tavern before. A few Thanksgivings ago, a percentage of my nuclear family and a few of my cousins had come to Colonial Williamsburg. The food wasn't bad though still expensive. We had our fill. Actually, we had our fill of all of Williamsburg and decided it was time to depart soonish. Wandering to a shuttle stop, to take us to the visitor center, we said goodbye to our good time. Well not really because we still had the drive back!

Pretty close to Washington DC we stopped at a Denny's. I will not bore you with the details of our quest for an IHop (don't ask me why, I was craving it), which took way too many exits and way too much time. Denny's was good enough. We both had breakfast for dinner. We also discussed Denny's crimes against humanity. And by that I mean we tore apart their silly idea that it was ok for them to have a bacon sundae. Yes it was bacon month, but bacon with ice cream and caramel is not ok. Even the display card said yes we know it's ridiculous, but it's ok. No Denny's. Just no. Despite that desert abomination option, Jessica and I spent over ten minutes deciding whether we should have (non-bacon) desert or not. Luckily our time crunch decided for us. We went on our way. Following Jessica's printed out directs.

Oh Jessica's directions, I hate you. Love Jessicagamemnon. But hate the directions.

We missed our final turn that didn't exist and ended up in a seedy neighborhood. Funny story! Remember my wonderful post about a year ago? Well you see, the gas station we stopped at to call Elyse for directions looked super familiar to me. Now why would that be? A super duper uncomfortable feeling washed over me. I was about a block away from where the cops stopped me and my sister for supposedly contributing to Washington DC's drug/crime/murder problem. I was back in Anacostia. The place the police literally told me to never return to. "Never again" they said. I was in a different car, but my irrational fears of jail time overpowered my sense of common sense. My nerves almost broke in half when Jessica got out of the car to take a closer look at a street sign and talk to Elyse on the phone. I was half mumbling half yelling for Jessica to get back in the car. We were not in a good neighborhood. I confess I locked the car doors while Jessica talked outside. Self preservation I guess. She returned safe though and Elyse led us to the bus station over the phone. We arrived just in time for Jessica to catch her bus. We bid a sad farewell. Then I called Elyse to guide me back home.

The trip was great and I'm so glad I listened to Jessica's professional powerpoint on why Colonial Williamsburg was a good idea. I can't say the trip helped me in my dislike of driving in DC though. Apparently, all roads lead back to the same murderous place and lead me closer to my inevitable life of crime.

Spring Break Part One: The Coveted Hair Virgin

Yes, it is here everybody. The long long awaited blog post about my spring break. My last spring brEAK AHHHHHHH! Now that's out of the way. Since my break was so long ago, I'll just write about two major events I experienced, one during the first week and another during the second (and in two separate-more manageable-posts).

Alright, first! On the first Monday of my break I was given a little glimpse into the mystical world of hair stylists, and started my unforeseen hair modeling career. Half a week previously my hair stylist friend Cody had posted a message on his Facebook wall asking if anyone would be interested in free hair color, and be a volunteer in return. I timidly expressed some interest and the rest is history. Early early Monday morning Cody picked me up in an intense rain/thunder/hail storm and we drove off to a Hilton somewhere not in Arlington (so sue me I don't remember). About 45 minutes later Cody's GPS said that we had arrived. Yes we had arrived at a wonderful insurance company building. Um. GPS didn't feel the need to give us the exact location, but we found it eventually. I then proceeded to spend an hour sitting and waiting around (in the freezing Hilton conference room-this is important) while the members of the hair color company slowly arrived and set up. I guess I should explain what exactly I was there for. So Cody works part time for this hair color company Schwarzkopf which is actually over 100 years old (who knew). He and his coworkers go to various venues and do demonstrations for hair stylists, to promote their company's products. This time they were dying hair and I was one of the hair models. There was one other model that had been chosen, a black girl with a lot of curly hair (not really ideal for a quick demonstration, but it worked somehow). Then, they actually got a third model by picking out one of the hotel workers who obviously had previously dyed hair with roots and all. About 10 minutes before hair stylists started arriving Cody started his attack on my hair-preparing me for my beautiful color, and discovered the ever so annoying nature of my semi-clean hair which resists being held up even under threat of submission. The result was like so:

Slowly, the potential future clients of Schwarzkopf filed in, and sat down anxiously awaiting their chance to view my hair transform. Eventually, I was shuffled to one side of the room to sit with the two other models and await our time. Cody and the other three girl demonstrators started their spiel about their whole hair color line. And this is a great time to tell you my new found massive respect for anyone who professionally colors other people's hair. I always joke that at my mom's work everyone speaks in letters-basically, acronyms galore. Well everyone at Schwarzkopf speaks only in numbers. Each hair color is represented by a set of numbers. Each number represents a color, but depending on the order of the numbers, dyes can be very different. Not only do they have to remember about 1,000 combinations of numbers, they have to decide on the intensity of each color, and which colors to mix and match and just so many things it makes my head want to explode. I always knew hair work involved loads of creativity, but I had no idea how much technical expertise and judgement is involved-and that's after you've chosen which color you think will work best. Ok that was more detailed than I probably needed to go into, but damn. Massive respect from me to Cody and all the other badass hair stylists out of there.

So after going through some of their colors/numbers it was my turn to get dyed. Cody gave a little background on my hair and what he was going to do with it. It was at this point where I felt about 3o sets of eyes stare adoringly at my hair for the first time that day. Why were they adoring you ask? Because I had the highly coveted virgin hair. Yes, my hair was free of dye and a blank slate to be turned into a work of art. Little did they know my hair was not truly virgin since it had been dyed my senior year of high school, but they didn't need to know. I was a born again hair virgin anyway. At this time, Cody gave the stylists a chance to get up close and personal with me-meaning my hair. They came up and basically combed and picked through my hair with their fingers, and ooed and awed at it's virgin nature. I felt adored and like an animal at the same time. I was no longer human. I was hair.

While the spokespeople continued talking about numbers, Cody began coloring my hair (about four different colors as he had explained earlier). I mentioned the room was cold before because it made the hair dye feel like liquid ice being combed through my hair. I tried to suppress shivers of pure chill and or giggles of discomfort, mostly with success, as my hair started to feel heavier and heavier. After he was done I was led back to my waiting corner to let the color set for a little bit. About 2,500 numbers later it was time to wash out the dye. This might have been the funniest/least fun part of the experience. The demonstrators had rented out a room. I was led up by a very nice woman to said hotel room. I than proceeded to bend down and put my head under the water faucet in the shower. The woman applied shampoo and rinsed it out as watery hair dye ran down my face and into my eyes, which were very intelligently closed if I say so myself. I had to rinse the conditioner myself, which took some more creative maneuvering under the faucet.

At no point during this process did I get to look in a mirror. So I was oblivious to the changes. I was blow dried back down in the conference room and I was the first model to have their new hair revealed to the anticipating hair stylists. They were super happy with my hair. They rushed up to view up close the magic of my multicolored hair. So, more hands being run through my head, and the objectification of my hair. They especially liked the streak of blond in the middle of my hair. I too liked my new hair when I finally got a chance to view it. I was happy at how dramatically different it was, but it would take some getting used to it. As the weeks have gone by I've loved it more and more, which makes it very sad that my roots are coming in. This is also sad b/c my roots were also showing during my high school graduation. I didn't think that part of getting dyed through. But it was worth it anyway.

Before I end this post, there were two more fun things of note during my lunch at the Cheesecake Factory with Cody, and two of the Schwarzkopf women he works with, after the demonstrations were over and all the hair stylists had left. One, we were sitting at a table, two of us on each side. On my side there was a long horizontal mirror, I guess showing the back of my neck. Half way through the meal, Cody realized that all the hair stylists had been talking to each other by looking at themselves in the mirror--you know as you would if consulting with a hair client at a salon.

The second is a moment I will never forget. During lunch I was facing a TV screen playing various daytime TV fare, C.O.P.S I think. At one point I looked at the TV and noticed bananas. 'That's strange' I thought to myself. What could this commercial be? I then saw images of rotting bananas and horribly frustrated costumers. What to do about these rotten bananas? Of course--an indoor banana tree. Why didn't I think of it sooner!? It was legit a real commercial about an indoor banana tree, that provides bananas to household members to eat on the go, or put in their purse as the commercial suggested. They acted like this tree would endlessly supply bananas. I also found out later from my sister that banana trees only produce bananas once in their life time. Great product commercial really.

Well that's a weird way to end a post about being a hair model. So I'll end with this. A thought occurred to me soon after my hair was done. Those stylists had lovingly coveted my virgin hair. But then it was quickly taken away from me. They had stolen my (second hair) virginity! I would never be coveted in the same way every again. Oh well. Thanks anyway Cody! If I could I would fly you over to do my roots.

As a teaser for part two, and a small/ambiguous glimpse of my new hair, I give you this:

Travel Log #543

Well, this post isn't going to be as emotional, or well composed as my brother's recent harrowing tale (which totally made me tear up). Yes something didn't go as planned with my travels, but my story is actually not tragic at all (like my fateful Christmas disaster almost four years ago), and ended up working out for the best. But I feel like I would be remiss if I didn't talk about how my travel didn't go exactly as planned, since that does make up 70% of my blog.

This fine Saturday morning I got a ride to the airport from my work manager, his wife, and another custodial worker who needed a ride to the Des Moines Airport, my common haunt. I realized on the way I had checked my flight number the previous night, but hadn't bothered to look at the airline. So, it took me a while to navigate the check-in kiosk successfully. On my third try I found my Delta reservation and saw something kind of weird. My first flight was arriving in Atlanta about an hour after my connection flight to DC was leaving. My flight from Des Moines was delayed an hour (apparently b/c of maintenance I found out later). I went to talk to real people at the Delta counter, laughing softly on the way, and told them my connection was now useless. She promptly put me on a later flight out of Atlanta. Long story short, I had to wait around an extra hour, but it was actually a good thing. With my original itinerary I would have had to run like mad to catch my connecting flight (the Atlanta Airport is pretty huge, even for Gigantor). The new flight even ended up arriving early (though still 50 minutes late for me). I made it in time to watch my Mom's awesome choral concert, and I now have the happy fortune to sit on the chair of my childhood home.

See that wasn't so bad. Last night on the other hand, wasn't so good...at least for a quick moment. First, this post will be better (well it will make more sense) if you listen to this song while reading it (well watching the video will make it make even more sense, if that makes sense): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2LRROpph0

Last night I drove my friends Perri and Laura to Marshall town for dinner and a movie. The movie was the Lincoln Lawyer, which I ended up liking more than I thought I would. Actually I decided I loved it within the first thirty minutes because they used one of my favorite rap songs (an obscure one too) as background music. Anyway, before the movie we went to Culvers because Perri was really craving it. Somehow our topic of conversation turned to Rebecca Black's "Friday" (which you should be listening to now if you haven't already torn off your own ears). Perri has been fortunate enough not to hear it, so Laura and I were explaining it to her. My tagline for the song is "The song that answers the age old question-what comes after Friday but before Sunday?" We were of course making fun of the song, but then I made the realization that the joke is really on us. Yes people think the song is stupid, but they're watching it and downloading it and buying it just to make fun of it. Rebecca's gonna be very rich very soon. Anywho, the video complements the inaneness of the song very well. Especially when Rebecca hops in a car of thirteen year olds. Miss Rebecca, it doesn't matter if you kick it in the front seat, or sit in the back seat, your 13 year old friend should not be driving your car. Anyway young lady, do your parents know you're going to a sketchy party that will include a whole bunch of thirteen year olds and an adult black guy. So there is the background you need.

After the movie, I started driving my friends back to Grinnell. I still do not know what happened. Perri, or Laura will have to draw me a diagram. But I was trying to turn left, but had temporarily stopped because I didn't not want to risk hitting the oncoming traffic. I thought I was being all responsible. How was I to know a stupid stupid car would try to turn right into me? Perri says they were turning into the wrong lane...I know I had the right of way...we know that I didn't do anything wrong. They came about two inches away from hitting the passenger side. I really wish I had an eagle-eye video tape of our reactions because our screams must have sounded hilarious. Perri and Laura were especially nonplussed with the prospect of shattering their leg's or pelvic bones. At the time it was terrifying. And then the drivers looked at us with surprised angry faces like we had done something wrong, which WE DIDN'T. After the incident, (my car luckily no worse for wear) the three of us debriefed about the incident for a good twenty minutes. What were they thinking? What the hell actually happened? They looked like teenagers. A glimmer sparked in my eye--and I spoke--tying the whole evening together:

"This is what happens when Rebecca Black encourages thirteen year olds to drive!"